by Kyra Jacobs
The doorknob clicked, and Scott opened his eyes to find Evan walking in with a set of gray and black films lying across his laptop. “Well, X-rays are looking good.”
“Yeah?” Anticipation grew in his chest. Scott could practically feel the wind on his face and asphalt under his feet. A few miles, and then he’d grab a ball and start working on some drills.
“Yep, you can lose the crutches now, just don’t overdo it.”
“Man, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”
“I’ll bet.” Evan pulled out a wheeled stool and started typing notes into his machine. “Keep your leg elevated in between walks, ice it if it swells. You’re probably going to have a lot of swelling, so like I said, don’t overdo it. I’m going to give you some exercises to work on—do three reps of each both in the morning and afternoon. Next week, if things are still looking good, we’ll see about adding in some longer walks, maybe even some short runs.”
Wait, what? “Next week?”
Evan sighed. “Scott, you’re coming off a significant knee injury. You’ve got to take it slow or you’ll keep the tear from healing on its own. If you do too much, it could even go the other way.”
“But the X-rays?”
“Shows your break is healing nicely. I can’t see muscle on there.”
“Then can we do an MRI or whatever? They’re gonna call me back any time, man. The playoffs are coming, and I need to be ready.” Before the new kid secures a spot for next season instead of me.
“No, you need to heal. If you don’t heal, you won’t last long on the field. Add in another bad tackle, and your pro days are over.”
Over…over…over…
The word echoed in his head like some bad sitcom. Without soccer, he’d have nothing. Be nothing. He’d lose his mind.
But another week of no training?
“Work with me, Evan. I need to get back in the game.”
“I am working with you. Most people, I wouldn’t recommend these exercises to for another week or two. You, I know can handle it. But let me be the doctor, okay? No running for one more week. Elevate the leg and ice as needed. If you’re feeling good by the weekend, maybe add in some slow—slow—dribbling. Oh, and I’m giving you the number for a new physical therapy place up the road. Doubt you’ll need it if you do the stretches I’m prescribing, but good to have if your range of motion isn’t where it needs to be by week’s end.” His friend jotted down a few notes on a sheet with cartoon patients modeling simple leg exercises, then handed it to Scott. “Are you going to the Soccer Festival on Friday?”
I guess so, since it appears I’ll still be around. “Yeah, Sawyer invited me out.”
“I’ll be sure to look for you, then. The missus and kids will be with me, I’m sure they’d love to see their Uncle Scott.”
“Would love to see them, too. You, not so much.”
Scott was sick of getting bad news. Part of him felt like he might never be released from his restrictions. Patience might be a virtue, but that didn’t mean he had much. And what he did have had been spent before arriving in Quail Hollow for the second opinion that kept biting him in the butt.
What the hell was he going to do for another week?
“Trust me, this is what’s best for your knee. Now quit your sulking and go get a sucker.” Evan rose and gave Scott a pat on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “Oh, and Scott?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever you’ve been doing over at Edna’s this week? Keep it up. Your blood pressure looks much better today.”
He ducked to hide a grin. Felicity—that’s who helped him keep his blood pressure down. Somehow, he didn’t think Evan would write him a refill for her special treatments, though he was seriously contemplating scribbling in “fornication” on his list of recommended stretches.
Doctor’s orders, honest!
Clothed or not, they were going to have to do something to pass the time; his cabin fever was growing by the day. Even doing more public relations crap would be better than sitting around the farmhouse twiddling his thumbs. Three reps twice a day—he’d have that knocked out with another twenty-three hours left to burn. Maybe Edna could take him to cards with her, let him drive the golf cart.
No, strike that. No way was he driving that pink nightmare around town. And besides, going to cards might get her thinking he planned to stick around. Because he didn’t, not when there were still goals to achieve and dreams to turn into realities.
Scott rose with a nod. “Good to know.”
Chapter Fourteen
Scott sat on the back porch that afternoon, icing his knee. He couldn’t wait to get home and ditch his infernal crutches this morning, and after cashing in on Felicity’s offered “reward” for being on good behavior, he dove into the exercises on Evan’s handout. Unfortunately, his body and his mind weren’t on the same playing field yet; what had looked like an easy enough circuit had proved to be far more painful than expected. But since he couldn’t play soccer without running, it was just something he’d have to endure.
The pain would subside in time. He just wished that time was now.
Felicity said something about work she had to do on her computer and had left him alone once the exercising began. She checked on him from time to time, though, making sure he had all he needed and that his ice packs were refilled as necessary. Her touch had been gentle, her presence calming, and had his knee not been screaming from the additional exertion, he might have been tempted to pull her back into his lap to show his gratitude.
Once Edna returned from her bridge club, though, additional makeout sessions were out of the question. It was in all their best interests if his grandmother stayed in the dark about their extracurricular activities. She wouldn’t understand and might read far more into their casual arrangement than either of them did.
Then the minister down the road would get a call, and things would get really uncomfortable.
