Eva’s house, I fiddle with the collar of my shirt, tugging at the tightness of my tie, trying to calm the storm of nerves inside me.
“Don’t be nervous,” she says soothingly as soon as she opens the door to let me in.
Damn, she reads me so easily. For others, it’s nearly impossible, but for her, it seems like second nature.
I pull at my collar again, and she takes my hand in hers.
“You didn’t have to wear a suit, you know. I know they make you uncomfortable.”
“I want to make a good impression. This is important. I can’t screw this up,” I say, looking down at her.
Her face breaks into a wide smile, and she stands on her toes wrapping her arms around my neck to pull my head down for a kiss.
“You’re perfect, and my father knows you. You have no one to impress.”
I grimace at that. I was not the best role model before meeting my Eva.
The nervousness gnawing at me is a whole different beast than any I’ve ever faced. It’s not like the buzz before a big game or the thrill of closing a massive deal. This is deeper, cutting right to the core of me. Her uncertainty about our relationship, the way she’s teetering on the edge, has me feeling like I’m one wrong move away from losing her for good. Despite the promises I’ve made, the mere thought of ever having to sign those divorce papers… it’s like a heavy weight dragging me down, a feeling I can’t shake off.
She leads me into the living room, our fingers entwined. Her father is there, along with the English teacher who has become a regular presence. I catch the slight narrowing of his eyes at the sight of our joined hands. Yeah, he’s definitely not my biggest fan.
“Coach, thank you for having me over for dinner,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He grunts in response, but then his expression softens as he looks at her. I know that look—she must be unleashing her best puppy-dog eyes on him. He seems to relent a bit under her gaze. “You’re welcome. I’m glad to meet you in your new role of boyfriend.”
Husband, I want to correct, but I bite my tongue, choosing silence over stirring the pot.
We move into the dining room, where the aroma of cooked food fills the air. It smells incredible. I pull out a chair for Eva, a small but significant gesture. We’re playing the part of a couple, but beneath the surface, there’s an undercurrent of tension. It’s like we’re both walking a tightrope, balancing between what’s said and unsaid, the known and the unknown.
Dinner progresses with casual conversation, mostly led by Mrs. Harper, who thankfully seems adept at lightening the mood. Coach mostly observes, his eyes occasionally flicking to Eva and me, analyzing, assessing. I do my best to engage, to be part of the conversation, but my focus keeps drifting back to her. Her laughter, the way she interacts with her father, the subtle looks she gives me—it’s all a reminder of what’s at stake.
As soon as the meal finishes, I stand up, eager to help her with the clearing. “Let me give you a hand with that,” I offer, looking toward her.
Her father starts to speak, perhaps to protest, but Mrs. Harper places a gentle hand on his arm. “Yes, of course,” she says, giving us a warm smile. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes about her acceptance and support.
Following her into the kitchen, I give her a quick kiss. I need this—a moment of connection amid the polite tension of dinner. “You okay?” I ask her, searching her eyes for any sign of discomfort.
She nods, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Yes. Thank you for being so… perfect tonight.”
I can’t help but smile back. “I’ll do anything for you. You know that, right?”
As we head back to the dining room, Coach gestures for me to follow him into his office, saying he wants to show me the playbook for the upcoming games.
“It’s a big deal; my father never shows his playbook.” She nudges me forward, and I follow him, feeling a bit honored.
Maybe he’s ready to accept me after all…
Apparently not, because as soon as we enter his office and I reach for the playbook, expecting him to dive right into game strategies, he places his hand over it, halting my movement.
For a moment, we sit there in silence. Then he leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes me uneasy. “I’m not here to talk about soccer, Westbrook,” he begins, his voice serious.
Straightening in my seat, I sense the shift in the tone of the conversation. “Okay. What’s on your mind, Coach?”
He takes a deep breath, his demeanor softening slightly. “You know I love my daughter. She’s my world, and one day, if you’re lucky enough to have a daughter, you’ll understand this helplessness when she’s in pain and you can’t fix it.”
Guilt seeps into my core, rendering me speechless. Yet, I want to tell him that I envision a future where I’ll have a daughter, where he’ll have a granddaughter, and if fate is kind, she’ll mirror my Eva with just a hint of me.
“I have no intention of hurting Evangeline, sir. I’m desperately in love with her,” I manage to say, my voice rough with emotion.
He nods, yet his eyes tell me he’s not fully convinced. “She lost her mother at fourteen—a terrible age to lose a parent. Franny was a perfect mother; she would’ve known how to guide Eva through life’s trials, especially when she fell for the wrong boy in high school.”
The label “wrong boy” stings, especially now when so much hangs in the balance.
He continues, a reminiscent smile on his face, “She was singing, smiling—the happiest I’d seen her in years. She was secretive, and I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew it was one of my players who made her smile like that, someone I’d told her to stay away from.”
I stay silent, acknowledging the truth in his words. He always knew.
With a weary hand through his hair, he looks aged beyond his years. “I saw the way you looked at her during practice when you thought no one noticed.”
Denial is pointless. “I loved her then, and I love her now.”
He leans forward, eyes piercing. “I’m not naive. I know something happened on prom night, and I know you were involved. The story about tripping on glass, the driver who was more military than chauffeur—it never added up.”
The memory of that night sends a wave of nausea through me. If not for fucking Max… My Eva might not have survived, and I would now live in a world where she’s not, and that would not be possible. He must see the distress on my face because his expression softens.
