Chapter Three
Still asking himself that question the next day, Mitch pulled Simon aside at the beginning of practice. When he’d told his brother about his deal with Becca Bragg, Deacon had laughed.
“Man, anything to keep you out of the barracuda’s jaws, eh? Sucker. But hey, better you than me. Stan is back, so that’s a plus. But we have some special-teams work to get to before our walk-through. We can’t have a repeat of last week. So, to fix it for the Mountain Top game, it’s gonna be a long practice. You dealing with Bragg helps, trust me.”
Since Mitch had no job and no responsibilities but the football team at the moment, it was left to him to handle Simon. The others were more than happy to wipe their hands clean of the troublemaking wisecracker.
“Simon. Let’s talk.”
The boy followed Mitch to the unoccupied office. The rest of the team had gathered outside to practice.
Mitch stared at him in silence, remembering the tactic from one of his favorite coaches.
Simon stared back.
Mitch remained calm, unmoving.
A minute later, Simon fidgeted. As the silence went on, Simon expelled a heavy breath, then scowled. “Why am I here?”
And the power shifted subtly to Mitch. He sat back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head. “Why do you think you’re here?”
Simon groaned. “Is this another talk about my sucky attitude? Because I don’t think it’s sucky to want to win.”
“It’s not. But it’s not wanting to win that’s a problem, and you know that.”
Simon sat for a moment, his arms crossed mutinously across his chest. “But they’re making bad calls.”
“They?”
“The coaches. And Mike Tanner and Jed Smith. Boyd, even.” The team’s defensive line. “They didn’t compensate for the other team’s strong side offense and their guys that can run rings around us.”
“Simon, the coaches are here for a reason. Now I grant you, the last game was a little challenging, but football isn’t a one-man team. You can’t solve every problem. You’re a running back. Offense is your game, so leave the defense to your teammates.”
“I can play defense too.”
Trouble was, he could and did a hell of a job as a cornerback. Mitch needed a better tactic to get through to the boy. “Simon, I like you.”
“Sorry, Coach. You’re not my type.”
Mitch laughed. “You’re such pain in the ass.” The kid smiled. “You remind me of me when I was your age. Thought I knew everything. Was always right. Could run faster than everyone on the team. But if the quarterback hates you, he won’t throw you the ball. If you annoy your offensive line to no end, no one’s gonna block for you. And treating your defense like they’re beneath you is plain stupid. Division ruins a team. We’re all either one pile of shit, or we’re not. You aren’t you, here, kid. You’re a Cougar. Tanner, Smith, and Boyd are Cougars.”
“Linda Madison is a cougar,” Simon muttered.
Mitch opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. “Um, so, yeah. You get what I’m saying?” How old was Linda? He’d thought late thirties. Maybe she was older.
Hmm. For that matter, how old was Becca Bragg? She couldn’t be much older than him, so she must have had Simon young.
“Yeah, sure.” Simon sighed. “Shut up and play. Be supportive even when the rest of the team sucks.”
“Exactly.”
Simon shrugged. “I guess I can do that.”
“Another thing, why’d you let me think your dad was alive? Your mom looked at me like I was lower than scum.”
Simon shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
Realizing he navigated troubled waters, Mitch leaned forward. “I get if you’re missing your dad. Look, if you need a break during practice or some space or something, just let me or the coaches know. It’s not a problem.”
