Portrait of Coach Hunt

 

Coach Hunt is the central character of Big Man Goes Down novel by Kreston Bach. 

 

 Coach Hunt woke slowly, not to the sound of an alarm or sunlight creeping across the room, but to the distant rush of the shower running.

For a moment he lay still, staring up at the high plaster ceiling of the bedroom. The mansion’s master suite was cavernous, designed in another century and for people who had believed space itself was a display of wealth. Tall windows framed by velvet drapes let in the pale gray of early morning. Somewhere outside, birds had begun their lively conversations in the hedges.

He turned his head slightly as if to test how much it ached. On the nightstand beside him sat a glass of whiskey, half full and forgotten. He frowned faintly because it explained the heaviness behind his eyes.

One of his powerful hands rubbed across his face and he exhaled. His thick dark mustache shifted under his palm as he yawned. Even half-awake, his presence seemed to fill the entire bed. At nearly seven feet tall, Hunt was used to furniture feeling small beneath him.

Memories of the night before drifted back in fragments. He remembered there was music and even laughter. It started coming back to him when the shower stopped.

The man sighed quietly as the bathroom door opened and a man stepped out, steam following him like a ghost. He was handsome, about his own age, athletic, still toweling his hair dry. Strawberry blond curls clung to his forehead, and his smile was easy and hopeful.

“Morning,” he said.

Hunt raised an eyebrow slightly but gave a polite nod. “Morning, Lance.”

Lance moved casually around the room, comfortable in the way people often were after spending the night in someone else’s bed. He had wrapped a towel around his waist but didn’t seem particularly concerned with modesty.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said. “I had to take a hot shower.”

Hunt pushed himself up slightly against the headboard. His massive shoulders shifted beneath the sheets.

“No,” he said calmly and lied. “I was about to get up.”

Lance grinned. “Good. I know you’re not a morning person.”

Hunt didn’t answer. His eyes flicked briefly toward the whiskey glass again. Lance sat at the edge of the bed, looking pleased with himself.

“You know, I actually called in sick to work this morning,” he said.

That caught Hunt’s attention.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” the redhead said with bright enthusiasm. “Figured… why rush off? We could spend the day together, since you said you don’t have practice today.”

Hunt’s expression barely changed, but the silence that followed was long enough to become uncomfortable. Lance’s smile faded slightly.

Hunt swung his legs out of the bed and stood. Even without trying, he was an imposing figure. Tall, broad, heavily muscled. Dark hair ran across his chest and down his torso in thick natural patterns. When he stretched his shoulders, the movement looked almost effortless, like a lion waking from sleep.

He walked toward the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to let pale sunlight spill into the room.

“That wasn’t a good idea,” he said finally.

“What do you mean?”

Hunt glanced over his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t miss work.”

“It’s just one day,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I thought…”

“There’s really no reason for you to stay. I got stuff to do.”

The words weren’t polite. They cut like daggers and Lance’s face fell before responding.

“Oh.”

Coach Hunt walked toward the dresser, picking up his watch and turning it slowly in his hands as if making sure of the time.

Lance stood slowly from the bed, hurt feelings flickering across his face. “I thought last night meant something.”

Hunt’s voice remained even, almost cold. “It meant we had a pleasant evening.”

“That’s it?”

Hunt didn’t respond immediately but finally he said, “I was clear since I met you that this was casual.”

The towel slipped slightly as Lance shifted his weight, but he didn’t bother adjusting it.

“Do you know what you are?” he said suddenly. “You’re impossible,” he said. “Everyone wants you. Everyone talks about you like you’re some kind of legend.”

Hunt leaned against the dresser.

“And yet,” he said lightly, “you seem unimpressed.”

“I’m not unimpressed,” Lance snapped. “I’m angry.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t let anyone get close.”

“That’s not your concern.” Hunt’s expression hardened slightly.

“It is when you invite someone into your bed.”

“I invited you for the night,” Hunt corrected.

The man shook his head.

“You really don’t get it.” He took a breath, gathering the courage to say something he clearly believed. “You’re going to end up alone. Not because people don’t want you, but because you refuse to put in the work.”

Hunt said nothing while he crossed his arms, rolling his eyes while he allowed Lance to continue. After all, it wasn’t the first time he would hear the same lecture he had heard so many times before. 

“You act like relationships are disposable,” Lance went on. “Like people are temporary.”

Lance grabbed his clothes from the chair.

“You’ll never find love if you keep doing this,” he said quietly. He dressed quickly with sharp movements and a wounded pride. He paused at the door. For a moment it looked like he might say something else, but instead he just shook his head and left.

The heavy door closed with a slam. Coach Hunt stood still in the silent room. Outside, the birds continued their morning chorus which annoyed him more.

After a moment, another knock came at the door before Sterling stepped inside.

The old butler moved with careful dignity, dressed in a perfectly pressed dark suit that might have been fashionable in the nineteenth century. His bald head gleamed faintly in the morning light.

“Good morning, sir,” he said warmly.

“Morning, Sterling.”

Sterling glanced briefly toward the hallway, clearly aware someone had just left. He had been expecting it to happen. 

“I trust your evening was agreeable,” he said while fixing the pillows and the sheets. Hunt gave a faint smile.

“It was what it was. I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of him anymore.”

Sterling nodded knowingly but did not pry. “Breakfast will be served by the pool in ten minutes, sir.”