I shake my head. It’s not easy to forgive mistakes when you were raised so competitively, and not easy at all to forgive them when it was over a blowout argument, but if there was ever a moment for us to forgive and forget, it would be now. ‘That doesn’t matter. What matters is these guys are struggling out there. You got them back on track once. I think you’re the one that they need to do it again.’
Rod’s reaction is definitely not what I expect. He lets out a laugh. It’s a little bit bitter, and a little bit genuine.
‘I can’t believe you,’ he says.
‘What?’ Really? After Declan, he’s going to give me a reason to chew out the second ass-hat in two minutes?
‘I can’t believe you don’t realize howgoodyou are at this, Jordan.’
The insults hiss out of me with one heavy exhale. ‘Everythingis riding on this. I don’t think it’s the moment to throw in the rookie.’
He tips his chin towards the bleachers, where the kids are nursing big bottles of electrolyte drinks and kicking cleats around. ‘I do.’
‘Why?’ The word is more of a blurt than it is a controlled reply. I wince. Definitely not the reply I should have given him.
But he takes it in his stride. Says, ‘I guess we should finish this thing strong.’
The finality of the end of it all is striking. I mean, we already knew things between us had ended. But this feels like an actual ending: trying to give a dumpster fire a dignified send-off to tie everything up with a bow in the end. And honestly, to do right by the kids after a summer they quite obviously enjoyed, and now are under stress over.
I nod. I’ve never been speech-giver; that was always May, team captain. Either way, it’s a quiet show of assent. If it’s a dignified send-off he wants, I’ll pitch in. Because after today, I will be leaving Whittaker, and I won’t have the heart to look back.
‘What if we lose?’
Little Theo is the smallest in our huddle, standing about a head and a half shorter than all the other kids gathered around, our arms linked. His eyes are big and glossy as he contemplates the thought of certain defeat. Tears threaten to spill over and ruin his eye black.
‘Oh, my friend, no.’ I reach over and give his hand a reassuring squeeze.
Every single child on the team has assembled around me.They are in various states of exhaustion, just like in that first game, the struggle bus we’d been pushing through out on the rec field. But I know they can do it – they’ve done it before. This time, it will take a little extra is all. The guilt is pretty strong in the pit of my stomach as I think about the dissonance, the argument they’ve seen between me and Rod. These kiddos feel like it’s all falling apart, and it’s our fault.
‘Listen. I …’ I clear my throat. Someone’s cleats squeak in the grass. ‘I just want to apologize to you guys. This got very heavy, very fast. We’ve been out of sorts. And that hasn’t been fair.’
Heads bob around the circle. Okay, progress. I plod on, if not somewhat awkwardly. I know no one here is over the age of thirteen, and yet I feel like I’m talking to a group of adults. ‘But y’all … I know that Theo asked what happens if we lose. That is a valid question. Losing happens, and it really, really sucks. It does. You’re all big enough to understand that. It’s just that the opposite can be true. What if we win? What then?’
My last word is followed by a thoughtful murmur, wide eyes that are not so devastated. I can see the wheels turning.Good, I think to myself.You’re doing good. ‘So instead of playing and asking yourself what happens if you lose this, I want you to think, what happens if you win it? Because we will.’
The smile I give the kids is still somewhat strained, kind of wavering, but it’s coming back stronger. I stick my hand in the middle of the circle and, one by one, they follow suit, until we have a stack so high that Theo can barely reach it.
When we break, the cheers are fortifying. I exhale heavily, and as the team jogs back onto the field, I can feel a tangiblechange in the atmosphere. They resume their places as we choose to set up in a defensive plan this time.
And yet, the game runs down to the wire. For the next half an hour, we watch Whittaker score on Boston, and then Boston swing back. It’s a teeter-totter of a game, during which Rod and I continue to keep our distance, but for the sake of the kids, we pull it together enough.
By the second-to-last minute, we are tied 5–5 with Boston, and the deciding goal of the game is in the air. The smell of barbecue is thick in the stands and all over the sidelines. The sunlight glitters against sparkly lit-up Fourth of July headbands. Grill dads are practically roaring at my back as I wave an arm towards the goal, yelling plays frantically, yelling anything I can to keep morale up in these last seconds. My sneakers crunch through the grass, veering dangerously close to the white spray-painted line I’m forbidden from crossing. I follow the ball all the way up until it winds up in Jake’s stick, and I think he is going to go for the goal like the ball hog he is, until he passes. The ball makes a beautiful arc through the air, and it lands square in the head of little Theo’s stick.
‘WIN, THEO!’ I nearly scream. I foist my clipboard towards the goal so hard it starts to slip from my grasp. Theo is both small and fast. He weaves around a Boston defender and, just like he’d done that first week of camp, he whips it. Every second is agony. The ball is in the air for a minute or two, it feels like, appearing to travel in slow motion. I don’t rest until it shoots past the goalie, a kid about double Theo’s size, and slaps the back of the net with a swish.
That, for everything I’ve seen in my time playing, is a game-winning goal.
All at once, there are kids everywhere. Tucking themselves in the crook of my arm, arms wrapped around my torso. They leave their dirt and sweat and warm breath everywhere, but they consume the hole I’d been carrying around in my heart for the past few days, fill it up. I give little Theo a great big hug, and his eye black smears against my cheek. He giggles. ‘We won, Coach Jordan. What now?’
His laugh is the purest sound I’ve ever heard. He hasn’t seen loneliness and heartbreak and pain. There’s something about it, back when riding and playing lacrosse were so simple. Everything was so simple. When did opening your heart become so complicated?
‘Well, Theo, now …’ I give his helmet a pat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rod, to whom the kids run, too. He’s also awash in a sea of children, among which is his own, Tali. She’s on his shoulders as per usual, best seat in the house. Despite it all, there’s no denying that he is a phenomenal father. That much will never change.
I find myself blinking away tears I didn’t realize I was on the verge of shedding. ‘Now you can go and celebrate. Go see the fireworks.’
Theo gives me one last squeeze before running to his parents. I exchange grins with the middle-school girls, accept a peanut-butter-scented embrace from Jake. If I take anything away from this summer, maybe it can be these kids. They gave me so much, anyway.
Once the last of the children has peeled away, I begin packing my backpack. My clipboard, whose papers are all creased and nasty at this point, slots in nicely on the side, just behind my practice stick. People are still cheering around me. Barbecuetongs have been discarded in favour of red, white and blue pom-poms, cross-camp T-shirts are being distributed. Declan exchanges a begrudging handshake with Rod. ‘Till next year,’ I hear him say. Whittaker Lax Camp, at least, will live to see another summer.
