A/N: Sorry I've been so slow to update this piece compared to my other stories, but I've been working on the proof galleys my publisher sent me for my new novel.

Chapter Twenty

Matt could have sworn Coach Taylor looked at him strangely when he walked through the door, his hands all full of Christmas presents. He may have been imagining it, but he probably wasn't. The entire situation was awkward, going to your in-laws, knowing they knew your wife had cheated on you. The counselor had told him he could call it that, cheating, no matter what anyone else said, that Julie had to know that was how it felt. Matt wondered if it would have made a difference if Julie had actually slept with the guy, if he would have bothered to try in that situation, if he would still be here at the Taylors' house, feeling like a cuckold in front of his father-in-law. Cuckold. That was the word, right? Matt had come across it in a Shakespeare play Julie had left in the bathroom the first year they were married.

Coach Taylor took the gifts from his hands and led them into the tiled living room, where a Christmas tree was lodged in the corner next to the gas fireplace. Tile, in the living room. Matt didn't get it. Tile was damn hard to keep clean, and Coach Taylor used to like to sprawl on the floor to play with Gracie. But Gracie was too old to play on the floor now, Matt supposed, and, when you were making half a million combined, you could probably afford to hire a maid. It was weird to think how different a world Gracie was growing up in than Julie had. They would have been different people anyway, of course. Gracie was currently sitting cross-legged on the brown leather couch, glued to the football game on the large, flat screen television that hung above the fireplace.

"Want to help me get the grill started?" Coach Taylor asked, and Matt dutifully followed him toward the back door. He hoped this wasn't going to turn into a Matt chat, but he had a bad feeling.

Coach Taylor grabbed the brisket from the fridge on the way out. It was going to be a Texas Christmas Eve dinner, even in Phili. Matt thought Mrs. Coach would probably prepare something more traditional on Christmas day.

When they got out, Coach Taylor heated the outdoor fireplace that was on the left side of the covered patio, and then fired up the propane grill on the right. They had a sort of outdoor kitchen, with a small fridge Coach Taylor opened to offer Matt a beer. Then he turned on the outdoor television that was suspended from the covered porch. He tuned it to the game, but then he muted it. A sure sign there was going to be a Matt chat.

They settled into two wooden rocking chairs, and Matt stared out at the hot tub on the shaded platform in the yard a few feet from the porch. He would never have pictured Coach Taylor in a house like this, in a neighborhood like this, but the man seemed surprisingly at home. He had his wife, Matt supposed, and his daughter, and his football, and his Texas brisket on the propane grill.

They sipped in awkward silence. "How are things going," Coach Taylor finally asked, "between you and Julie?"

What was Matt supposed to answer? I've moved back in, but some nights we fight and I end up sleeping on the couch. Julie cries after every counseling session. We've had sex twice. I was excited and angry both times, and as good as it felt, I couldn't help but think – did she kiss him like this? When she goes out with a friend, I send her two or three texts, because I figure if she's lying, and she's not really with her friend, at least I can make her feel guilty about it. She always answers. Sometimes she sends a selfie of herself with her friend, just to prove she's not with the other man. She's tolerant of my suspicions. She knows it's going to take a while – the counselor told her that. She's trying. And I believe she wants to recommit. I believe it with 80% of my heart, but the other 20%... "A'ight," Matt said.

Why did Coach Taylor have to bring this up at all? Matt felt pathetic, the guy who was cheated on but stuck with his wife anyway, like he wasn't bold enough to just walk away, like she had his heart in a vice.

Coach Taylor stared at the muted game. Then he looked more at the space between Matt and himself than at Matt. "What you're doing," he said, "working at it – it takes a lot of strength. Not many men are that strong."

Matt looked down at his beer bottle.

"My wife would tell you," Coach Taylor continued, "there's no weakness in forgiveness." He got up and turned the meat and then sat back down.

Matt didn't want to talk about this. "Heard the Bloodhounds had a good showing this season."

Coach Taylor laughed. "Yeah, well, that's not saying much given the competition in our conference. You know...this magazine did an article at the beginning of the season on the 20 worst college football programs in the country. Braemore was number two. They wanted to interview me for it." He clenched his teeth and spoke through them, "I turned down the generous offer."

"Yeah, well, now you're probably only the tenth worst, right?"

Coach Taylor chuckled. "Well, at least no one writes articles about our personal lives anymore, like when Tami was principal of Dillon." He shook his head. "There's something to be said for being nobody."

Matt craned his head back at the house. "You never would have bought a place like this in Texas."

Coach Taylor grunted. "Mostly my wife's idea. But it's grown on me. I like the outdoor kitchen. And the hot tub. And the schools are the main thing, for Gracie. I would have liked to get a house we could buy outright though, no mortgage. One of us could lose a job."

"And if one of us did we could still pay the mortgage," said Mrs. Coach from behind him. She'd just come out the sliding glass door with a plate full of corn cobs wrapped in foil.

"But then not for Gracie's college."

"She's going to get a sports scholarship, hon." Mrs. Coach's teeth flashed a brilliant white with her smile.

Coach Taylor took the corn from her and added them to the grill. "So…you are going to let her play football next season?"

Matt had heard about the concussion. He remembered the way Coach had looked when Jason Street went down, that heavy worry in his eyes, the thickness in his throat, like he couldn't swallow, but then he'd gone on with the game. When Gracie got hit hard, though, he'd rushed to the hospital with her. Of course, he wasn't coaching. Matt wondered if he was coaching, if he'd have just kept on coaching.

"You know, we may not even have to have this argument with her, hon. That boyfriend of hers has been talking her into lacrosse."

Coach Taylor slammed the grill shut. "He is not her boyfriend. They're just friends. She isn't allowed to date until she's sixteen."

Mrs. Coach smiled playfully.

"And he plays football, not lacrosse."

"He plays both, sugar. But he's thinking of quitting football."

"Why would he quit football?"

"Because he's not doing well academically and he wants to go down to one sport so he can concentrate more on his studies. Responsible kid, Eric. You should be glad for her good taste."

"Why would he choose lacrosse over football?" Coach Taylor grumbled.

Mrs. Coach put a hand at the back of his neck and kissed his cheek. "I thought you'd like the no tackling part," she said. "The no boys wrapping their arms around Gracie part."

"Plenty of hitting," he grumbled. "And she'd never give up football so easily."

Mrs. Coach shrugged. "She was just telling Julie that she's been invited to help coach the girls Pew Wee flag football team next season."

Coach Taylor seemed to consider this bit of information. "No concussions in coaching."

"You do lose your voice sometimes," Mrs. Coach said, patting him on the small of his back, "and you've lost half your hearing."

"What?"

She slapped him on the butt and went back inside. Smiling, Coach Taylor watched her as she disappeared. He was still smiling when he slid back into the chair next to Matt, and Matt was smiling too.

Walking away from Julie would have meant more than walking away from a one woman. It would have meant walking away from family – his own, with Jackson and Julie – and this one too. Maybe, when he and Julie were fifty, he'd be part owner of that gallery – he was working fewer hours now, spending more time with the family, so he wasn't going to be able to buy in by thirty-five anymore , but, maybe by fifty – and maybe they'd be in a nice house like this, and maybe they'd be flirting like Coach and Mrs. Coach, like they'd never fallen out of love.

Maybe.

THE END