Coach Love(46)

“Hey, Mr. Love,” a voice called out from across the park. He squinted into the sun. When a bunch of kids came into closer view he waved, recognizing them from the Lucasville High basketball team last year. Nice kids, but poorly coached, in his opinion.

“Hi, Hunter, Greg, Theo.” He wheeled the cooler into the grass and sat on it, unwilling to admit he dreaded what he’d find when he went after Dominic while acknowledging that the prospect of that trumped having lunch with Melinda.

Three more boys joined the others and called out their greeting to him before dividing into teams and hitting the worn, asphalt court. Anton and Antony remained a few feet away on the picnic table, sipping their beers side by side in silence and appearing for all the world like a before-and-after photo. He observed the on-court action for a while, calling out encouragement and cheering when one of the kids, a tall, lanky dark-skinned boy he remembered from one of his History classes dunked the ball with a vengeance.

Hooking his fingers in the fence loops, he noted a few things he couldn’t help but comment on, much to the apparent delight of the boys on the court.

“Your shoulder is too high,” he advised when Theo stepped to the free throw space, since no actual line existed anymore. “Seriously, let me show you.” He jogged out to the kids and pressed down on the boy’s right shoulder. “Now shoot.” Theo frowned, crouched, and stuck his tongue between his teeth. His right shoulder hitched under Kieran’s palm at his release. “See. It’s totally throwing off your stance. Frees are all about your position, the way you set your feet and hips. Plus a ton of practice.”

The kid missed the first one, then, when Kieran put more pressure on the offending shoulder for the second one, he drilled it into the center of the net. The boys cheered.

“Sure wish you were our coach,” one of the boys said.

“Nah, I’d probably suck at that as much as I sucked at being a teacher.” He hooked the ball over their heads into the basket.

The boys made a loud protest, with the words you’re a great teacher, I can’t wait for next year’s history class coming through loud and clear. Kieran held up his hands. “Sorry y’all, but I won’t be teaching next year.”

“What the fuck?”

He shot the offender a dark glare. The boy flushed red. “I mean, what the heck, Mr. Love. You were the only decent history teacher in the whole dang building.”

“Well, budget cuts, or whatever. I was only temporary, technically speaking. I have to get my master’s degree they tell me. Anyway....” He bounced another ball a few times and tossed it into them. “Thanks. I gotta get going.”

“No, wait! Stay! Play with us!”

The cacophony of noises loosened his chest. “Maybe next week. We’re here—”

“Every Sunday, we know.” They were arrayed in a line, staring at him, reminding him of how much he loved his teaching job to the point of true, physical pain at the fresh realization he no longer had it. “We’ll be here next week, too. Promise you’ll stick around?” their spokesman asked. Kieran gave them a noncommittal salute. Antony and his father hopped down off the picnic table and followed him to the parking lot.

“Coach Love, eh?”

He ignored his father’s not-too-subtle dig at his under-employed state.

“Next weekend, fish fry, don’t forget,” Anton called before screeching out onto the road.

“Don’t you start, too,” he said, when he sensed Antony staring him down.

“What the hell is going on with Dominic?”

Kieran leaned on the hood of his hand-me-down vehicle. “I can’t say.”

“Oh? Since when?”

“Since now.” He yanked the door open with a loud screech of metal, cranked the ignition, and headed out of his spot, determined to exit the awkward moment without any more conversation. When he threw the thing in drive, he cursed and mashed on the brake. The dumbass stood right in front of the bumper, his shoulders set in a familiar way. Kieran would have to run his oldest brother over if he wanted to escape without that chat now. He smacked the steering wheel in frustration and rolled the window down with the crank.

“Get out of my way, numb nuts.”

“Tell me what’s going on with our brother.” They glared at each other. “And while you’re at it,” Antony yelled as he climbed onto the hood, making the metal groan in protest. “Fill me in on why in God’s ever-loving name you let that Melinda get her claws into you again.”

“I knew you marrying a therapist had to be a bad idea.” Kieran sighed and killed the engine. “All you wanna do is fucking talk anymore.”