Later that afternoon at training, Fin was absently caressing his father’s whistle that he’d taken to wearing as he watched the kids tussling back and forth with the ball during a mock game. He’d divided the team into two and they were playing a pared-down twenty-minute version. They were getting better, he told himself, but then Matthew half tripped over his own feet, just managing to right himself before he face planted into the grass.
Okay, marginally better.
‘Good reflexes, Matthew,’ he called, because he’d take the positives where he could get them.
He signed as he spoke, which he and Donny had taken to doing automatically now for Winnie’s sake, to make her feel seen and safe and welcome. But Fin was amazed how quickly the other kids were picking it up. How they were using it to not only communicate but, led by Tori and Nellie, to rally around a traumatised little girl, taking the time to be kind and trying to make her laugh.
And Winnie had become so much more confident. Definitely less shy. Bouncing onto the field each day as if she had springs in her shoes, a smile on her face, making eye contact and high fiving new friends. She’d also been very patient with teammates who struggled with interpreting her rapid-fire AUSLAN, giggling sometimes at the many misinterpretations.
It was such a beautiful noise that he suspected the kids deliberately screwed up their signing just to hear it from the normally silent Winnie.
Fin thought she seemed happy. Or at least a lot less withdrawn than the shy little girl who had hidden behind her grandfather’s legs on the sidelines. Gordon and Hilde were over the moon at how much their granddaughter had come out of her shell and, in the end, that was all that mattered, right?
The team might not be the best at football but they tried hard, sweating their hearts out for him every day, and they were a cohesive little bunch and that made Fin stupidly proud. He hadn’t expected to feel so…full upinside, watching his little Banshees do their damnedest, but he was—every day.
In fact, he hadn’t realised there’d been space to fill until he’d become their coach.
‘Watch for incoming,’ Donny yelled as he signed to Nellie, who was goalie for the next five minutes.
Fin, fairly confident some stumble or fumble would occur that ensured the ball got nowhere near the net, let his gaze drift. To where Sweeney was sprawled on her stomach on a blanket, supporting her torso on her bent elbows, looking through the lens of the camera she was holding like she’d been born with it in her hands. And the feeling of fullness stretched even bigger inside as she snapped away furiously every time little feet ran past her position.
She caught every kick, tackle and mishap. Every kid with a finger up their nose or down their pants or with their neck craned, staring at an aeroplane flying overhead. Not to mention every comical parental reaction from cheering to wincing and every facial expression in between.
And each still frame was gold, ensuring the Instagram page went from strength to strength. They’d stopped the GoFundMe page a few days ago because they’d far exceeded their target and Mai felt it might not only be a breach of the T&Cs but plain dishonest to keep it running when they had more than enough money for their needs.
Despite that, interest in the team continued. Every post on the grid was shared and liked and commented on many hundreds of times. The photos were stunning and Fin felt the same kind of stupid pride in Sweeney that he’d just felt about his team. She’d been so leery about branching into a different kind of photography, but she’d kicked its ass.
As she’d always done with anything she’d set her mind to.
Watching her now, she looked one hundred per cent focused and one hundred per cent professional. One hundred per cent boss.
And hell if it wasn’t distracting AF, the denim of her jeans hugging the spread of her thighs and the rounded perfection of her ass. The placement of her arms emphasising the swell of side boob tightly contained in her clingy shirt. The tendrils of hair falling from her loose up-do, lifting off her neck in the occasional breeze.
Fin was so distracted he didn’t see the ball coming right for him until Donny reached out and plucked it from the air about a foot from its ultimateunintended target—his dick.
‘Jesus, dude,’ he muttered as Fin returned his attention to the field. ‘One more second and you’d have been singing soprano.’ Tossing the ball to Alex, he said, ‘Sideline kick, buddy.’
‘That’s buddy?’ Alex asked, his expression earnest as he mimicked Donny, who’d made a fist with one hand, covered it with the open palm of his other hand and rocked his joined hands back and forth at the wrists.
‘Yeah,’ Fin confirmed. ‘Friend or buddy.’
The little face lit up with a huge grin as Alex shot two thumbs up. ‘Cool,’ he said as he ran to the sideline, where a dozen kids, all standing in a bunch, yelled, ‘Kick it to me!’
Fin almost laughed at how far they’d come and yet how little. Considering it was one week until they left for the comp, he should probably be concerned. But, as his Kerry man grandfather—who had adopted the Aussie vernacular with gusto—always loved to say, they weren’t playing for sheep stations.
‘Spread out, guys,’ he shouted into the melee, signing the directive, not that anyone was looking at him.
The game got back on track—or as back on track as it was likely to get—and Fin and Donny tried to direct and encourage as much as possible for the remainder. The afternoon was cooling off as the training session drew to a close and he gave the kids free time to run around on the field for a bit. Mostly because he knew Sweeney got some of her best pics during this time, but also because their antics were always amusing.
Some kicked balls around or practised shooting into the net, convincing one of the mothers to be the goalkeeper. Several, including Winnie, played tiggy. One did a handstand. A few more stood around chatting to each other, shooting the breeze like they were in their eighties. A couple of the boys were signing to each other, or attempting to, which made Fin inordinately happy.
‘What are you guys doing tomorrow night?’ Donny asked.
Fin glanced across at Sweeney, who was crouching now but still snapping away. It did little for his peace of mind as it only emphasised her ass, the denim stretching over those sweet, plump cheeks like cling wrap.
For fuck’s sake. What was wrong with him?
Dragging his attention back to the field, Fin shook his head. ‘Nothing planned.’
