Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

LEMON

I didn’t see Hansley on Monday. Actually, I saw him, but only from afar. He was always surrounded. Once, I thought he was coming toward me, but then fucking Zarek Weaver intercepted and before long, it was the end of the day.

We talked via messenger throughout the day, and he said many times that he kept trying to see me, but things were always getting in the way.

When I got home, I yelled at karma and fate and whatever else out there telling them I want them to stay out of this. Let me ruin this on my own. I don’t need them to get in the way and drive us apart by always putting something between us.

Believe me, if something is going to put him off, it’s going to be something about me. Just let me have my moment until that happens! Don’t I deserve at least that?!

The thing is, I know he can’t just drop everything for me. That’s both unfair and unrealistic. I spent the entire flight looking into his wife, just to see if she’s as great as he says she is. No one is that perfect. And yet, this damn woman appears that perfect.

Which is rather impressive if you think about it. The internet is a cruel place, and I can’t find one legitimate article or picture that paints her any way other than a damn angel.

I rarely feel bad about anything but yeah, I feel bad for having a hand in hurting her. A big hand. I basically built the hand!

As it turns out, looking up Jessica Bardot was the wrong thing to do. I was plagued with dreams that night of Hansley telling me he’s getting back together with his wife. And throughout the day yesterday, I kept thinking the same thing as the minutes went by and we couldn’t seem to cross paths once.

Now I’m sitting in my car chewing on my lip. He told me that if I’m feeling insecure or worried, if I have any doubts, I should tell him. At the time, it was comforting. Now I just feel pathetic. I’m a grown ass man. I shouldn’t need that kind of assurance.

Pushing open my door, I grab my bag and travel cup, and head to my office. My door is unlocked, which makes me frown. I almost always lock my door on the way out. Then again, I was preoccupied yesterday, so it’s entirely possible that I missed it.

Leaving the door wide open, I step inside and set my things down as I take a cursory look. My gaze freezes on my desk. There’s a single flower there. A stunning… something, with a deep blue and purple base, white petals, with blue and purple tips.

Swallowing, I take a step toward it and find the little red heart with the words ‘thinking of you’ and the initials HB. My heart stutters so dangerously that I fall into my chair before I end up on my face. Tears sting my eyes as I pick it up and bring it to my nose.

In all my forty-three years, no one has given me flowers. Not once. If asked, I’d say I didn’t care. That had been the truth. But that was also before I’d been given one.

It means he’s thinking of me. He was thinking about me enough to stop and buy me a flower.

Sitting back, I close my eyes with what’s probably a stupidly sappy smile on my face. I leave the flower leaning against my lips, right under my nose, so I can continue to fill my lungs with its soft perfume. How can I make this flower last forever? I want to keep it always.

A knock on my door has my eyes snapping open and a scowl on my face. The scowl deepens when I see Zarek standing just outside my open door.

“Yes?”

His eyes narrow in on my flower, but I determinedly ignore it and leave my flower just where it is. He crosses the room and hands me an envelope. “I know your aversion to email and since I can’t guarantee you’re going to read anything until I see you do it, I’m hand delivering this.”

Reluctantly, I lean forward to accept it.

“Let me know if you have any questions.”

I nod and wait for him to leave. He doesn’t. “You want me to read it right now?”

“Yes. I want to make sure you read it and not just tell me you did.”

Rolling my eyes, I set my flower in my lap and tear open the envelope. Letting my eyes scan the letter without actually reading it, I suddenly pause when I see the words ‘donation to the football team in the sum of $20,000 to be used at Coach Lemon Frost’s discretion.’ I read the letter more thoroughly to hunt down who it came from, but it distinctly says ‘anonymous.’

I bring my gaze back to Zarek. “Who did this?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. If someone knows, they’re not saying. We were wondering if you had an idea. I’m sure you’d like to honor them on your webpage.”

I would. Loudly. But I shake my head. “I don’t,” I admit. “Who would give me that kind of money?”

Zarek snorts and I glare at him again.

