Chapter Text
Orphanhood was not entirely what Isaac had envisioned.
First of all he was a werewolf. Did not see that one coming.
Isaac had spent a whole lot of time thinking about becoming an orphan. His mother died when he was six, young enough that her absence was much bigger than her presence. For a while, while Camden was around, Isaac imagined the two of them taking off together and living in a boxcar or something. Dad wouldn't have to die, they could just strike out on their own.
Then Camden died. And Isaac spent years imagining Dad dying. As the years went on he imagined increasingly violent or embarrassing ways that would happen.
The idea that child services would care about him never seemed likely enough for Isaac to work it into his fantasies. Certainly they wouldn't care enough to put him somewhere. So Isaac imagined living in Dad's house, or maybe setting it on fire and taking the insurance money to buy a chalet in the mountains.
Being a werewolf should have been by far the most exciting glamorous outcome, something Isaac had never even imagined. Instead it was boring, being hungry a lot, and just waiting to be told what to do.
Over the summer after sophomore year Derek flailed in leading Isaac and Peter in the search for Erica and Boyd. It was all ridiculously dumb. They just wandered around Beacon County scenting for them because one time Peter caught a whiff of them near a bike store of all places. It was all idiotic and hopeless. They were probably dead, and if they weren't there was on freaking reason to think the Alpha Pack kept them in the same county they went missing in.
Between the "search" Isaac went to summer school. Dad would rip his eyes out if he knew Isaac had almost failed sophomore year, and the ghost of fear of that drove him to go to school three afternoons a week more than any actual desire to finish high school.
Mostly he went because Scott was there too. Scott smelling like sweat and Irish Spring soap, Scott hitting his pen against the table they shared while he examined a geometry set. Beacon Hills was too small to hold individual summer classes for every class a student failed, so instead Coach Finstock read magazines while they all sat in the library and worked on their own stuff and did not ask Coach questions because he responded one of three ways:
"How will you learn anything if I do it all for you?"
"I'm Bobby Finstock not Bobby Fischer, how the hell would I know that?"
"Sit down Greenberg. I should have taken out a restraining order."
Scott had failed in less spectacular ways than Isaac had, so he finished his work in June, and Isaac still had to show up in July.
Truthfully, Isaac could have finished much sooner. Probably two weeks in. But going to school was the only time he could get away with not helping, and Isaac took advantage of having twelve hours a week where he was just a high school screw up, not a beta who had abandoned his best friends.
And he didn't mind being in the same room as Coach Finstock. He was abrasive, sure, but he did care about them. The last night, the one with Gerard coming at him with a sword and Jackson impaling himself on the field was a blur. There were few moments Isaac remembered clearly, but he remembered one clear as day.
Coach pleading with Scott to keep his grades up. How he almost walked away but he turned back to them, and talked like he was blaming himself for what looked like Jackson trying to kill himself.
I mean, I--I know I yell a lot, but it's not like I hate you guys. Well, I kind of hate Greenberg, but, you know...that's different. It's Greenberg! I'm just saying, we--I--need you on the team. Get your grades back up.
He was talking to Scott, but Isaac still heard it.
One day Isaac came to school even though it was raining like the sky was falling. He ran from the bus stop to the school, werewolf fast which Derek would be pissed about. He still showed up soaking. The rain jacket he got as part of his lacrosse uniform didn't have a hood, and his hair hadn't fully dried in the four hours spent sitting in the air conditioned library.
Being a werewolf did nothing for feeling hot or cold. Derek had never exactly promised that it would, but Isaac was still pissed at him as he stood under the overhang outside the school, working himself up to stepping into the pouring rain. Isaac ran his thumb back and forth over the tips of his fingers nervously.
It wasn't just rain now. It was thunder, and tree branches being ripped off trees and soaring through the air. If Isaac called Derek he'd agree to come pick him up, but it would be hours and Isaac could hear from where he stood that Coach was locking up the building.
Fuck everything.
"Lahey! What are you doing out here? There's a monsoon warning!"
Isaac turned around. Coach had a ridiculously large black raincoat on with an oversized hood covering his spiked out hair. "There are no monsoons in California."
"Yeah, obviously I'm being poetic. So literal you kids.”
“Okay. I'm going–”
“Dead parents, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“You have dead parents? So no one is going to pick them up because they're dead. They're dead, right? Your dad was murdered by Number 8 and did I hear your mom was too? Was dead, not murdered. Unless she was?”
Isaac laughed genuinely because what the fuck?
Coach's bluntness was kind of refreshing, enough that Isaac found himself giving an actual answer rather than a hard sarcastic response. "Yeah cancer. Which I guess you could say murdered her, because it did."
"That sucks."
"Yeah."
"You living on your own then?"
"With a friend."
