He stared at me.
Then he said quietly, “That’s when it’s exciting. The boys are young, they know what they’re doin’ but they still got a lot to learn. They’re hungry. College, part of ‘em is hard, part of ‘em is soft and greedy. It’s about the game just as much as it’s about tail and, if you’re good, money. My coach in high school was the shit. He taught me early that I should always focus on the game.” He smiled then continued, “That’s not to say I didn’t take my share of tail and wasn’t glad to get the money but all the way to the pros, it was about the game, the team, winning. Having that served me well when I enlisted. I already understood team. I understood focus. I understood doing what it takes to win.”
“So coach high school football.”
His arms gave me a squeeze and his face got serious.
“Baby, this is it, this is us, you and me, that’s the future. You wanna tie yourself to a high school football coach?”
All right.
That pissed me right… the fuck… off.
And Sam saw it or felt it or both.
“Kia?” he called.
“You know, it sucks you’re big, tall, strong and fast because I’d like to get a punch in right about now and I figure you have the skills to deflect it.”
His brows drew together. “Come again?”
“Sam,” I hissed, my face getting super close to his. “You told me you had a burning desire to clean toilets, sure, that would kinda freak me out but if that’s what you wanted to do, I would not care. Be a janitor. Be a high school football coach. Have your own network talk show. Build Zen gardens. I don’t care. If this is it, you and me, that’s all I need. Just as long as I’m me and you’re Sam and we’re happy. What you just asked is about Sampson Cooper and I’m not in love with him.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“Yes it was.”
He stared at me.
Then he grinned.
Then he muttered, “Fuck, it was.”
I rolled my eyes.
Sam rolled me to my back with him on top of me.
Then he asked, “You’re cool with me being a janitor?”
I rolled my eyes again.
Sam’s body shaking with laughter shook mine and I rolled my eyes back to him.
Then, in all seriousness, I answered, “Yes.”
Sam’s laughter died.
Then with warm intensity in his eyes, he whispered, “Fuck, I love you.”
My anger died and my arms slid around him.
Then I smiled at him.
Then I whispered back, “Good.”
Epilogue
Heaven
One year later…
“Hey, Mrs. Cooper!” I heard shouted and I looked up from the tray of sliced tomatoes, onions and lettuce leaves I was arranging to the front door.
Three of Sam’s boys were crowded there, grinning at me.
“Yo,” I replied.
Their grins got bigger. They knew me and thought I was a dork. In fact, Demaine, who was standing there, was brash and hilarious and at the barbeque Sam and I had for the boys at the end of last season, told Sam right out, “Your woman is hot, Mr. Cooper, but she’s a total dork.”
Sam had burst out laughing and replied, “You are not wrong.”
I didn’t take offense. My husband thought I was hot so I figured I was allowed to be a dork.
I gave them a half wave; they gave me chin lifts and moved out to the crowded deck.
This year’s barbeque was pre-season as Sam decreed from here on out it would be. Pre-season barbeque at our house, post-season party at Skippy’s Crab Shack. Team building. No parents. No girlfriends. Only coaches, boys and me.
Considering last year Sam grilled hamburgers (that I made), hotdogs (that Sam “prepared” by expending the effort of slicing open the package with a knife) and brats (again with Sam and a knife) and I did everything else, I disregarded Sam’s “team and Mrs. Cooper only” rule and called in reinforcements.
That was why Maris, Mom, Dad, Luci, Hap and Skip were there.
Well, I didn’t call Skip. He just showed as Skip was wont to do randomly and with relative frequency but always in a bad mood about something though it usually (and luckily) wasn’t about Sam or me. He currently wasn’t doing anything but drinking our beer and being surly but, whatever. The kids thought he was a stitch mainly because he was.
My eyes scanned the deck and I smiled to myself.
Then my eyes dropped to what my hands were doing and I caught sight of my wedding rings.
My smile got huge.
Sam was Sam, always and to everyone who even slightly knew him.
But my wedding rings were the wedding rings worn by the wife of Sampson Cooper.
It was safe to say Sam did not fuck around when he bought me my wedding rings. The solitaire was enormous, set high, the platinum band embedded with smaller diamonds. The wedding band also was set with diamonds. It was not borderline ostentatious. It just was.