Coach pauses, and I just nod, taking in everything he’s said. But he isn’t done.
“This is the part where you tell me he’s got the wrong guy, Will. Because no way in hell would one of my players be dumb enough to coldcock a goddamn professor.”
I wince and Coach curses. “I need the whole story, Franconetti. Now,” he commands.
“All I can say, Coach, is that it wasn’t unprovoked.”
Coach mutters another curse and runs his hands through his hair. My typically calm, level-headed coach is starting to unravel, and it’s my fault. But at this point, I’m just adding it to the list of today’s transgressions.
Santos looks at me as though I’ve lost my damned mind, and Booker, ever the peacemaker, intercedes.“You say it wasn’t unprovoked, but we’re gonna need you to fill in some blanks, here, Will. What did Dr. Ashman do?”
“Is this off the record?” I ask.
“Off the… No.Nothingis off the record. I need the whole story, Franconetti, and I need it yesterday.” I can tell Coach is starting to lose his patience, and I have no doubt he’s going to hate what I have to say next.
“Then I can’t tell you any more. Not unless it’s confidential.”
Santos shakes his head, and Booker opens his mouth, but nothing he says can improve the situation at this point.
Coach slams his mug on the desk, causing coffee to spill over the sides. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?You can’t tell me any more?” He pauses, as if to let me come to my senses. When I don’t,he keeps going. “I don’t think you get just how bad this is, Will. If you can’t explain what happened, if you don’t give me anything to work with, we’re not talking about a slap on the wrist here. This could get you kicked off the team. Hell, it could get you kicked out of school. You didn’t park in someone’s space, Will. You didn’t call a professor a jackass. You fucking assaulted him on his property for no apparent reason with no fucking witnesses. There’s more to the goddamn story and I need to hear it. Will, I am your coach, and you know I take that responsibility seriously. Hell, Jules and I don’t have any kids of our own. You guys are the kids I’m never gonna have. We are family, here, Will. You’ve been here a couple short months, but I know you already get that. So, whatever you aren’t telling me, you need to start spilling, because I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
It guts me to hear Coach’s words. I look up to him so much. He’s only ten or twelve years older than most of us, a guy whose own pro career got cut too short. He gets us, he takes care of us, he guides us. And I owe him so much. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I’m holding back. Maybe it’s the look on Mel’s face while we fought, or the fact that she asked for space. Whatever it is, I can’t betray her like this. I can’t tell her story without her consent. I know she kept her relationship with Chaz private because she feared the judgment that was inevitable. I won’t expose her to that if I can help it.
Coach’s phone rings, and he answers, speaking briefly to whomever’s on the other end of the line. He hangs up and looks at me. “You’re on a two-game suspension, Franconetti. The dean is investigating and you will cooperate when you are asked questions, is that clear? After the investigation is over, they’ll schedule a hearing. For now, lay low. You’ll do your work online and keep your nose fucking clean. Obviously, you are to have no contact with Ashman during the investigation. Is that clear?”
“I nod my head as Coach picks up the phone again. He waves us off, but calls, “Back here at 8 a.m. sharp. And I want answers.”
I know exactly what Coach wants, but I’m not planning on giving it to him. No matter what it costs me, I can’t betray Mel. For whatever reason, no one knows yet that Mel was there. And I’m sure as hell not telling.
48
Mel
“You gave me five dollars change, honey. But the buy-in is $16.00, so I’m only supposed to get four dollars back,” Glenna tells me, handing me a dollar bill. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t seem yourself these days.
“Okay? Of course, she’s not ok,” Dorcas says, picking up a pack of playing cards. “She’s an accountant, for Pete’s sake, and she can’t even make change! And her color looks awful. You’re gray, honey. What has you turning gray? You didn’t drink one of those borg things, did you? I read all about those and they are bad news.”
These ladies. I’ll miss them when I go. “No, Dorcas, I haven’t been drinking a borg. I’m just a little out of sorts, is all. I’m distracted, honestly. I have an interview coming up soon, and a test next week. There’s just a lot going on right now.”
“Where’s your man been? We haven’t seen him lately.”
“He’s busy with hockey,” I say, and I assume it’s true, but I wouldn’t really know. It’s been a week since we last spoke. He hasn’t come into Drip, but I’ve only worked two shifts this week, since I had two out-of-state interviews set up.
“Busy with hockey? He needs to get busy with you,” Glenna says. “You tell him to make some time for you. What you need is a good old fashioned sex marathon. Now, what I mean by that is—”
“I think I know what you mean,” I say, cutting her off. “You ladies better grab a table before all the good ones are gone,” I advise.
It’s poker night here at the senior center, and Glenna is a shark. She zeroes in on the table she wants and points to it, sending Dorcas off to claim it before pinning her gaze on me. “Though I firmly believe a night of good sex is just what the doctor ordered, I want you to know this, too. If you need us for anything—anything at all—you know right where to find us.” She leans in for a quick hug before placing her hands back on her walker and follows Dorcas.
The charity poker tournament begins and even though I don’t technically have to stay, I decide to stick around. I can work on interview questions and get some practice. And it beats going back to my apartment. It’s so lonely now since Will’s gone.
We haven’t spoken since those last angry words in my car. I asked for space, and it’s certainly what he’s given me, so I guess I can’t complain. But I can. Because nothing is right without him. My world is dull and boring without Will in it. It’s repetitive, and if I take the job in D.C. I’m interviewing for, I fear it’ll be more of the same.
At the beginning of the semester, I was content with that. I was even looking forward to it. But now, I’m just resigned to it.It’s true I thought Will & I needed a little time, a little distance to keep us from saying things we couldn’t take back, to help us see things with clearer heads.But it’s been a week and I have no texts, no calls, nothing.
I’m tempted to reach out to Ollie, but I don’t want to seem desperate. Maybe I just need to face the fact that the distance I insisted on has helped Will to realize that I’m not really what he wants. Because deep down, that’s my fear.
Maybe what he called love was really infatuation. After all, I was his first. How likely is it that he got caught up in the romance of it all, believed the tale we were spinning? But now, with a little time and space, he can see what’s really out there for him, can look at all the possibilities. And clearly, I’m no longer what he wants.