"That friend gonna pick you up? Because you're one of my best players, I don't particularly like the idea of you waiting out here waiting to get brained by a tree branch."
The wind picked up and Isaac admittedly did not want to get brained by a tree branch. It was looking like a possibility.
"I'm going to take the bus!" he said, having to raise his voice to be heard.
"The closest bus stop is almost two miles away!"
"Yeah!"
Coach furrowed his brow, he pointed at Isaac. "You gonna accuse me of kidnapping if I drive you home?"
"No, not at all," Isaac said quickly.
"Okay! Get in my car!"
Everyone knew about Coach's car. He drove a 1989 raised up Isuzu Trooper. A baby blue boxy SUV that they all enjoyed watching Coach clobber through climbing into the faculty parking lot. They ran together to the car and climbed inside.
Once they were in a branch hit the side of the car. "Holy shit!" Coach said. "We gotta get out of here."
Isaac initially planned on giving Coach directions to somewhere near Derek's, but not Derek's exactly. Because Derek would lose his mind if he knew Isaac had given a human his address. But the rain got so bad it felt like night at 4 PM, so Isaac told Coach exactly where to go.
"Do you understand that I am not kidnapping you?" Coach asked, raising his voice over the sound of rain.
"Coach, no one would care if I was kidnapped."
Coach considered that. "That's very dark. Like, that's Trainspotting dark."
Because Coach would never see Derek's apartment he would never know how right he was.
They were only five minutes away when Isaac's phone buzzed in his hand.
DEREK: Peter caught the scent of an alpha in our building. Do not go home. We do not know what we're dealing with, do not come near either Peter or me.
Well what the fuck was Isaac supposed to do with that? Isaac shifted the screen on his phone up to reveal the tiny keys of the keyboard and typed back a response as quickly as he could, shifting his body to angle the screen away from Coach. Who was singing Bohemian Rhapsody while he drove against the storm.
Isaac: I can help
DEREK: No you can't
Isaac: Okay I'll go to Scott's
DEREK: DO NOT GO TO SCOTT
Isaac: WHY NOT
DEREK: Do not go to anyone in our circle. They aren't after you on your own but if they scent two werewolves they won't be able to resist. Go to one of your other friends.
Hilarious. Like Isaac was just crawling with people who liked him. Isaac slammed the screen of his phone over the keyboard. Even though it couldn't possibly be heard by a human over the sound of the storm Coach asked, "What? What is it?"
"What?"
"What's wrong, why are you slamming things around?"
Rain was falling sideways. Of the few cars on the road half of them were pulled over on the shoulder with their hazards on. Coach drove on, but his eyes darted around quickly, looking out for danger.
"I can't go home," Isaac admitted. He couldn't exactly be dropped off in the empty lot to get pummeled to death by rain.
"Why?"
Isaac pulled his seatbelt a couple inches away from his chest. "My roommate is taking care of his friend's dog and I'm allergic to dogs. Can you take me to the library?"
Coach groaned unhappily. He turned left. "Listen, that's across town and we're pretty damn close to my place. I don't wanna be on the road anymore. If I take you home--temporarily--are you going to think this is me trying to molest you?"
" Are you going to try to molest me?"
"No! Jesus Christ! How could you ask me that?"
" You brought it up. No, I swear, I do not think you are trying to molest me."
"Okay then. Now don't judge me, I'm not exactly ready for visitors."
Coach lived in a small but ordinary house. Isaac would have expected him to live in a trailer or a houseboat or something. The school made yard signs for each player in the Beacon Hills colors with the lacrosse team symbol and their name and number. Scott had one in his yard, so did Stiles. Isaac left his at school and was fucking grateful that Jackson didn't put his out either.
Coach had one too, with COACH instead of his last name.
And he didn't lock his door. Coach ran through the rain and opened the door by twisting the knob. He urged Isaac inside and moved him to stand the small wood square in front of the doorway, surrounded by carpet. "Don't touch anything."
"Okay," Isaac agreed.
Coach groaned and reached behind them to open the door and shook his raincoat out on the porch. He closed the door and hung it up on hooks he'd installed on the other side of it, then disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door.
Isaac knew his jacket was dripping, and that he should do what Coach had just done and shake it out on the porch. It was always best to copy what someone else does, it was most likely to be what they wanted you to do. But even that wasn't a guarantee.
What was a guarantee was that Coach had told Isaac not to touch anything at the door was anything. Isaac could feel that his backpack was soaked through and his books probably were too, and he wanted to take them out but Coach might count that as touching too. He wanted to take off his wet shoes, but moving them from where his feet were was touching something. So Isaac decided to be okay with what his body felt like at this moment and passed time looking around instead.
Coach's house was full. Just full.