“Thank you,” I say pointedly and look at the door. “I read it. I have no questions. Except… it can roll over to next year, right?”

He nods. “All your loose funds can. Especially when they’re via donations and fundraising. What’s unspent from your budget will be absorbed back into the larger budget and redistributed next year.”

“So, if I rolled over $5,000 and my budget is $60,000, I’d get $65,000?” I ask.

Zarek shakes his head. “No. You should always spend up to your budget. Every penny that you can. The committee will take a look at any overage as we’re allotting you too much money and they may lower your budget for the following year.”

“Being frugal doesn’t pay off.”

He grins. “No. Not in the land of budgets.”

“It’s more likely that I’d get $55,000.”

“Yes,” Zarek agrees. “You should hit your cost screen first, then dip into the fundraising or grants as needed.”

“Where do sponsorships fall?” I ask.

“Somewhere in the middle. It’s best if you have set sponsorship expenditure. Studies have shown that if a company knows exactly where their money is going, they’re more likely to consider sponsoring/donating.”

“Ah,” I muse.

“That’s why a lot of coaches will put the sponsor’s logos on different things. Alka’s soccer balls always have the bank’s logo on them because they specifically give for the purchase of new equipment every year.”

“If you tell me this kind of knowledge was in an email, I’m going to lose my mind,” I grumble.

Zarek laughs. “It’s not. Outside of your independent research, it’s not necessarily something you’d instinctively know unless you’ve been talking to others and sharing knowledge. Just so you know—fundraising is much the same way. You will always get a better turn out if people know exactly what their money is going toward. Saying ‘the football team needs to raise $10,000’ is informative to an extent. But saying ‘the football team needs to raise $10,000 for repairs to the goal posts’ will make a lot more people pay attention. That’s tangible. Something they can see and know that their hard-earned money went to a good cause.”

“That makes sense in my own donating habits,” I say, frowning. “These things should be taught in school.”

He smiles. “There’s a lot that should be taught in school that isn’t.”

I glance down at the letter. “One more question. I’ve just been keeping a tab of what money I’ve spent and adding my fundraising money into the pot. Is my budget gone now? How do you know which money to draw from when I submit a purchase order if I didn’t know that I needed to specify?”

“Generally speaking, I always approve it to your budget first because I understand how the budget committee works, unless you tell me otherwise. Which you never have because you didn’t know to. Not a big deal. I’ve made sure your budget is spent before your grants and sponsorships. Believe it or not, I am looking out for you and your team when I question your spending, Lemon.”

If I were a better person, I’d thank him and maybe feel a little sheepish for being such a dick to him for all these years. But I’m still angry that he has Declan when I wanted Declan. I’m irritated that he always uses email when he knows I hate email.

Glancing at my letter again, I think about the fact that he didn’t send this via email this time. I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why didn’t you just email this to me? Why did you bring it in person?”

“You never read emails,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The school policy is that everyone communicates via email. It’s a paper trail protection for all parties. So, yes, I sent this via email, but I knew you weren’t going to read it. But this one thing I thought you’d really want to know about. I know how frustrated and stressed you’ve been concerning your budget this year.”

I hate that he sounds so human and nice. Thoughtful. With a heavy sigh, I grit out, “Thank you.”

He laughs as he heads for the door. “That about killed you, didn’t it?”

I scowl as he smiles at me. “It’s not in email. You have no proof that I said those words.”

His laughter follows him down the hall. This has been super informative. Bringing the flower back to my lips, I stare at the letter and try to fathom who could possibly have sent this kind of money. Is it a coincidence that it’s the exact sum of money that was stripped from my budget at the beginning of the year?

Then my mind wanders to the other things Zarek told me about fundraising and sponsors. I didn’t know that, but it makes complete sense. It’s not like I don’t spend on very specific things. I could totally rearrange some spending so that the tangible things I need to buy all the time are what we’re announcing we need money for.

