The One And Only Part 43

There was only one thing left to be done, and I was prepared to put it off for as long as possible, as if not telling Coach about my decision would somehow make it less real.

But right before I went to bed that night, there was a knock at my door. I went to look through the peephole and saw Coach staring back at me. My heart broke a little more as I answered the door and said, "Aren't you supposed to be on the road?"

"I caught the last flight home tonight. I wanted to see you. I'd have called first," he said, dropping his leather duffel at his feet and unb.u.t.toning his navy overcoat. "But my phone went dead and I forgot to pack my charger."

"Rookie move."

"Hey, now. Who you callin' a rookie, rook?"

"You," I said, mustering a smile as my arms remained awkwardly at my sides. "How did the visit go?"

"Great. Good kid. Nice family," he said, still fumbling with his b.u.t.tons.

"Do you think we'll get him?" I asked.

"Oh, depends on how much money we can sc.r.a.pe together to pay him under the table."

I stared at him.

"It was a joke," he said, leaning in to kiss me.

I turned my cheek slightly, his lips landing to the left of mine in no-man's-land.

"So ... will we? Get him?" I asked again, stalling, pretending to focus only on the state of Walker recruiting.

"I think it'll come down to us or Ohio State. We'll have to see. How was your day? And why are you looking at me funny?"

"I'm not looking at you funny."

"You are." He stared at me. "And now you're looking at me even funnier. I know you. I know your face."

I swallowed, buying a few extra seconds with a lesser announcement. "I got fired today."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"s.h.i.t," he said. "You're not kidding?"

I shook my head. "No. But it's okay. I was sort of resigning anyway. Smiley just beat me to the punch."

"Shea. Honey. I'm sorry. Why?" He squinted for a second, then seemed to piece it together. "Oh, s.h.i.t. Did this happen because ... of us?"

I shook my head, looking down at my feet.

He slid two fingers under my chin and lifted it until I was looking into his eyes again. "Tell me the truth."

"Well, yeah. I mean ... kind of. It's just too much of a conflict," I said, wishing that I'd talked to Lucy before I gave up my job.

"I feel terrible. Can I talk to Smiley? Surely there's some way ..."

"No. Don't call him. It's okay. I'm sort of relieved. It really was a conflict ..."

"What are you going to do? Get your old job back?"

"My old job's gone. J.J. already replaced me."

"You can't be replaced," he said, without missing a beat.

I tried to smile, hoping he meant that in all ways. "I'll figure something out."

"Okay ..." he said, looking unconvinced and very worried. "Let me know how I can help. Whatever you need. You know we can figure something out at Walker. There will always be a place for you here."

"Thank you," I said, thinking that my job was the least of my concerns tonight. "I'll be all right."

He put his hand out, as if asking me to slow-dance, his expression shifting from concern to one of pure affection. It melted my heart and made me want to take back everything I'd promised Lucy. Instead, I led him over to my sofa and blurted it all out. Everything I'd told her. The choice I'd made.

"Well. There you have it," he said with a long sigh.

"What do you think?" I asked, glancing at him while he stared straight ahead.

"What do I think?"

"Yes. Tell me."

"I understand."

"Do you agree with ... my decision?" I said, wanting him to fight for me, tell me how foolish I'd been.

"Honestly? I don't know."

"You always know," I said, feeling frantic.

"I respect it. I respect you. I respect your friendship with Lucy."

"So that's it?" I said, realizing just how much I'd been relying on him to save us, change my mind, find some of the gray area he was so fond of. But I was getting the terrible, desperate feeling that he actually agreed with me. That he believed that not being together was the right thing to do. That he might have known all along that this was our foregone conclusion.

Coach sighed and said, "Listen. This isn't all on you. I had a talk with Lucy, too. Not as direct as yours, but a talk ... And I think ... I think she feels that I've abandoned her."

"Abandoned her? How?"

"With her mother gone, she only has me ... as far as parents go. And I think I've let her down. I know she feels that way."

"But you're a wonderful father," I said, comparing him to my own.

