Coach Me

“FOSTER!” a voice booms and I spin around. Hamilton is standing only a few feet away, a clipboard in her hand and her shoulders hunched. I hear footsteps and look to my left, and Torres jogs around the corner, looking from me, to Foster, to Hamilton.

Hamilton drops the clipboard and storms forward. “What in the hell did you just say to my athlete?” she snaps, getting in Foster’s face.

Foster stumbles backwards.

“Did I really just hear those ugly, twisted, evil fucking words pour out of your mouth?” Hamilton points a finger to Foster’s chest and Foster fumbles for words, her eyes misty now.

Oh, how the white women weep when they’re brought to justice.

“You need to get the hell out of my sight right fucking now! As a matter of fact, go to what used to be your office and pack your shit up right now because you’re fucking fired after today.”

“You can’t fire me!” Foster shouts back.

“Oh, trust me, as soon as I talk to the dean and fill him in on what I heard, I’ll make sure you hear the words from me myself. Get the hell out of here. Now!” Hamilton points to the way out of the tunnel and Foster’s nostrils flare as she stares at her, and then at me.

She doesn’t bother saying another word, even though I feel like she wants to blame me for what has just happened. Instead, she storms right out and marches out of the locker room.

Hamilton turns to Melanie, who is petrified, and points a finger at her too. “As for you, you spoiled, rich, ignorant little girl. You’re lucky this is your last year with me, otherwise I’d kick your ass off my team. I’ve had enough of your shit too. Get the hell off this campus before you make me do something I regret.”

Melanie steps around me and Hamilton to scurry away, and she doesn’t look back.

Wow.

I guess Torres was right about Hamilton. She is a good one.

Hamilton draws in a deep breath and closes her eyes, most likely collecting some composure, then she exhales and looks at me, and then Torres.

“I can’t think clearly about what I saw happen with you two,” she says, and my heart sinks. “I expect girls of Amber’s age to do silly things, but you, Torres? I am very disappointed in you right now. I expected more from you, and you’ve just let me down.”

Torres drops his head and stares at the ground.

Hamilton’s blue gaze is on me again. “Go to your apartment and finish packing. I’ll email you both when I want to see you in my office.”

She gives us one final once-over and then she’s marching to her clipboard, picking it up and walking down the wing to her office.

When she’s gone, I’m left standing with Torres.

“Torres, I’m sorry. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you—”

“No, Amber. It’s not. I kissed you back. We broke the rules.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and drops his head and I feel awful.

“I’m going to go before Hamilton comes back,” I murmur. “I don’t want to upset her any more than she already is.” I make my way to the exit, taking slow steps, some part of me hoping Torres will stop me, but he doesn’t.

I look over my shoulder at him, pausing mid-stride, and watch as he goes to one of the benches in the locker room to sit and drop his head. His legs are spread, elbows on his upper thighs, his fingers laced as he hunches over and thinks.

I walk away knowing damn well this isn’t good and that he is in a lot more trouble than I am.

FORTY-FIVE

As horrible as I feel, I don’t regret what Amber and I have.

Still, it’s fucked up how this has all unfolded. I’ve lost the trust of a person who gave me a chance—a person who brought me in under her wing and gave me a career.

I know that I will never be able to make things right with Hamilton again, but I also know that she will keep this between us after she’s had a moment to think.

She’s not vindictive and she’s not a horrible human being. She knows that even the best of us can make mistakes…but this? This will be unforgiveable in her eyes. There’s already so much dissension about males coaching young females and I’ve just tampered with that.

What I did as a coach—as someone who wanted to be here to uplift and train and encourage any and all athletes—has broken that trust.

I push off the bench and hold my head up as I look toward the wing for the offices. I know what I have to do, and even though the idea of it kills me, it’s the best option.

Not for my sake, but for Amber’s.