Stacks of board games on the coffee table. Four open boxes of cereal on the kitchen table, all the sugary kid kind. He had plastic utensils in a mug each for spoons, knives and forks on the bar separating the kitchen and the living room counter next to a display tree with novelty mugs hung on it. A magazine rack like you'd see in a doctor's office stuffed full of junk mail coupons. A stuffed animal monkey hanging from a small unlit chandelier over a desk covered boxes full of Christmas and Halloween decorations.
The couch was leather, really it was two lounge chairs that reclined connected with a leather median with cup holders. The large TV stood on a sideways bookshelf, which was occupied by sideways western novels of uniform height and widths. The floor was carpet, but it was topped with rugs. A leopard print by the TV, textured flowers under the kitchen table and rocket ships under their feet in the entryway.
Eventually Coach came out of his bedroom, wearing dry sweats and a Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt. He frowned. "What are you doing?"
"What?"
"Take your coat off. Sit down. Jesus, you want to catch hyperthermia?"
"You said not to touch anything."
"Literal! You literal kids. Hang your coat up, take off your shoes, come sit down on the couch, Jesus Christ."
Fuck. Isaac was being so freaking weird without meaning to, like he always was.
Isaac sat, but he took out his phone and pretended to text to avoid visibly not touching anything. Coach messed around in the kitchen, and eventually came out with a plate of Bagel Bites. With another groan he sat down in the other recliner.
"Pretty nice, right?" he asked.
"Yeah," Isaac said. "Thank you for doing this. I'll be out once it stops.”
"Yeah, no sweat. I mean, it's not like I'm inviting you to live with me."
Yeah, no kidding. No one ever was.
"Yeah, I know."
"You texting your teammates? One of them must not have a dog. You and McCall are tight, right? You could stay with him."
"He has a dog."
"Whittermore?"
"Gone, Coach. In London.”
"Danny?"
Danny might be cool with him coming around, but Isaac barely knew him. He didn't even have Danny's number. "Yeah, I'll try."
Would Mrs. Reyes let him stay with them again? It didn’t happen that many times. It wasn’t like he ran over to the Reyes house crying every time something happened at home. But she was a nurse, or she used to be. And one time Isaac did go over there–just to use their bathroom to clean up. Erica said her mom wasn’t home but she came home.
It wasn’t like she saved his life. She actually yelled at Isaac for making a mess, but she cleaned him up while doing it and made up a bed in the living room for the night. Isaac had heard so many stories about her belligerently taking care of Erica–she made it sound scary. But it was weirdly wonderful.
In the morning Mrs. Reyes asked, “Does this happen often?” and Isaac said, “No ma’am.” And she said, “Do you want me to do something about it?” and Isaac said “No ma’am.” and she said, “Well if it’s not often and you can handle it…just come here if you can’t.”
So Isaac couldn’t go every time, because that would be it happening often and maybe she would do something. But he went a few times. Six, maybe. He considered actively bleeding a prerequisite to being there, and Mrs. Reyes seemed to agree. Isaac could arrange bleeding today, or at least blood stains. Maybe he could come over now.
Erica being at home though, that probably was also a prerequisite
When Isaac imagined being an orphan he imagined maybe ending up on the street. Maybe he'd fall in with a gang of street kids--and he kind of had. But maybe he'd sleep in a park, or the woods, or run away to LA or Las Vegas. Maybe he'd get hooked on heroin and die in a train station bathroom.
So yeah, once the rain stopped he could stand one night sleeping outside.
Maybe he could just break into Dad's house and sleep there. No one had bought it, their stuff was even still inside. The couch was right there.
But the idea of stepping foot in that house made Isaac nauseous. The rain wasn't letting up either, not even a little.
Coach turned on the TV and clicked through to the weather channel. April Showers, the peppy weather woman gestured to a map of Northern California which was being pelted with dagger shaped raindrops.
"--and boy are we being beaten by it! Extreme flash flood warnings are in effect until 3 AM, as is the severe thunderstorm warning. Everyone, it's time to find those hot cocoa mixes from Christmas and dust them off, you shouldn't be going anywhere. Shelter in place and take measures in your home--"
Coach changed the channel. "Aw fuck."
"I can go right now," Isaac said. "Flip back, they're going to say there's a point when it'll let up and I'll go then."
"Are you kidding? It's World War freaking Z out there! I’m not kicking you out. Alright, I guess we got a slumber party on our hands. Do you have medication or anything you need at home that I can't give you here?"
"Medication?"
"I'm just asking!"
“What would you have done if I said yes?”
“I don't know, it just felt like the responsible thing to ask.”
"I'm fine. I'm easy. You don't even need to feed me."
Coach rolled his eyes. "It's a relief to me that your expectations are so low, because I'm not exactly going to blow you away. Listen, as a teacher I'm really not supposed to be having kids over."
