Risky Play (Red Card #1)(41)

Jagger burst out laughing. “Poor Matty.”

Matt’s eyes widened.

I burst out laughing. “I forgot about that nickname.”

“Oh, it’s a gem,” Jagger added. “Remember? I’m Jaguar Jagger, you’re Slade the Striker, and then we have . . . Little Matty.” Nostalgia hit me hard and fast as a memory of us playing in our early twenties reared its ugly head. Game after game, bars filled with friends and food. We’d been poor as hell but happy.

Matt gritted his teeth and then flipped us both off, though he was cracking a smile as he turned around and jogged toward the volunteer.

I took a sip of coffee. “How do you want to do this? Start with some drills?”

“Sure.” Jagger was looking at the grassy field. “Camp goes until eleven every morning—which means we can still get in our afternoon practice with the team . . . I say we go through a few drills, and you can teach them all about balls, that is, if you still have them after Saturday night.”

“Good one,” I said in a dry tone. “And that shitface deserved every punch I slung his way, plus I didn’t see you jumping to your feet until my balls and I stepped in.”

“Yeah, well . . .” He swallowed and looked down. “We used to be friends, remember? My first instinct isn’t to hit my friends. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, since you don’t really have any.”

“I have Matt,” I said defensively.

“You pay Matt,” he pointed out. “When was the last time you even hung out with the guys?”

I started getting hot and itchy as I stared him down. “I hung out with my old team all the time. Look how that turned out for me.”

Jagger’s eyebrows shot up. “Funny, I heard a bit of a different story from a few people . . . especially about your ex.”

“I know the truth,” I said through clenched teeth.

Kids started shuffling onto the field.

You could tell the minute it registered that we were on the field. There was no way to brace for the onslaught of elementary school kids running at us full speed with no plan of stopping.

Jagger’s eyes widened.

I closed mine briefly.

And then felt stickiness against my legs, arms. There was lots of jumping up and down, so I just went with it.

I started jumping up and down.

Jagger burst out laughing and joined me.

Soon we had all fifty kids jumping with us, and the adults watching in disbelief, before I blew a whistle and kicked things off with a game of freeze tag.

It was an easy way to get them warm. And it helped them loosen up around us instead of being starstruck.

Jagger blew his whistle after about twenty minutes of running around and basically getting bulldozed by all the tiny humans.

“Alright, everyone, I’m going to count you off in ones and twos. Ones go to Slade, since he’s the number-one striker in the world.” Cheers sounded around us. I actually laughed out loud when some of them started practicing their own kicks.

My ones were more than pumped to be on my team. The twos didn’t seem to mind being on his, so all in all, it was a good start.

“Alright, ones,” I called out. There was no way I was going to remember everyone’s names at this point, but I could try. “We’re going to run a quick feet drill. I’m going to line up the cones, and I need you to weave the ball through the cones like this.” I demonstrated what I meant with ease while they all stared at me slack-jawed as though I’d just performed brain surgery.

“Alright, one by one, I want you guys to follow each other. When your friend gets to the end, you start. I’m setting up ten lines.”

Once I was done, I blew my whistle and they started.

Everyone seemed to be having fun except one little boy who stood with the ball in his hands.

I tapped one of the kids on the shoulder. “Hey, who’s that?”

“Oh, Danny?” He said his name under his breath like he was afraid someone would hear. “He, uh, his papaw died yesterday. His parents made him come still, they thought it would cheer him up.”

My heart sank past my knees and onto the ground.

“And what’s your name?”

“Mitchell.” He puffed out his chest.

“Cool.” I pulled off my whistle and handed it to him. “You think you can handle the team while I go talk to Danny?”

Mitchell’s eyes widened. “For real?”

“For real.” I grinned. “Once everyone finishes, blow the whistle, have them line up again, and run lines between the cones.”

“But, Mr. Slade, what if they don’t listen?”

“You have the magic whistle, they will,” I said encouragingly, ruffling his hair. “Plus I’ll be right over here watching.”

“’Kay.” He pulled the whistle cord over his head and crossed his arms, somehow managing to look very adult. I cracked another smile, then jogged over to Danny. He was still holding the ball close to his chest, like it was a teddy bear or security blanket.

“Hey.” I gave him a head nod and then sat on the grass and patted the spot next to me. “Have a seat.”

He lowered to the ground and crossed his legs, still holding the ball, still not saying a word. His sadness was palpable; I could feel it winding its way through me. Choking me.