Coach Tammy guessed; Matt Bomer?”
“Nope! Guess again!”
“Taylor Lautner?”
“I’m a girl!”
“Can’t blame an undersexed gay guy for dreaming! Goldie Hawn?” “No, it’s me!” I release him and stretch out my arms.
“Isabella!” He opens his arms to me and squeezes me, “What are you doing here? Oh my God. You’re so skinny!”
One glance and he back away shaking his head suspiciously, “No! You’re not.”
“No what?” I said playing dumb. “Where’s Scott?”
I shake my head, “It’s a long story.”
“I don’t finish for another four hours, you want to wait around? I can give you my keys.”
“Please?”
“Sure, I’ll be home soon. Help yourself to food if you’re hungry.” “Thanks Coach.”
I can’t help but reminisce about the time I found Scott all beat up after getting into that fight with his father. I felt so sorry for him, his face and ego were all bruised up. Coach Tammy gave him a place to stay when he couldn’t go back home. He’s like a second parent every kid needs. He never casts judgment, just provides the support needed to get through the rough times.
I’m beginning to drift off when the key in the door lock startles me. I scoot the recliner back up into a sitting position and glance over at the stove from where I’m sitting to see how much longer until dinner is ready.
Earlier, I found a lasagna in the freezer that I placed in the oven for when coach gets home. I figure it will be nice for him to come home to an oven cooked meal even if it isn’t from scratch. I get up and start heading for the kitchen.
“Isa?” he calls out.
“I’m in here,” I say loudly enough for him to hear me from the foyer. “You made dinner?”
“Yes, it’s done in five minutes, it’s just salad and the lasagna you had in your freezer, do you want red wine or Pepsi?”
“Wine please.”
I place the salad out in the middle of the table and start pouring the Merlot. I turn the chandelier on in the dining room and played some classical music on the television for background noise, “Do you mind if I join you for a glass?”
“Help yourself Isa, this is lovely,” he comments. “Thanks.”
I place our drinks on the table and then place two squares of lasagna at each setting.
“I could get used to this,” he comments. I smile warmly at him.
Coach starts cutting into his lasagna, “What happened with you and Scott?”
I took a sip of my drink, “A few months ago, we were at a friend’s house and that boy I used to date before Scott and I became pairs made a pass at me.”
“So, you batted him off like a good girl in love with your husband I assume?”
“Well, not exactly,” I grin sheepishly.
“You kissed him back and then confessed to him?”
“Well, not exactly,” I start chuckling lightly. He knows how to lighten a terrible conversation.
“You heterosexuals are such sluts,” he teases. “You kissed him back and didn’t tell Scott.”
“Yes, that would be more accurate.” “Did you sleep with him?”
“No.”
“Well, if you were going to get shit from Scott you might as well go all the way. How did Scott find all this out if you didn’t tell him?”
“He saw me shortly after the kiss and noticed my lipstick was smeared. He was so angry he didn’t speak to me for three months after that. He said I hurt him.”
“That seems harsh,” Coach says siding with me. “It’s not like Scott to overreact. If you slept with him, then the crime would have suited the punishment.”
“You’re right, he doesn’t usually overreact. He’s the level headed one.” “So then what happened?” Coach asks.
“He agreed to meet with me and talk three long months later. During the separation, I got severely depressed and pretty much stopped eating.”
“I can see the weight loss,” said Coach Tammy, “a little too much.” “That’s not all.”
“Go on,” he encourages.
“After we break up, Scott drives me back to Port-harcot when a friend of ours goes into Labour. We visit them at the hospital and bump into my ex-boyfriend Michael again. It turns out that he’s works for the Nigerian Skating Association. When he sees us, he senses our discord and calls us out on our relationship troubles. He gives us an ultimatum.”
“First of all, why is your ex-boyfriend working for the NSA? It sounds like he’s stalking you. He’s obviously gunning for you. Second of all, are you sure he has the power to cast any ultimatum over you and Scott?”
“He sure does, apparently he has a lot of pull there.” “What’s his name?”
“Michael.”
“Son-of-a-bitch, you’re not kidding.”
“Michael said we either speak to the press in a press conference that he will set up or eventually it will leak out and they will tear us to shreds.”
“You wisely chose the press conference, I take it?” “We did.”
“When is it?”
“This Monday at six, it will be held at the Nigerian Skating Association (NSA). So after we finished visiting with our friends we drove back to Port-harcot and I packed my bags.”
“I’m so sorry for you and Scott, but I don’t like where this is going,” Coach says cautiously.
“I’ve got nowhere to go,” I blurt. “What about your classes?”
“I dropped out, I want to take a year off.”
“Oh my, what did your overbearing mother say to that one? I’m sure Scott isn’t pleased either. He always wants what’s best for you.”
“Mom totally doesn’t know.”
“You better tell her. That woman won’t think twice about castrating me if she knows I’m stowing you away and not forcing you to go back to school.”
“She doesn’t have to find out right away,” I say desperately, “I have an idea on my way here.”
“She does if you plan on staying under my roof for any longer than sixty- seconds, I insist you tell her, does she know you and Scott are over.”
“Along with other sordid details.” “What’s the plan?”
“I was hoping you would let me be your assistant coach for free room and board. Whatever money I draw in for lessons, you keep. Think about it Coach, just being an Olympic Champion has to carry some weight in the skating world, I can boost your profits.”
“On what condition?”
“You help me get me back into shape.”
“To compete or for shows?”
“Shows.”
“Alone or with a partner?”
“Alone.”
“I’d be more then happy to help you, but if you thought I was tough on you and Scott before, just wait to see how I am on you now. Make yourself look like a million bucks for the press conference. Use it to your advantage. They’re going to be fighting for you to sign.”
“Bring it on Coach,” I say sipping the last of my wine.
“Inform your mother, or I’m having no part in it,” he reminds me. “You’re scared!” I tease.
“Damn right!” he laughs.
I do the dishes before retiring to the room that Scott stayed in when he was here. I try calling mom but there’s no answer, so I settle with a text to her. I’m apologetic as I explain that I tried calling her first before resorting to texting big news like this. I leave her Coach’s number and when we finally have a chance to talk, she is surprisingly supportive. Knowing my mother, I think she is wishing for a reconciliation between Scott and myself.