"I know. I won’t say anything."
"It's creepy, you know? Not that anything creepy will be happening just--"
It was kind of unpleasant to have to repeatedly reassure Coach that he wasn't going to accuse the man of molestation. "I know. I won't tell anyone anything about this. No one will even know where I am tonight."
"No, dumbass. I'm not covering my ass, I'm making sure you know you're safe. Hell, I already called the principal, told him what's going on. Guessed we might have a sleepover on our hands. Right now I'm the hero teacher who wouldn't let his star player fry in the industrial district. It's you and your little adolescent feelings I'm worried about right now."
"You're worried I'm scared?"
Coach grimaced. "I just want to make sure you know that I don't have any unholy intentions aside from keeping you from being electrified, okay?"
"Okay. Thank you."
"Okay I'm checking because the Lahey I know on the field would be glowering and swearing and rolling his eyes right now, and the Lahey in front of me seems pretty damn terrified."
Isaac didn't feel terrified. Coach was Coach. It was interesting to be inside his own and find that it looked exactly how he would imagine the inside of the man's head looked like. The Bagel Bites were nice of him to offer, but Isaac was a little preoccupied making sure he could guess how many Coach wanted him to take. Isaac was too busy making sure he didn't take the food so quickly he seemed greedy or so slowly he seemed ungrateful to worry about being scared.
"I'm really not scared."
Coach watched him. Really watched him. He saw Coach's eyes flick minutely, like he was alternating examining sides of Isaac's face more closely to reveal truths.
"Yeah, you are. I don't know any way to be less scary. You know I'm not gonna scream at you like it's the field, right?"
Isaac felt the wolf in him rearing up. Like a shadow version of himself stretching inside his body, leaving its resting place so its elbows and knees bumped up the edges of him. Inside his lips Isaac's fangs just barely tipped out, rubbing against his gums. His thumbs went to his fingertips, feeling for claws but only finding dull nails and hard scars. All it would take was one thought for metal shredding skin shredding claws to pop out.
Coach was being annoying. One sure fire way to make someone stop being annoying: killing them. All it would take was–
Dad finding an ice cream maker at Goodwill and an entire Saturday spent making strawberry ice cream. Dad explaining the salt lowered the freezing point of the ice due to thermodynamic principles. Dad wrapping the tupperware they filled with ice cream in plastic wrap and putting it all in the freezer.
When Isaac came back to himself, with no trace of fangs in his teeth, Coach was watching TV like he wasn't even here.
Did Isaac really just have to work himself down from killing Coach to prove he wasn't scared? Coach must not have noticed, because when Isaac gave up staring and turned to watch TV he didn't look over.
The rain kept on, and it sounded like rocks smacking into windows. Isaac's phone buzzed when they were on their second episode of Scrubs.
SCOTT: Hey are you guys okay? This rain is INSANE!
Isaac: Yeah takes more than a little rain to keep me down
SCOTT: :O
That was it. Isaac knew it was his turn to respond but he didn't know what to say. Even if Isaac was any good at making friends--he wasn't--Derek was so weird about Scott. It was like he wanted to control everything Isaac said to him. Scott couldn't know where they lived. He couldn't know about the Alpha Pack. He couldn't know that they were still looking for Erica and Boyd--that was the weirdest thing to Isaac. Scott cared about people, he kept asking Isaac what they were doing to find them.
The fact that Isaac just shrugged in response made him seem worse than he was. And he hated Derek for it.
If he told Scott that he was with Finstock then Scott might have to ask Isaac where he lived which he clearly didn't want to because he never had.
Weird. Isaac was being so freaking weird and even though it was only in his head it needed to stop.
"It is kind of creepy," Isaac said. "Me being here. Like, after school special creepy."
Still looking at the TV, Coach smiled. "Yeah, I'll be sure not to invite you to huff glue."
"Do you have anything besides Bagel Bites to eat?"
"Well I'd say let's order a pizza but I think that would be taramount to a war crime. I got a lot of stuff in the freezer, if you want to check."
"Can I?"
"Yeah, go check the fridge. It's a little too full, if you take anything you want to eat out of there you'd be doing me a favor."
Isaac got up and walked around the bar to get into the kitchen. It was just as full as the rest of the house. A stack of pizza boxes over the stovetop, multiple aprons and potholders on hooks on the wall next to the fridge, so overcrowded some had dropped on the floor.
And the freezer was choked full, with frosty boxes of food meant for children. Different dinosaur logos on multiple boxes, even more pizzas. There was so much food. The fridge wasn't quite as full. A few packages of pepperoni, multiple open jars of olives, milk, chocolate milk, yogurt with candy in the lids that you can mix in, butter in the shape of half a Christmas tree.
Something was missing.
"You don't have any beer?" Isaac called out.
