Page 247 of The Sweetest Return

“You were always dramatic.”

“I was accurate.”

Dre laughed, and Coach Wallace turned to me.

“Mrs. Jones.”

I extended my hand. “Coach Wallace.”

“Good to see this man walking around with sense.”

“I can’t take full credit, but I will accept the compliment.”

Dre looked down at me. “That’s rude.”

“That was gracious.”

Coach Wallace laughed, then nodded toward the practice fields beyond the stadium. “You got five minutes? I want to ask you about Jalen.”

Dre’s attention changed.

He was still my husband, still holding my hand, but Coach Jones stepped forward.

“Jalen Cross?”

“Yeah. He’s been hearing things. Scouts sniffing around. His people are talking about declaring if the advisory board gives him the right grade.”

Dre glanced toward the stadium. “He shouldn’t declare just because folks are telling him what he wants to hear.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“He has real vision,” Dre said. “Good patience. Better than most young backs because he doesn’t panic when the first lane closes. But his pad level gets lazy late in games, and he carries the ball too loose in traffic. Somebody’s going to test that at the next level and make him pay for it.”

Coach Wallace nodded slowly. “Pass pro?”

“He’s better than his tape says, but he guesses. If he can’t identify pressure before the snap, defensive coordinators will eat him alive. Send me his cut-ups after the game. All protection snaps. Not the highlight package.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“You asked me about the draft. Highlights don’t keep men employed. Details do.”

I stood there listening, his hand still holding mine, and felt so proud I had to look away for a second.

Coach Wallace asked about two more players before he let us go. Dre listened, asked questions, gave clear answers, and kept his thumb moving over my hand like some part of him still wanted to make sure I was there.

I was.

All year, that had been the work.

Being there.

There were weeks when Saint Aurelia had me in another city while Dre slept in hotel rooms with the Forge. Nights when we kissed through screens. Mornings when one of us was too tired to be charming. A few arguments that started with schedules before finally getting honest.

But we had learned.

We talked before silence got comfortable. We apologized before pride could settle in. When life pulled, we pulled back toward each other.

Coach Wallace squeezed Dre’s shoulder. “I’ll send you the film.”