I give him a sassy little wave as he leaves through said gate, still sneering at us as he enters the parking lot. I cut my eyes Jordan’s way. ‘That was a whole different Jordan, I think.’
‘I’m not always sunshine and rainbows.’ Her eyes narrow at Declan’s retreating back. ‘Not when it comes to full glasses of rusty nails like that guy.’
‘Dang.’ My eyebrows rise in … shock? I think of my first impression of Jordan this summer – pink tie-dye, bright-eyed, armed with a chai tumbler. This is quite the antithesis.
‘Yeah.’ She shakes her head, dismissive. ‘He reminds me of someone. But it doesn’t matter. Did he mean that, the sinking ship bit? I mean, Benny told me it’s an indirect determinant of funding, right. But it’s not that bad, is it?’
Ah. Here’s my ‘I’m not okay.’ I have to find a training lacrosse ball, lying near the bleachers, and grab it just so I have something to squeeze extra tight. Admitting to our money issues isn’t exactly something I’m raring to do. ‘It’s … semi-that bad. We’re definitely not doing well.’
‘How not-well are we doing?’
‘Uh.’ I’m white-knuckling this ball now. ‘Not-well enough that this Cross Camp could be the last nail in the coffin.’
Wide-eyed, Jordan just nods. She props a hand up on her hip. ‘Oh. So Declan isn’t just a theatre kid.’
‘Nah, he is. He did do theatre in high school.’
‘Fair. Fair, but his threat was …’ Jordan scratches her cheek absentmindedly, glancing at the kids with furrowed eyebrows. ‘It had some merit.’
That statement rings out in my mind as we wrap up the day’s drills and pack up to head home. Declan’s sudden drop-in has certainly shaken all three of us coaches. It’s objectively awful, because our primary goal is always for the kids to have fun. When money and competition wiggle their way into things, that goal becomes a lot blurrier, no matter what we do about it.
‘Loosen up.’ Jordan stabs me in the ribs with the end of her pro game stick post-clean-up. She waves towards the empty field. ‘Let’s play catch. C’mon.’
We spread out on the field once the kids have gone and all the equipment is put away. My own game stick has seen days of all kinds. Just like the last time I’d played with Jordan, the Peppa Pig stickers make me chuckle. I never took them off. It’s a happy reminder of what – or who – I play for.
Speaking of happy reminders. ‘Who’d Declan remind you of?’ I ask offhandedly as I make the first pass, and it lands squarely in the head of Jordan’s stick.
She very obviously shifts in her spot across from me. When she passes the ball back, it has a little extra whip to it. ‘Dad.’
‘Oh.’ I swallow hard. So definitely a can of worms that I’m not sure it’s my place to open. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say instead, whichI realize could come off as misplaced. Shit. How do I whack myself with the butt of my stick as soon as possible?
‘It’s not your fault.’ She catches my pass, pursing her lips. ‘We can agree some people just suck.’
‘That we can.’ I get ready to send back the ball she’s returned to me. ‘It’s not your fault, you know. The shitty people.’
Her lips are still pursed, as if suppressing something, some emotion, when she nods. ‘I know. It’s just … hard. Convincing yourself.’
I know that a little too well. There was a point, and there still are times like this, where I think I am one of those people who suck. That I think I am a subpar father because I spiralled out when Charlotte left, and then because I let her back into Tali’s life, which clearly didn’t go down well. The convincing is pretty tough.
With that kindling between us, I take a beat or two to think. There’s something – one thing – that used to bring me back from the spiral. I’ve been hard-pressed to share it with anyone. Call it gatekeeping, but I’d rather my happy place not become a TikTok hotspot. Now, though, I feel like maybe, it’s worth sharing with Jordan. Who knows what this is between us? Who knows if she’ll remember any of this in ten years? Lately, I’ve started to realize she’s worth the risk. At least, I want her to be.
‘You know what …’ I sound like I’m absolutely nerding out, trying to ask the cutest girl in class to the dance. I shake away the nerves. Come on, bro. ‘I could kinda use a break. I know this place, I guess – it’s kind of nice. It’s where I go when I’m all in my head. Kinda detangles things.’
‘Detangles,’ Jordan repeats incredulously, but a tiny smileflickers across her face. ‘Can I trust you not to kidnap me or something? Or worse, get on one knee?’
I hope I’m not turning as red as I feel. This woman knows way too well how to find the chinks in my armour and dig, hard. I clear my throat. ‘None of the above. I promise.’
‘Sorry.’ She purses her lips, but then she nods, and a way-too-dramatic breath leaves my lungs. ‘I’ll take it. Thank you.’
Not at all, I want to say. Thankyou.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Beacon
Rod
‘Is this how you woo all your co-coaches?’