Coach sat up and turned to him with a stern expression. "You think I'm going to give you beer? Just because you're a star player?"
"What? No. Everyone has beer, that's all.”
"I've been trying to make it real clear, everything going on tonight is above board."
Isaac was aware that he was standing with the door to the fridge open which was bleeding electricity money, but he didn't think Coach would care. "Yeah, you've been extremely clear."
“You kids sit around picturing me guzzling a six pack with my hand down my pants every night of the week?”
Yes, 100%. “No, Coach, damn. I’ve just never seen a fridge without beer in it.”
Coach relaxed. "Look, yeah. Okay. Listen, I'm fourteen years sober. Pretty damn important to me."
"Wait, really?"
"I know that all the pop songs and rap music videos make you kids think the whole world revolves around alcohol but it doesn't. It might as start giggles and shits but it ends with you 12k deep in Reno married to a crossing guard whose name you never learned. I don't mean didn't know, I mean you never learned it. I'm still married, but hell if I know to who."
All of that sounded like Coach, for sure, except the getting sober part. Isaac's understanding of getting sober was that it was so difficult you would do anything not to. And that only special people could get sober. Maybe even magic people.
Isaac shut the refrigerator door. "Can I make the chicken tenders?"
"Throw some tater tots on the tray and we've got ourselves a Thanksgiving dinner." So they did. Coach microwaved a bag of cheesy broccoli "to be healthy"
The table was covered in too much stuff to put it all in a serving platter, which Isaac was grateful for. When it was all out of the oven Coach divided it all between two oversized bowls, then handed Isaac one and they sat back down on the lounge chairs.
Coach grabbed the remote. "Comedy Central is doing one Tom Hanks movie a night this week. It's Cast Away this time."
"On Comedy Central?"
"There's funny parts."
Isaac kept checking his phone while they watched but there were no notifications. Erica's mom used to buy him minutes for his phone because she was so grateful they were friends. They would text all day and night, and Isaac wished he could have a crush on her because it would make life so much simpler if he could. Even though the bite was supposed to make them closer they texted each other less and less after it happened. Even more so once Erica stopped thinking it was fun, maybe because it was his fault she was in this situation in the first place.
But if she could, Erica would text him. She knew his number. The second she got away from the alphas she would flash her boobs at a gas station attendant and ask to use his phone, and he would give it to her because when she wasn't afraid to show it Erica was the kind of person you just give your phone to because they asked.
"Let me ask you something," Coach said. Instead of muting the movie he turned it up, but he kept talking. "Who is paying for your life?"
"Paying for my life?"
"Yeah," Coach gestured to Isaac's clothes by waving his hand up and down. "Who is paying for that phone, your toothpaste, and shoes?"
"A friend of my brother's, the guy I'm staying with. He's loaded."
"Is he buying you things when you ask for them or do you have your own bank account?"
"When I ask."
"Does he..." Coach's shoulders rolled, a full body gag, but he continued, "...ask you for things in return? Do not make me elaborate, I know you're not stupid."
"What?" Isaac thought for a minute. " Ugh. Please never ask me or anyone else that ever again."
"Is this that guy with a leather jacket who hangs around the parking lot?"
Isaac laughed. "No. It's just a guy who feels like he owes my brother."
"You have a job?"
"No, but I'm busy. The team."
"Hey don't blame the team for your lack of financial independence. Did you pay any attention in my class? You have to have a source of income you control. Otherwise your life is out of your control. And you don't want that."
"Oh."
"Most sixteen year olds don't need to worry about this, but you do. Don't you want your own money?"
It was always awkward to ask Derek for money, even if he gave it away like he was handing Isaac old leaves he found on the ground. Did werewolves get jobs? Scott had one. It would actually feel really good to not have to figure out ways to ask for everything he needed anymore.
"I don't know what kind of jobs are out there that would take former murder suspects."
"Please, in Beacon Hills? They wouldn't be able to hire anyone if they didn't. You can get insurance from some coffee shops, do you have health insurance?"
"I don't know."
"Then you don't."
"I don't really have to worry about that."
Coach scoffed. "God, to be sixteen and think you're invincible. Okay, sensitive question, brace yourself: your parents are dead."
"Yes, dead. The deadest.”
"Do they have life insurance? You might be able to access some of those funds now, maybe even all."
"What's life insurance?"
"Their jobs would have paid into an insurance plan that pay a lump sum to their beneficiaries--you--after their death."
It was so fancy it didn't sound like the kind of thing that would happen to their family. "I don't know, I don't think the cemetery my dad worked for would have had something like that."
"Well they might have. Sometimes small businesses have the best policies, it could be up to six figures."
The idea was so surprising it made Isaac laugh. Dad's death had brought him so many good things, could it really bring him money too? Six figures?