“I never intended to hurt her, and I’ve never laid a hand on her in anger. It may be hard to believe, given what you must think of me, but I vow to spend my life ensuring her happiness.”
He studies me, hopefully seeing the sincerity and resolve in my eyes. After a long moment, he taps his desk and nods.
“My daughter believes in second chances; I typically don’t. I’m giving you this one because she loves you deeply. But make no mistake, if you hurt my girl again, I’ll dedicate my life to ruining yours, no matter what your family name is.”
A name that your daughter now shares, I think, meeting his gaze squarely. “Then we’re in agreement because nothing is more important to me than her happiness.”
He regards me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he extends his hand across the desk. “Take care of her, Westbrook. She’s stronger than she looks, but everyone has their breaking point.”
I grasp his hand firmly, understanding the weight of his words. “I will, sir. I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”
He releases my hand and leans back, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Alright then. Let’s talk a bit about soccer. Tell me what you think of the game plan for the next game.”
As we delve into the playbook, discussing strategies and plays, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief. The conversation with Coach, as daunting as it was, has solidified something in me—a determination to prove myself worthy of his daughter and the life we’re creating.
After a while, we wrap up the discussion, and I make my way back to the dining room, finding Eva chatting with Mrs. Harper. Her laughter fills the room, and I pause for a moment, watching her, appreciating the light she brings into every space she is in.
As I approach, she looks up, her eyes meeting mine, and I see a question in them. I nod subtly, letting her know that the talk with her dad went as well as it could have.
The evening winds down with a sense of newfound understanding and acceptance. When it’s time to leave, we walk out together, the night air cool against our skin.
I wrap her in my arms. “Come to my house with me. Mom will be happy to see you, and it’s so hard for me to sleep without you now.”
She leans against my chest. “We’re only here for one night. I need to spend it with my father.”
I brush my nose against hers. “What if I sneak in by your bedroom window in the dead of night like I used to? Do you remember how I would make you come? The thrill when you had to keep it quiet?”
Her cheeks turn bright red, and it takes all my willpower not to kiss her senseless, not when I know her father is watching us from the window.
Hesitation shines in her eyes, and I know she can see it as she turns redder. “No, don’t do that. I won’t be strong enough to keep you out, but I’m tired and with the surgery next week…”
That sobers me up. The surgery is on Tuesday, and I know how apprehensive she is.
I take her scarred hand and kiss it. “You’re right. Have a good night’s sleep. I’ll pick you up late morning.” I brush my lips to hers. “I love you.”
She smiles back. “I love you too.”
As I reluctantly let go of her, there’s a bittersweet feeling in my heart. I want to stay by her side, especially with the surgery looming over us, but I respect her need to be with her father tonight.
Driving back to my place, the car feels emptier without her presence. I keep replaying our evening, the conversation with her father. The laughter at the dinner table and the way she leaned into me. It’s these moments, however small, that keep reinforcing my decision—marrying Eva, no matter how impulsive it was, is the best thing I’ve ever done.
Pulling into the driveway, the familiar sight of my childhood home brings a sense of comfort. Stepping inside, I’m greeted by the warm, inviting atmosphere that’s always characterized this place. Mom is on the sofa watching TV, her legs on my father’s lap as he is reading a book.
She sits up when she sees me enter.
“Hi!” I nod to my father and kiss her cheek before settling into an armchair, leaning back with a sigh. “Dinner with her dad went well,” I start, breaking the silence.
“I presume you have not told Coach Sinclair you’ve married his daughter,” my father says as he rests his book on the console by the sofa.
I roll my eyes. “Not yet. We will, though, in time.”
My mom throws a stern look at my father. “Good to hear,” Mom says with a smile on her face. “How’s my beautiful daughter-in-law?”
“She’s good, staying with her dad tonight,” I reply, feeling a pang of longing at her absence.
Mom nods, understanding. “You two are doing alright, then?”
The corners of my mouth lift at the memory of the kiss we just shared. “Yeah, we are. It’s… different, but good.”
They share a look, one that speaks volumes of their years together, the challenges they’ve faced, and the love that’s grown stronger because of it.
“Cole,” Mom starts, her tone serious yet gentle, “marriage isn’t easy. It’s a work in progress, always.”
“I think it’s harder for her than it is for me. I just know.”
“There’s something I want you to have,” she continues, standing up. I follow her to the kitchen, where she points to a painting hanging on the wall. It’s one of her works titled “Love,” a beautiful, unfinished abstract piece with strokes of vibrant colors.
“This painting, it’s never really finished. Just like love, like relationships. You can’t become complacent; you always have to work at it.”
I study the painting, seeing it in a new light. “It’s beautiful, Mom.”
“I want you two to have it,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “To remind you both that love is always evolving, always growing. It’s worth every bit of effort you put into it.”
I’m taken aback by the gesture, a lump forming in my throat. “Thank you, Mom. That means a lot.” I can’t help but yawn, the stress of the evening finally letting go and leaving in its place exhaustion.
Mom cocks her head to the side. “You better go to bed, baby; you have a hard week coming up. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Nodding, I go to my room, the painting securely under my arm. I set it down on my desk and look at it for a minute before I crawl into my bed, which feels too big without her. The sheets are cold, and there’s a kind of quietness that you don’t notice when someone else is there with you. Trying to sleep, I can’t help thinking about what’s ahead for us—the good times I hope we’ll have and the rough patches we’ll need to get through. As I start to drift off, it’s her face that’s stuck in my mind—her smile, the way her eyes light up. I fall asleep thinking about a future where we’re together, taking on whatever comes our way.
