Wymack banged on the court wall and cut his thumb across his throat to signal the end of practice. The Foxes peeled off their gloves and yanked at the straps of their helmets, trudging towards the inner door from all corners of the court. They looked like slimy, sweaty zombies, thoroughly exhausted from a long day of workouts and study. Tonight's practice had been particularly rough, but damn if they didn't give it their all. He was so proud of the shitheads this year, but god forbid if he told them too often. He'd never live it down.

He waited for them in the meeting room, leaning against the entertainment center so it dug into his hips with a hard edge. They knew the drill. It was time for him to pep them up for the game tomorrow and tell them the new passcode. The Wilkes-Meyers Hornets should be a breeze for them now, but they couldn't afford to sit back on their laurels, not if they wanted to make it to semis.

Abby wandered out from her office, clasping a manila folder in her hand, eyes raking him over, lingering at his pelvic region. Wymack suppressed a shiver. She had that clinical look in her eyes, so he wasn't surprised when she frowned and said, "I think you're due for a check up on your hip. Got time tonight?"

Wymack checked his watch, keeping an eye on Abby in his peripherals as she approached to stand next to him at the front of the room. He was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy and there was some lingering research to do on their opponents tonight. Normally, he'd say no, but he tsked and shrugged, "If you feed me."

Abby looked amused. "You really should learn how to cook."

Wymack was about to spit out a comeback, seeing as he could kind of cook, at least the easy stuff, when Andrew's gang sans Neil (who apparently joined some time ago at an unknown but undoubtedly questionable cost) strolled into the room. Nicky, ever nosey, was watching them curiously. Wymack shut his mouth.

"Hey boys," Abby said in greeting.

"Hey Abby," Andrew chirped, "I hear you're having a dinner party tonight. Were you going to invite us or don't you love us anymore?"

Before Abby could respond, because she'd probably concede, David cut in: "Grab something quick from the caf and go straight to bed. We're leaving at the ass crack of dawn."

Andrew laughed, "Of course, Coach. Right away, Coach."

"Don't worry, Coach," Nicky added with a wink, "We get it. We won't interrupt your date night."

"Date night?" Dan asked, before Wymack could chew Nicky out, "Who's got a date night?" Renee and Allison followed on her heels.

"Abby's going to examine Coach's hip tonight," Andrew explained, smiling broadly at Wymack to rub in the fact he'd been eavesdropping, "He won't let us come along."

"Because we all know 'examine' means—"

"Hemmick!" Wymack said, "Stop yapping and park your ass down before I make you." Still, he didn't miss the knowing look Nicky shared with Dan.

Wymack knew the Foxes were taking bets on the odds he was hooking up with Abby. It wasn't discussed in front of him, not on purpose, but he knew his kids and he recognized the smug looks they shot at each other. They were taking bets. Definitely.

Part of him was surprised that Dan appeared to be in agreement with Nicky. She was the only one of the Foxes he trusted with any of his dysfunctional side, though she was, for a lack of a better term, an optimist.

It didn't take long for Matt for to wander in, but, as usual, they were waiting on Neil to finish up.

Just when he was getting tired of waiting, Andrew piped up. "Coach, can we start already? Kevin's getting cranky."

Kevin looked like his normal pissed-off post-practice self, but Wymack was mildly surprised to see Neil sitting unobtrusively at Andrew's side. He hadn't seen the boy come in. Neil was particularly talented at sneaking by under the radar, except, of course, when it was most important for him to do it. Wymack remembered Kathy's show with annoyance.

"Okay, you miserable scamps," Wymack declared, slapping the Hornet's file down on the entertainment center to get their attention, "We're boarding the bus at 5 am tomorrow. If you're not there, you'll get the pleasure of waking up to my foot buried in your ass at 5:01 am. Am I clear?"

An unenthusiastic mumbling chorus of "Yes, Coach," was heard, though Wymack suspected only half of the Foxes bothered at all.

"You can go back to sleep until 7, but then we're having breakfast. By 11 am, I expect you each to be sitting up straight and walking laps around the bus in turns. That's the last call for any snacks as well. As soon as we arrive, we'll head out to the court for a warm-up. The rest is standard. Any questions?"

Some of the blank stares weren't openly hostile, so Wymack considered his spiel a success.

"As for the gate, its new code is: 9284. 9284. Got it? Don't you dare text me five minutes after practice was supposed to start telling me your sorry ass forgot. 9284."

The Foxes shared a pondering look.

"Numbers from Abby's license plate," Neil supplied quietly, never missing a detail. Even Abby looked surprised.

Wymack sighed as ten pairs of eyes swiveled on him.

"Wow, Coach, creepy stalker, much?" Allison said, eyes wide.

"Get out," Wymack said, uninterested in the conversation. "I don't want to see any of your faces until 5 am tomorrow. Not a minute before and not a minute later."

The Foxes were as excited to leave as he was to see them go.

"Do you think we should look at our peaking schedule?" he asked Abby when they left, "I think we should plan to go farther this year." Most of the Foxes didn't know it, but Wymack actually tried to incorporate real coaching strategies where he could. Peaking was a technique to structure practices to have athletes at a physical peak for their biggest competition. He'd love to get his athletes to follow a diet or at least cut out drugs and alcohol. The concept was laughable with the Foxes, though, so he wasn't holding his breath.

"Let's not, tonight," Abby said. She turned and headed for the door. "Meet me at my place for homemade pizza, wine, and a pelvic exam, creepy stalker."

Wymack turned to gather his folders, hoping he wasn't blushing, not that she was looking.

He didn't know when he fell in love with Abby, but he knew he was bad at it. No, they weren't "boning" as he overheard Nicky say once, though they did, once. That was when she was just his hot therapist. David knew how to have wicked sex with strangers. He knew how to coach kids almost as a father-figure. He barely knew how to have friends. He had absolutely no idea how to be a lover. He tried that once, with Kayleigh. And he fucked it up. He fucked it up so bad.

He never wanted to do that to Abby.