Mitch and Deacon had driven together, and they hung around while the rest of the team readied to leave. Deacon was a natural with the kids, and Mitch wondered when his brother planned to have his own children. If ever. Rhonda had done a number on the guy, a lesson he—and Mitch—had taken to heart.
The room finally cleared.
“I hope to hell I don’t hear about your mouthing off when we get back,” Deacon muttered. “Look, Rothman is a dick. Everyone knows it. You didn’t have to go there with him.”
Mitch snorted. “Please. Ass-breath was asking for a beating. But I’m not the one who crushed his hand, Bro.”
“What happened?” Simon had snuck up behind them.
“Never mind,” Mitch and Deacon said at the same time.
The boy took a step back. “O-kay. So, um, thanks for coaching us this year,” Simon directed at Deacon. He turned to Mitch. “You too, Flash. Hey, do you want to ride home with us? We’re going to get ice cream on the way back.”
In near freezing temps, ice cream didn’t have the appeal the boy thought it might. But it was a chance to ride with Becca…
“And Flash, don’t tell my mom, but I’d feel a little safer with you in the car. She’s not the best driver in the snow.”
It hadn’t snowed yet, but Mitch knew the weather report called for it.
Deacon nodded. “Good point, Simon. Mitch, we’re going to need Simon’s wheels next year. Go help Becca out.” He moved behind Mitch to pick up his bag.
Mitch wanted to go but didn’t want to upset Becca. “You sure your mom won’t mind, Simon?”
“Nah. She’ll like the company. Apparently, my musical taste sucks. I’ll end up listening to my phone the whole way home. She could use someone to talk to.”
Mitch started to agree, but Simon’s amusement at something over his shoulder had him turning to see what his doofus brother was doing. Only to see Deacon looking like a choirboy.
“What?” Mitch growled, just knowing his brother had been making fun of him.
“Nothing. Hey, Simon. Did your aunt come with you?”
“Yeah.”
“How about we trade? I get Nora, you get Mitch. And no takebacks.”
Simon chuckled. “Not sure who’s getting the better deal, Coach.”
“Don’t tell your aunt that,” Deacon warned.
And so Mitch found himself driving home with Becca and Simon for the two hours and forty-five minutes it would take to reach Hope’s Turn.
He sat next to Becca in the front seat while Simon sat in the back, as promised, glued to his phone.
Mitch glanced around, noting the cleanliness of the vehicle. “Nice car.”
Becca shrugged, her eyes on the road. She looked beautiful, her long, dark hair framing her face, lit by the glow from the dash. “It’s not fancy, but it has heated seats.” She flashed him a grin, and his heart started pounding.
“What did you think of the game?”
“I thought it was great. Until the end.” She turned up the radio, some classic rock that had Simon groaning in the back.
“I’m turning up my volume,” he yelled. “Your music sucks.”
Led Zeppelin sucked? “Kid has no taste,” Mitch said.
“I know. I’m embarrassed to call him my son.”
“I heard that.” Simon made a face Mitch caught in the rearview mirror before the boy returned to studying his phone.