"How would I find out?"
Coach started to answer, but his eyes darted to the movie. "Okay, this is an important part and it can't wait, but this conversation can. If we don't talk about it tonight then Friday, okay? During school, come right on time. Dead parent money talk on Friday. Deal?"
"Deal."
The movie got to the part where Chuck was on his raft and Wilson floated away, and Isaac got up to look out the window next to the front door. It was dark now, not because of the rain but because it was night. Though the rain had died down, it was still bad enough that Isaac really didn't want to be out there.
"Oh my god," Coach said. He had stood up while Isaac had his back to him and was looking at the couch like it had molted. "I don't have anywhere for you to sleep."
"What? Yes you do."
Coach shook his head, his eyes furrowed so tightly there were three lines between his eyebrows. "Look at this thing. You can't lie flat on this thing."
"Don't the chairs go back?"
"Yeah, but not all the way. Trust me, your back will be unhappy in the morning if I let you sleep lying down on one of these."
No way Isaac was letting himself get kicked out now.
"No, my back won't. I'm sixteen. A recliner is great."
"No, it's not."
"Yes it is. I've slept on the floor every night since my dad died, I am actually kind of psyched about it."
That did not calm Coach down. He had been facing the couch but he turned toward Isaac straight on. "What floor?"
"At my friend's place. So a recliner is fine."
"What kind of friend is making your sleep on the floor, what the fuck Lahey? Does he not have a couch?"
"His uncle sleeps on the couch."
"What kind of freaking crack den are you living in? I thought these people were rich. You're a minor, I should call the protective people."
"No, Coach, I'm okay with sleeping on the recliner. It's great, thank you for everything tonight."
Coach shook his head hard. He stayed where he was on the other side of the house, but his anger had the wolf in Isaac shifting, aching to be released. Coach said, "Look, okay. I get it, not everyone gets a bed in life. Hell, from ages six to twelve I slept in--well that doesn't matter. But are the people you live with decent at least? You have running water, lunchables, all that?"
Finally this whole exchange made a little sense. "Wait, you're worried about me?"
"Lahey I've been worried about you all damn night!"
"Why?"
Coach widened his eyes, leaning forward like Isaac as an idiot who needed to be closer in order to be understood. "Why am I worried? Because I'm your only safe option in a storm and I am a pretty damn bad option."
"You aren't. It's just the dog. The place I live is safe.”
"The place where someone let a dog in their house even though you're allergic to it. Look, I was raised by a porn star and a volunteer stunt man and I know that's not right."
"What?"
"I said what I said! Crazy isn't something I put on to help you win games, it's my freaking birthright."
He was standing right next to the door. All it would take right now was for Isaac to open it and walk out. He was a werewolf, what was a little rain? "Look I can go--"
"Go? Why would you go?"
"Because you're mad at me! I should have just walked to the bus, you wouldn't be in this position."
"I--" Coach started loud then stopped himself. He cleared his throat. "I have an amplified vocal register, you know. A doctor told me once, on an escalator. Even when I'm talking normal it sounds like yelling. It's good for a coach. It's bad for everything else. Hell, I think I became a coach because of it."
It was true. Isaac could tell that he was trying not to yell, he wasn't yelling. It was just his voice.
"I'm sorry. I'm just--"
"I know, I'm scaring you."
Isaac wasn't scared, he was just not sure it was such a good idea he should still be here if Coach was going to be this upset about it. "It's okay, you're not even doing anything."
With a sigh, Coach sat down. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and Isaac was startled to see Coach run his thumbs over the tips of his fingers, a gesture Isaac did himself so unconsciously he wasn't aware of it until Peter pointed it out. Now he was painfully aware of it.
"You asked me why I didn't have beer in my fridge. And I know I kind of--you know--came on a little strong thinking you wanted me to give you alcohol. I just didn't want you to think I was going to give you a beer just because your dad gave his players alcohol and you thought it was normal."
"I…what?"
"I overlapped with him at BHHS, unfortunately. My first year coaching, before I got the teacher gig. Only for a few weeks, right before he got fired."
Isaac told Coach his freshman year he couldn't afford the uniform or equipment or any of it, because he knew swimmers had said the same to Dad. And Coach acted like there was nothing to it. "We'll find something, there's plenty of crap around here." But somehow everything that showed up in his locker was new.
Dad never had anything to do with Isaac playing lacrosse. Dad was angry that he wasn't on the swim team--even though it was his fault Isaac couldn't be. So he never came to any games, drove him to practice, or even acknowledged that Isaac was on the team.
Lacrosse was Isaac's and Isaac's only. The pads were like armor, the drills so violent it made Isaac both more and less angry after in the most satisfying way, like pressing a bruise. Coach wasn't remotely a father figure, but that was the best part of it. It was nothing like any other part of Isaac's life.