I’m left thinking about this throughout the day. It’s probably too late to rearrange what we’re doing this year, but next year, we can definitely strategize better. Not that I’ll admit this even on my deathbed, but I’m a little excited to have this new knowledge. Only a little.

After practice, I head straight to my car, but pause when I see that Hansley’s truck is still here. Chewing the inside of my lip, I drop off my things in my car and head back through campus toward the arena with my flower in hand.

The building is closed. Almost all the doors on the front are locked. I’m getting ready to be pissed, but I find one that’s not and step inside. It’s instantly cooler. The doors to the stadium seats are propped open with bright lights coming from deep within.

When I step up to the doors, I find a lone figure on the ice. He’s not dressed in gear—just a hoodie and a hat as he moves around the ice with a stick. For a minute, I’m transfixed as I watch him. How elegantly and smoothly he glides. As if he’s weightless, and friction isn’t an obstacle.

After ensuring that he’s definitely alone, I make my way down the stairs. It takes me several more minutes to circle the perimeter until I find access to the ice at an enormous opening built for a Mack Truck. That’s where I pause, leaning on the half wall to watch him, once more with my flower against my face so I can breathe it in.

Hansley doesn’t see me for quite some time because he doesn’t look up as he glides around. Mostly just skating, but sometimes he moves with purpose as he attacks a stationary puck. He flies around imaginary obstacles, fakes a direction, and takes a shot.

Just as I’m beginning to shiver, Hansley finally looks up. His eyes lock on mine immediately, as if he’s drawn there. I smile tentatively, wondering if maybe he doesn’t want to see me today. Maybe he’d rather be on his own and I’m suddenly being clingy.

He smiles and comes toward me. His hands cup the sides of my face as he kisses me deeply. I practically melt in his hold.

When he lets me go, he leans over the wall and points. “Lift that and pull it back. The wall will open.”

I do as he says and Hansley pulls me onto the ice. He’s already nearly a half a foot taller than me but the additional couple inches from his skates make me feel tiny.

“I’ve never been on ice like this,” I warn him, keeping my knees locked. My entire body stiffens.

Hansley chuckles. He drops his stick and takes my flower from me, a wide smile on his face, and sets it on the edge of the wall. I yelp as he pulls me off my feet, wrapping me around him like a koala. I grip him tightly, terrified he’s going to fall.

At first, we float around. He doesn’t make any effort to skate at all as he hugs me tightly.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Definitely needed you,” he says quietly, making my heart skip.

“You could have said so,” I tell him.

He nods. “I’ve been abnormally busy, or I would have. I swear, everyone needs something right now.”

“What do you need?”

I feel his smile against my neck, his nose cold. “This. So much this.”

Hansley skates around a while with me in his arms. We don’t speak much as he moves effortlessly on the ice. I’m still terrified that we’re going to fall and split our heads open, but there isn’t even a moment when there’s any indication that this is a struggle.

It takes me a while to realize I’m shivering, not from fear of falling, but because I’m cold. I try to burrow into him further, breathing him in. Enjoying being in his arms.

He eventually picks up his stick without dropping me, and my flower, and walks me down the hallway and to his office. Sitting me on top of his desk, he takes my flower and sets it beside me before pulling his hoodie off and over my head. I sputter laughter as I push my arms and head through the holes. “I’m fine,” I insist.

“You’re freezing,” he counters, dropping onto a chair to unlace his skates.

I hug my arms around me, both to warm up and to smother myself in his hoodie. When he’s back in sneakers, he’s between my legs with his hands on my thighs and his forehead against mine.

“Thank you for coming to see me tonight,” he says. “I’ve really fucking missed you.”

My chest gets all gross and tight and hot. I press my cold hands to either side of his neck. “Thank you for my flower. It’s… really nice.”

Hansley is a perceptive man. I’m sure he heard in my voice that those were the best words I could articulate to tell him how much it actually meant to me.

“Come on,” he says, pulling me to his chest and wrapping me up again. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough school for the day.”

He could ask me to join him in Hell, and I’d totally go. Wherever this man is, is where I want to be.