Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(59)

I nodded, crying so much that tears streamed down my body.

Matt pulled me back into his arms and rocked me until I cried myself out, until I nearly fell asleep.

He rocked me, and when he laid me down against the mattress and tucked me against his body, he whispered, “I love you . . .”





Chapter Thirty

MATT

I was more nervous than Parker, slept like shit, kept asking her if she was okay every few seconds, and somehow she looked better than I did, fresher, happier. How was that possible?

I wanted to sleep with a gun in case that fucker decided to come back to our house and then knew I’d end up in prison because I wouldn’t just fire a warning shot.

No, I’d fire several shots directly into his pathetic dick and then see if I could take his head off.

I was livid.

I wanted to go to the media.

I wanted her to go to the media.

But first we had the tryout, and I promised her we wouldn’t take any action until it was over.

I ran my hands through my hair and checked my Rolex again as a few other girls also trying to make the team ran around the field.

“She’s going to do great.” Slade popped a piece of gum in his mouth. “Trust me, she’s talented. She’s got this.”

Jagger crossed his arms. “She just needs to focus on her footwork and make sure that the other girls don’t shove her around.”

“She’s good at being bossy.” I wiped my face with my hands. “Shit, I don’t know if I can watch. Last night wasn’t good, guys. I just . . . What if he’s in her head?”

“No room for that, bro, not when you’re in her heart.” Jagger elbowed me.

Slade and I looked over at him.

“What?” He shrugged. “I can be sensitive.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Just how sensitive are you around my sister?”

His lips twitched while Slade bit back a curse.

“Yeah, fantastic,” I grumbled. Jagger smiled and looked away because he knew I wouldn’t like his smug expression.

“Is this serious?” I found myself asking as tryouts started. Different girls ran to different stations, there was a staff member at each station. Shit, they had her doing passing drills first.

I would have preferred her in front of the goal, but passing was fine.

“I’m going to marry her,” Jagger announced.

I cranked my head toward him. “The hell?”

“Your sister.” His grin turned soft. “I mean she’s too young right now, so I’m going to let her sow whatever oats she wants—but in the end, she’ll choose me.”

“Isn’t she already sowing her oats?” Slade just had to ask, making me think about oats and Jagger and her and that damn game of tag again. “With dickhead here?”

I groaned into my hands. “How’s Parker doing?”

“Are you seriously not watching? Where’s the giant camera? Sign? The Capri Suns and orange slices? You’re worse than a soccer mom taking her kid’s Ritalin,” Slade joked. “And she’s consistent, which is more than I could say for number two, who keeps passing too far ahead, making her partner sprint to stop the ball.”

I eyed the field with an intensity that almost seemed foreign. As if it was my team, I was coaching, and we were one game away from the playoffs. I exhaled and took another deep breath as one of the coaching staff blew his whistle and made a motion with his hand.

Parker moved to the other side of the field and played one-on-one defense against another team member. I grinned because this was where she outshined everyone else. She knew how to score, she knew how to pass, she had impeccable footwork and a great attitude when she wasn’t scowling. But her ability to read plays was outstanding. It was one of the first things I had noticed when I watched her old tape.

“Left, right, left,” I whispered under my breath. “Don’t let her fake it, she’s going left again.”

And like she’d heard my words, Parker lunged to the left, stealing the ball from around the other player’s legs and moving down the field. She stopped and kicked the ball back for another drill.

I clapped.

And suddenly wished I did have a sign and a video camera so I could remember this moment and show her how proud I was—how proud I am.

“Attagirl.” Jagger clapped his hands and whistled. “She just handed that girl her ass.”

I grinned with pride. “Yeah, she did.”

“She still has to make it through the next few drills,” Slade said, deflating my enthusiasm and pumping worry back into my veins. “She’ll be fine. She just needs to stay focused.”

My body tensed with each move she made as if I was the one doing it. On the outside, I was calm; on the inside, I was on that field with her, I was coaching her, encouraging her, berating her when she went the wrong way, and then blowing the shit out of my whistle when I needed her to hustle.

“No offense, Matt, but I’ve never seen a guy flinch so much in my entire life.” Slade laughed. “You look like one of those dance moms who memorized their kid’s entire routine and can’t help but do some of those moves in the crowd.”

Jagger burst out laughing. “Finally, a perfect nickname for him: Dance Mom Matt!”