Chapter 3
I wipe under my eyes with my fingers, removing any excess eyeliner that’s not where it’s supposed to be. I check my makeup one more time in the rear view mirror before getting out of the car. Make-up’s neat. Hair’s in place. I’m good to go.
I walk into the middle school at a brisk pace. I hope the meet didn’t start yet. I’m here to support my son, I repeat over and over on the walk inside. I am. This seems to be the only way Timmy and I can connect. He’s pretty much shut me out of everything else in his life. School. Friends. Girls.
Our conversations consist of me asking questions and him giving one word answers about any of these subjects. Wrestling though, he’ll expand.
Timmy talks about moves and take downs I never heard of. Tells me how Coach Carter has them run a mile at the beginning and end of practice. Whoever finishes the mile first is guaranteed a match at the next meet.
The man has my son motivated if nothing else. I like that. What I don’t like is that my heart does a tiny blip every time I hear Coach Carter’s name. Nothing crazy. Just a small temporary spike in pace. It’s ridiculous because not only is he a teacher at my son’s school, and Timmy’s wrestling coach, he’s much younger than me. Much, much younger.
I sit near two of the moms whose faces I recognize from years of attending back-to-school nights and school activities. We exchange smiles. I notice one of the mothers, Elaina, looks good. Very good. She’s wearing tight jeans and a shirt that shows off enough cleavage for whispers to follow behind her, but not low enough to be deemed inappropriate to wear at this sort of function. Her blonde hair is blown straight as a pin, and her make up looks as if it’s been airbrushed on.
The other mom, Lana is dressed a lot more casually, in a pair of yoga pants and a long shirt. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and her face is clear, devoid of any make-up.
“I swear, I’d give up manicures for a year to spend one night with him,” Elaina leans over and whispers to Lana. “I mean, look at that ass. It’s so fucking tight. I bet he’s big. Thick where it counts. I want to lick every part of him.”
And I want to throw up.
Lana looks around to make sure no one overheard the inappropriate remark. But I did. And I don’t like it. I know who they’re talking about, and she shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts, let alone verbalize them.
Far too annoyed over this woman’s obvious lust for Mr. Carter, I turn from her and glance at the target of her desire. What annoys me more is that in his loose fitting jogging pants and the way his too tight t-shirt pulls across his broad, muscular chest, he’s stirring up the same dark desires in me that he’s encouraging in Elaina. At least she’s brave enough to own them. Me, I’ll keep them hidden.
Mr. Carter walks down the line, from one boy to the next, giving each a few words and a pat on the shoulder. He takes a little longer with Timmy than he did with the other boys. I smile, appreciative of the extra attention he’s showing my son.
Timmy’s been responding to it, too. He isn’t talking much to me, but his body language seems more upbeat. He’s standing taller and seems more confident. Thankfully, I haven’t had any further calls from Mr. Butler. I can only think Mr. Carter is working some sort of magic on my son.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, or that my eyes are glued to him, Mr. Carter looks up and meets my stare. I’m caught. I feel my face heat and fill with color. Shit, I’m probably redder than Elaina’s lipstick.
I play it cool, look away and twirl a strand of blonde hair around my pointer finger. Not knowing what else to do, I look over at the timer on the wall. Like I really care about the countdown until the start of the match.
I shouldn’t feel so awkward, so self-conscious. After all, he’s speaking to my son. I’m a single mom. It’s my responsibility to make sure there’s nothing unsavory going on. Not that I think there is, but I have every right to pay attention to the interaction and make sure it’s appropriate.
While this is all true, I know none of it is why I’m unnerved. I can’t fool myself into believing these excuses are why my stomach tumbles, and I’m finding it hard to swallow. Shit. This is like high school all over again.
I try to brave another glance at Mr. Hotness. When my eyes land on him, they find him staring back. Dark green eyes. Rough and tumultuous, like the ocean after a storm. Fuck I made a spectacle of myself and he noticed. And now he’s pissed. I wonder who else noticed.
I look at the other parents around me. If anyone caught this interaction, no one is letting on. Especially not Lana and Elaina. Thank goodness.
I can only imagine what he’ll say to me after the meet. “I must say, Mrs. Doherty, while I’m used to stares from the twelve year old girls I teach, I’m not used to them coming from my students’ mothers.”
Fuck this is so bad. I hold my head, using my hands to shield my eyes like a set of blinders as I stare down at the ground. God, I don’t want to see the look on his face and if I don’t keep my eyes blocked, I’ll end up looking at him again.
I want to die. I better rush out and wait for my son in the parking lot when the meet ends. But not before I watch Timmy.
As the event starts, I keep my eyes trained on the mats in front of me where the matches take place. As much as I try not to look away from there, I can’t help myself. My eyes travel to my son. He looks happy standing on the side lines cheering for his team mates.
I’m not sure where we are in the meet but the lightweights have all finished. The boys in the last two matches look to be around my son’s weight. Timmy heads out to the center of the mat. The round starts and his opponent lunges for my son. Timmy avoids him.
This is already an improvement from his very first match where he was slammed down and pinned with in the first twenty seconds. I’m sitting at the edge of the bleacher seat cheering my son on for avoiding being brought down, as if he’s about to win a national title.
The first round ends. He made it without letting his opponent score. It’s a small win, but it’s a start.
The second round is more of the first with the other boy going aggressively at my son. He brings Timmy down to the mat this time and scores points but my boy scrambles and gets right back up.
I’m on my feet at the start of the third and final round. Timmy never made it this far before. He still hasn’t scored any points, but he’s holding his own, and that’s a huge improvement. Talk about your proud mama moments.
The match ends with the buzzing of the timer. The referee raises the other boy’s hand signaling to the onlookers that he’s the winner, but for me, the fact that Timmy went three full rounds and lost on points is a major win.
Timmy runs off the mat making room for the next set of challengers. My eyes follow him straight to Mr. Carter. The two share a celebratory high five. I can’t help the smile on my lips as Mr. Carter ruffles my son’s hair. Nor can I help my eyes from lingering on the man as Timmy runs off to join the rest of the boys on the sideline.
I’m not prepared for the ear to ear smile on the coach’s face when his eyes meet mine, or the heavy pounding in my chest at the wink of his eye. I think it’s directed at me. At least I hope it is.
It can’t be. I’m projecting my secret wish on him, that’s all. But he’s looking directly at me.
I take a quick look around before my eyes meet his again. Mr. Carter’s smile widens as our eyes lock on each other once more. My stomach tumbles and swirls then tumbles again. Before I completely unravel like a teenager with her first crush, he turns his attention back to the mat and the boys wrestling in front of him.
The spell Mr. Carter had me under is broken. I take a deep breath. It’s the first step in slowing down my fluttering heart. I keep my eyes on what’s happening directly in front of me for as long as I can, which isn’t long enough.
I feel the heavy weight of prodding eyes on me. I chance a quick glance over at Lana and Elaina who glare at me open mouthed. Shit. They must have caught that little exchange.
It’s not like I did anything wrong. Mr. Carter was just proud of Timmy, the same way I am. That’s all it was. A mutual show of pride and respect.