nodded to the woman. Fortunately, he’d completed his science degree before going pro. While football had been his love, he’d known it could die in a second on the field. And it had two years ago with a damaged left shoulder from a downward drive by a linebacker of the opposing team. So here he stood, suit and tie intact, counting his lucky stars in more ways than one to be taking over Coach McLane’s chemistry classes and the football team.
Smiling, he shook the woman’s hand. Cheryl. Yeah, he remembered her. She’d led the cheerleaders in chants and dance steps at every game in his days on the Fire High team.
He had dated her for five months. The longest relationship he’d had on the island. Before he met Addie Wilson.
Addie, whom he had yet to see.
She’s not coming, a taunting little voice whispered in his ear. Why should she? You dumped her. Left her high and dry. No, make that big and alone.
“I look forward to working with you, Skip,” Cheryl’s voice hauled him back into the celebration. “We’ll have to get together before school starts for some planning. Now that Coach is leaving,” she said with a sad smile, before turning her gaze back to Skip,
“we’ll need to make some changes in the science department.”
He had no idea what changes she meant, but she stated it with such chilly professionalism, that all he could do was nod a second time. “Sure, anytime. I won’t be in the phone book yet, but Coach’ll have my number.”
Moving away, she issued an indifferent, “Great. Meantime, welcome aboard.”
“Thanks.”
When she’d gone, another took her place and so it went—staff, former students, parents of attending students, kids already on the football team. One after the other, they patted Coach on the back, wiped tears over the old man’s retirement…and greeted Skip with lukewarm enthusiasm. The adage that women have long memories pricked like a thorn.
He had no illusion to the length of Addie Wilson’s memory.
An hour later, the stream entering the gym thinned as the chairs filled and it was time for the presentations and announcements. Principal Jeff Holby introduced Skip as a member of the school staff before Coach McLane slung an arm around his shoulder and took the mike.
“I’m thrilled,” the retiring teacher said, “to be passing the torch onto such a fine young man as Skip Dalton. He grew up on Firewood Island, attended its schools and went out into the world to make a name for our little spot on the map.” Grinning at Skip, he continued, “As a quarterback in the NFL, no less. Doggone it, but that makes me mighty proud.”
A few whistles shrilled, with a spattering of applause. More for Coach’s delight, Skip knew, than for his meritorious career.
“After thirty years,” Coach went on, “I can’t think of one person more suitable to take over for me.” Stepping back, he held out the keys to the locker rooms and coaching office. “Skip, these are yours now. Make the team yours. Make the wins yours. We’re behind you every yard and run of the way.”
This time the crowd’s applause rang to the rafters. The words Coach McLane were chanted throughout the room for almost five minutes, before they shifted slowly to Coach Dalton.
And that’s when he saw Addie.
She stood at the back of the gym, on the periphery of a group that had come in late. She wasn’t clapping and chanting, but instead she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, a purse slung over a shoulder…and watched him. He couldn’t help grin. The din ebbed into the distance, and it was all he could do not to jump off the stage and stride across the room.
He wanted to see her up close. He wanted to touch her hand, her soft tawny hair and look into those summer blue eyes. Say her name…
And what…? Beg forgiveness? Tell her what you’ve done, why you’re here, what you hope to achieve?
Concerning her, what did he hope to gain?
The question had burned Skip’s brain since he’d made the decision ten months ago to relocate back to his hometown. At the time, he hadn’t consciously thought about the answer. Hearing of Coach McLane’s retirement, he had called the school, talked to Coach, then Principal Holby and later, the school board. Each had jumped at the chance of having him procure the position of Fire High’s senior coach, and before he gave it an ounce of thought, he’d signed a five-year contract.
For his daughter, first and foremost.
His gaze slipped to where twelve-year-old Becky sat in the front row, blue eyes sparkling as she offered a thumbs-up. His chest hurt with a love he couldn’t fathom. God, every time he looked at the girl, he couldn’t believe his luck in finding her—and getting her back.
The only regret Skip had was for the loss of previous years. But this was now and, dammit, the girl deserved a kind and loving home, a great school and community, but most of all, a family to whom she could attach a sense of belonging.
In Skip’s mind that was achievable on Firewood Island with Addie.
Though he’d have to tread with care there.
Oh, yeah. From what he’d heard through the gossip mill in the two days he’d been back, she was a woman of independent means. And a loner.
Looking at her across the gym, he could imagine that stubborn tilt to her chin. The one that said, I’m here for Coach, not you.
Finally the applause died. Skip said a few words of gratitude and appreciation, then the ceremonies were over. Time to work the crowd, chat up his goals for the upcoming year and hope to introduce his daughter around.
And meet Addie. Before all else, introduce Becky to Addie.
His daughter waited at the bottom of the stage steps. “You were great up there, Dad. They’re gonna love you as coach.”
Her confidence bowled him over, never mind how easily “Dad” slipped into her sentences. When he explained his relationship to her ten months ago, Becky—desperate for family—had taken the news and change with a faith that had broken his heart. Skip hoped that same faith would withstand the test when he told Addie about her daughter.
He put a hand on his child’s shoulder. “We’ll see, honey. I didn’t leave here on the best of terms, remember?” In small increments over the past months, he’d explained as much as he could about himself. But not about Addie. No, that part of his history he hadn’t the guts to disclose. Yet.
“So you’ve said.” Becky’s smile was the moon. “But, hey, once you win a game, the town’ll be so happy to have you.”
Skip chuckled. “We can only hope. Want a hot dog?”
They headed for the side doors. Over Becky’s dark head, Skip searched the room for Addie, for that pretty yellow dress, but she was nowhere to be seen. Had he imagined her in the rear crowd? Probably. She’d been on his mind for months.
Since he’d found Becky.
Admit it, Addie’s been in your head since you left thirteen years ago.
For half his life, she