Now Coach Finstock knew Dad.
"Not long enough for any of his methods to rub off then," Isaac joked. "That's good."
"He should not have been working with kids. It only took a few weeks for me to figure that out, I have no damn idea why it took the school ten years."
"Why not? He got them to the championships." Isaac intended for the words to be drowning in sarcasm, but hearing them coming out he wasn't sure if his intention was successful.
"I may be a bad coach but I'm pretty sure my leadership won't lead to a mass murder. I hope. I really fucking hope because no one told me this was a possibility in college. They also didn't have to tell us in college not to give alcohol to your kids."
"Well my dad didn’t go to college.”
Coach took a deep breath. "I saw you back then. You were so young, you didn't look eleven. I assumed that the school called the protective people to check on your boys, given why Lahey was fired. But I never asked. Then you showed up a few years later, two feet taller. And I don't know, I figured it might have been fine. I still don't know if it was. I figured--you seemed so normal. You didn't have broken bones or flinch when I yelled--I even yelled in your face once to see. I thought he was a crazy coach but he wasn't so crazy with you then, but after tonight I'm thinking I was wrong."
Fucking hell, Isaac would have walked in the street and stayed still until he got impaled by a tree if he knew this conversation was coming before he got in Coach's car.
“Doesn't matter. He's dead now.”
“Fuck, I'm sorry.”
No one had ever apologized to Isaac for what happened to him. No one ever looked at him like Coach was looking at him right now. Like he’d been let down, like what happened was wrong, not just gross or shameful.
Isaac looked over his shoulder at the storm outside and decided he might not survive it but he could survive this.
“Can we just watch TV? Please?”
Coach nodded and gestured for Isaac to sit down. “No problem.”
After that Isaac sat down next to Coach to watch America's Home Videos but as one episode crept into the next Isaac decided he didn't want to stay sitting almost elbow to elbow with the man.
"Uh, can I clean your kitchen?"
"Clean my kitchen?" Coach laughed. "You think I want your teenage ineptitude throwing cleaning chemicals around my kitchen? You’d create mustard gas, no, no way.”
“No I wouldn’t, I know how to clean a kitchen. From the looks of yours a lot better than you do.”
“Keep talking like that, see if I let you clean anything at all!”
“I've been thinking about how much of a fire hazard your stove is and it's going to keep me up all night if I don't. You'd be doing me a favor.”
Coach shook his head hard back and forth, like a little kid. “No no. I am not having your crawling around cleaning up after me like a little orphan.”
“Coach, I am a little orphan.”
At that Coach turned the volume up again. He’d been turning up the volume all night and it was over halfway up now. The people on America’s Funniest Home videos smashed an entire cabinet of china and the narrator practically screamed, “Uh oh!” For a moment the wolf in Isaac took over. He snatched the remote out of Coach’s hand and turned the volume volume way down.
Instead of glaring or doing anything else, Coach smiled in satisfaction. He pointed to Isaac with both hands, like this was a locker room speech. “That’s right. You’re no little anything. You knocked out five guys in four minutes on our last game, and I have no damn idea why and it was actually very fucking un-counter-productive for us a team but it was badass. You walked off a broken leg and I have no idea how! Now speaking one orphan to another if you start treating it as a reason to let people treat you bad you’re gonna end up a fucked up shadow of yourself real fast.”
“You sound crazy.”
“So crazy I'm right. You’re one of my players and my players make messes, they don’t clean them up. Now you are going to be an ungrateful brat and eat my food and leave the blankets a mess when you leave. And you’re going to tell your delinquent friends about Coach Finstock’s weird house and I won’t care because I’m proud of this place.”
“You are?” That time Isaac meant the words to come out sincere, but instead he sounded sarcastic.
Luckily Coach was as tone deaf as ever. He grinned and switched his pointing fingers to twirl around, gesturing to the entire house. “What I don’t want you telling the team? One orphan to another: I grew up in houses with nothing but windows and doors in them, and sometimes not even that. This is my goddamn orphan dream. I have what I want. If what you want is to sleep on someone’s floor then you know what? Live your goddamn orphan dream, I can’t stop you.”
“And if it isn’t?”
He let out a breath and his entire body sagged, like Isaac had said what he’d been waiting for all night. “Then you let your coach figure out a way to get you financially independent. I’m not just good at winning games, I got myself off a floor of my own.”
It was nice. It was really fucking nice. Isaac didn’t deserve or need that, and Coach didn’t need to do anything but scream at him to speed the hell up after getting the ball. But he wasn’t asking Isaac to live with him. No one ever asked him to live with them. Maybe this was a hoarder house filled with toys for children, but it was safe tonight and it might be tomorrow too.
And Coach just told him to go after what he wanted, didn’t he?