"But I'm a better football coach," he said. "In some ways, at least the ways you can observe and measure, I've always put football first. And I think she sees you as part of that ... Because you and I share that love of the game. We have that bond. Lucy and I ... don't. So I think being with you is just another example, in her mind, of me picking football over her. And I can't do it to her any more than you can ... Maybe she'll come around. Maybe we'll have a chance later ... Never say never, right? But in the meantime, you need to go live your life."

I knew what he meant by living my life, and I shook my head. "I'll never feel this way about anyone ... ever again," I said, crumbling inside but keeping it together.

"Yes, you will," he said.

"No, I won't. Not even close," I said, thinking that I could flirt in bars, go on dates, have s.e.x. But that I was finished with love. Done.

He draped his arm on the back of the sofa, angling his body toward me, and said, "Shea. I thought I could only love Connie ... And then ... this happened. And it's been scary and wonderful and so special. I guess I'm trying to say that ... you just don't know what can happen in life. And you have to be open to things ..."

"But I don't want to love anyone but you," I said.

"And I didn't want to love anyone but Connie. Life is funny."

"Life is tragic."

"It can be ... But you can't stop living. You can't give up."

"But aren't we giving up now?"

"No," he said. "We're doing the right thing. There's a difference."

I nodded, even though I wasn't so sure about that.

"You'll be all right, Shea. You could do better than an old football coach."

"You're not old," I muttered, envious of all the couples whose only barrier was a couple of decades.

"I'm not young. And let's be honest ... you should probably be with someone younger ... so you can have a family ... children of your own ... I'm probably too old for all of that ..."

I caught his probably, fleetingly imagining having a baby with him, but then said, "Why does everyone keep talking about that stuff? I'm not like other girls. I don't need all those things."

"I know you're not. I know you don't. But you might. You might someday. You need to keep an open mind."

I nodded, letting my head drop to my hands. "I knew it," I said, speaking mostly to myself.

"You knew what?"

"That last night would be our only chance to be together."

"Yeah, you did call that one ... But we'll always be friends," he said-one of the saddest declarations in the world.

When I didn't reply, he said, "And we'll always have football."

"And you can call me 'girl' again," I said, trying to put on a brave face. "You haven't done that in a while."

"You got it, girl," he said.

"We just can't touch," I said, gazing up at him.

"Right," he said, looking as sad as I felt.

"Or kiss," I said, staring at his mouth, then back into his eyes.

He looked deep into my eyes and nodded.

"Because we made a decision and it would be wrong to go back on it," I said, trying to convince myself.

He nodded again, as his face moved ever so close to mine. Close enough for me to catch a whiff of that d.a.m.n aftershave.

"You're going to have to stop wearing that, though," I said. "When you're around me."

"What?"

I shook my head and shuddered a little. "That aftershave. It kills me."

"So does your perfume," he said. "Please do something about that perfume."

"Deal," I said, his face moving closer still, our breathing growing deeper. "But how 'bout ... one more kiss?"

"You mean like this?" he said, his lips grazing mine.

"Yes. Just like that," I said, as that familiar dizzy feeling overcame me. "And then, after tonight ... that really has to be it. Forever."

"Unless Lucy changes her mind," he said, kissing me more urgently, his hands entangled in my hair.

"She won't," I breathed.

"I know," he whispered. "So let's make this count ..."

Forty-three.

For three days, I wallowed in self-pity and heartbreak, never leaving my apartment. I barely ate, slept at odd hours, and lived in my pajamas. Every time the phone rang, I jumped, hoping it would be him, telling me he couldn't do it. But that never happened, and, with every pa.s.sing hour, I grew more depressed, until I eventually turned my phone off altogether. There was n.o.body I wanted to talk to.

On the fourth night, just as I was beginning to remind myself of my mother after her divorce, Lucy appeared at my door. I considered not answering it, but did. We stared at each other as if months had pa.s.sed since our last conversation, until she asked if she could come in. I said yes and stepped aside, letting the door close with its own weight.

"Are you sick?" she said, taking in my pajamas and greasy hair.

"Just have a touch of something," I said. "You cut your bangs."

She reached up to tug on them. "Too short. When will I learn?"

I shrugged, hoping she realized how very little I cared about her hair.