“All right, champions,” Kieren said, smiling at the sea of flushed faces. “Bring it in.”
The crowd shuffled closer, collapsing into a lopsided semicircle around him. Some of the littlest ones sat cross-legged. Others leaned on their friends. A few were still bouncing on their toes, too amped to stand still.
Kieren waited. Patient. Comfortable.
When the last of the shuffling stilled, he crouched down, so he was level with most of them, elbows resting on his knees. “You all crushed it today,” he started. “I mean that. You showed up, gave it your best, and tried something that might’ve felt a little scary at first.”
The kids were quiet, watching him like he was giving away state secrets.
“Here’s the truth,” he went on. “Not every kid I played with growing up had the chance to do something like this. I didn’t, either. I learned in alleyways, school yards, back lots. But you all? You’ve got something special.” He paused, scanning the group, his voice dipping a little lower. “You’ve got heart. That matters more than how fast you run or how many goals you score. If you keep showing up for each other, keep trying—especially on the hard days—you’ll go farther than you think.”
A few kids nodded. One of them blinked like he was about to cry. My throat tightened unexpectedly.
“Soccer teaches you more than how to kick a ball,” Kieren continued. “It teaches you how to lose without giving up. How to listen. How to lead. How to get up when you fall. And you’re already doing all of that.”
He stood then, slowly, towering over them but somehow still approachable.
“So I want you to remember this: It’s okay if you’re not the best on the field today. What matters is that you care. That you help each other. That you keep playing because you love it.”
The gym fell into this rare kind of stillness. A few of the older kids clapped. Then more joined in. Then suddenly, everyone was cheering again—loud and wild and joyful.
And Kieren just stood there, smiling, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with the attention.
I watched him from across the gym, that flutter in my chest turning into something steadier. Something deeper.
He didn’t just manage to encourage them.
He made them believe in themselves.
And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to make me believe, too.
Chapter 18
Kieren
After the last kid got picked up and the gym emptied out, the rest of the team was buzzing. Adam was still bouncing off the walls like he’d downed a case of energy drinks. Derek was holding court with a group of teachers, already halfway into storytime. Caleb gave me a nod and a tired smile before slipping out the side door.
I lingered.
So did she.
Daphne stood by the bleachers, her clipboard hugged against her chest like it gave her some kind of barrier. Her hair was a little messy, her cheeks pink from the heat, and there was a smudge of something—maybe pen ink—on the side of her hand.
She looked… real.
I didn’t want the night to end.
“Wanna grab something to eat?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, like it was no big deal. Just a suggestion. Just food.
Her eyes flicked to mine, cautious. “Just food?”
“Unless you’re craving something else,” I said, tossing in a grin that had gotten me out of worse situations.
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. That smirk. The one I’d started looking for more than I cared to admit. “Still full of yourself, I see.”
I shrugged. “Only when it works.”
She didn’t say yes right away. She looked at me for a beat longer, like she was measuring something I couldn’t name. I didn’t move. Didn’t push.