“Can I sleep on your floor instead?”
Coach’s face crumbled from cheerful to pained. “Aw fuck, Isaac.”
Holy shit he was such a fucking idiot. Isaac didn’t even want to live here, not like he wanted to live with the Reyes–no. Isaac didn’t want to live with them. He didn’t. He barely thought about them.
Isaac’s planning for orphanhood never involved a new family because that was never going to happen. Even his psycho coach didn’t want him around. FUCK.
“I was just kidding. I'm so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. But I can’t say yes to that. You know that, right? That’s scandal material. That’s fire-able material.”
“My dad got away with giving his team alcohol and holding their heads underwater for ten years. You can do whatever you want.”
Coach took the remote back. He turned the volume back up to an almost excruciating level. “I want to not be a creep. And teach a man to fish, all that. It’s possible to take care of yourself at sixteen. I can get you there if you listen to me, because I’m brilliant at this stuff. Hell, I’ll teach you how to cut coupons. That’s what I’ve got for you Lahey, I’m sorry. That’s all.”
Isaac didn’t want to be here at all, but there was no other place that Isaac wanted to be. Orphanhood wasn’t what Isaac imagined because sometimes it wasn’t even better than living with Dad. Sometimes it was like he was always running out of air, and he was constantly moving around looking for a room with enough oxygen to keep him alive. But even the rooms he could get into didn’t have enough.
This room didn’t have enough.
“I’m sorry. Can you please not tell anyone I said that?”
Coach laughed. “Yeah, you got it. Can you forget you said that? Relax, watch TV. This is a good one, I’ve seen it before.”
Isaac tried to relax.
The rain let up earlier than it was supposed to. They were both still awake when the world got quiet. It had been raining so hard and for so long that the sound of silence was louder than the cacophony that had preceded it. It was 1 AM, and Coach hadn’t shown any sign of being done watching Nick at Nite. They were watching Fresh Prince of Bel-Air when the rain suddenly turned off.
They both sat up to look outside through Coach’s open blinds. Coach nodded at the change of events, then stood. “Finally. I couldn’t sleep with all that noise.”
“Coach, you are the loudest person I have ever met.”
“Yeah, so nothing else is louder than me! Okay, uh, let me try to find you a cleanish pillow.”
Isaac frowned. “I should go. It’s not monsooning anymore. And you don’t want to be a creep.”
Coach rolled his eyes. “I’m sick of talking about this. You are sleeping here, one night only engagement. I’m Elton John, baby. Now, I got night lights if you want, do you want pineapple shaped or ice cream shaped?”
Surely Coach had some kind of underwhelming, emotionally torrential breakfast planned, but Isaac was gone with the sunrise. The world outside was altered. Stuck inside the house it felt like the rain might be some kind of illusion, but it was real. The ground was saturated and squished under Isaac’s feet as he walked into the street. There was debris everywhere. Isaac hadn’t noticed on the way that it was trash day yesterday. The trucks must not have made it through the storm. All the cans in Coach’s cul-de-sac were tipped over. It looked like it had rained garbage.
The entire neighborhood smelled like trash, dirt and water. Isaac stepped over dirty paper plates and chicken bones on the way to the bus. The stench was thick, and the heat made it worse.
Derek hadn’t texted him. Isaac didn’t know if he could go to the loft, and also didn’t really want to. He checked his phone for a text from Scott to see if there was anything there, but nothing. Nothing from Erica either.
So Isaac walked.
He didn’t notice that he’d left the neighborhood waiting for trash pickup until it suddenly felt easier to breathe. Looking around at his change of scenery it occurred to him that he was walking around waiting for someone to tell him what to do. Why couldn’t Isaac think of a single thing to do?
No one cared what he did. Derek expected him to show up and follow him around, but he didn’t care what Isaac did outside of that. All Isaac had done all summer was school, sleep at the library and run around doing werewolf shit. Why was he punishing himself with a fucking depressing summer when no one cared what Isaac did. What the hell was he waiting for?
The Beacon County Zoo was closing at the end of the summer. Half the exhibits were closed, but the rest would be gone soon. Isaac didn’t have much but he had seven dollars in his pocket, and a youth ticket to the zoo on weekdays cost $5 even if you weren’t accompanied by an adult. There was lots of oxygen at the zoo. Isaac had $7. The bus ticket including transfers would be $1.75. That left a quarter for the gumball machine by the bathrooms.
It was a simple thing to want. Derek would probably tell him it was a terrible idea, and that the animals would sense him and he’d find himself in a fight with a porpoise. Dad would call him soft for even considering it–what point was there in even standing and looking at animals that he could see on a TV instead?
Coach would probably approve wholeheartedly.
And being an orphan meant Isaac could do whatever the hell he wanted.