“Let me guess, you overdid it.”
And…right on time. He offered his grandmother a forced smile as she took the seat beside him.
“I did exactly as the doctor ordered, actually.” And had sex, but don’t worry—that’s good for me, too. “It’s just going to take some time for my knee to get its range of motion back.”
“Wouldn’t have to hurt so much if you stuck around here, you know. Then you could heal at your own pace.”
“This is my own pace, Grandma. With or without my career on the line.”
“If you say so.”
She shrugged, looking bored with the conversation. Which wasn’t like her. And she had the cane in her grasp again.
“You feeling all right?”
“Feeling my age is all,” she said, which didn’t have near the usual bite behind it.
“Something’s bothering you.”
She shook her head. “Nah, just worried about our little guy.”
Our little guy? “Who, Tyler?”
“Mm-hmm. Felicity’s out on the front porch with him. Guess he got picked on over his new glasses at school today.”
Scott felt an unexpected wave of protectiveness wash over him. No kid should be bullied, ever. He’d never experienced it firsthand but had to chase off a few jerks back in the day for picking on his less athletic classmates. If he weren’t a gimp right now, he’d be tempted to take Tyler into town and chase off a few more. That wouldn’t teach the boy how to stand up for himself, though.
“Think Felicity would mind if I tried talking to him?”
A look of pride lit on Edna’s face. “I don’t think she’d mind at all.”
Pride? He wasn’t sure where that’d come from and opted not to ask. On a groan, he rose and headed through the house. He deposited his mostly melted ice bag in the sink and passed through. Sure enough, Felicity sat on the top porch step with Tyler curled into her side. A small sniffle rang out.
It wasn’t until then that Scott questioned his ability to help in the matter. Other than being a kid o
nce upon a time, what did he know about coaching Tyler on how to survive recess bullies? And what if he told him something Felicity wouldn’t appreciate, like how he should just deck the other kid tomorrow? He definitely didn’t want to make matters worse than they were.
Ah, but maybe this wasn’t so much an issue of needing to learn self-defense as it was of Tyler needing to build his self-confidence so he wouldn’t be bothered by the other kids. Scott stepped out the door and decided to try a different approach.
“Oh, good. You guys are back.”
Felicity turned her face toward him and made a cease-and-desist grimace. He shook his head and winked.
“Felicity, you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed Tyler for a little bit, would you? I could really use his help.”
Tyler turned his way now, eyes red-rimmed and wary. “My help?”
“Yeah. I’ve got some stuff I want to get out of the garage. Sports stuff. You’re the perfect size.”
“What kind of sports stuff?”
“Come and see.”
Tyler looked at his mom, who gave a nod of approval, then rose snail-slow to follow Scott down off the porch. Scott’s knee squawked with every step, but for the boy, he’d endure it. Secretly, he’d been waiting a week for this moment to arrive.
The old farmhouse had been built before the era of attached garages. Barns—that’s all the farmers back then had needed, somewhere to store their tractors, maybe their combines or hay balers. A detached garage had been built in the eighties, after a storm took out half of their old barn. It housed the riding mower Edna paid her neighbor to run for her once a week during the summer, his grandfather’s untouched Lincoln, which she’d yet been able to part with, and that ridiculous pink golf cart of hers, among other things.
They stepped through the garage’s side door, and Scott flipped on the lights.
“Whoa, Edna has a car and a golf cart?”
Scott gave the Lincoln a once over. “Yep. Doesn’t use the car, though. I keep telling her to sell it, but she won’t.”
“Why doesn’t she use it?”
“No license. Can’t drive without a license.”
It only took a moment to locate his old set of popup goals, the ones he’d left here after college. Thankfully, Edna hadn’t tossed them with the rest of his old soccer jerseys and trophies. That’d been his penalty for announcing he was headed to Columbus after school instead of staying around here. He didn’t really have any use for his old memorabilia, but it’d still stung that she would have thrown them all away in a fit of rage.
But wait, what were these boxes marked Scott’s room to the right of the goals? He shimmied over to one and pulled open its flaps. Inside was a stack of bubble wrap. Curious, he peeled it back from the top item…and found one of his old travel trophies.
Son of a gun. She hadn’t discarded his things after all.
If only he could find a way to make her proud again, to bury this hatchet between them for good. Probably wasn’t going to happen until after he retired from the league; he prayed she’d still be around to see it.
Scott rewrapped the item and carefully closed the lid. He’d walk down memory lane later. Right now, he had a little boy who needed cheering up.
“Hey, Tyler? Can you squeeze through those boxes and grab the pole back there?”
“Pole?”
The boy wiggled through the maze of boxes and reached for the first goal’s crossbar. As he pulled it free from the storage area, its net came along with it. Tyler’s eyes lit up.
“Is this a…goal?”
Scott smiled. “Yep. My old popups. Thought maybe you could help me get them out and see if they still work.”
“Cool,” Tyler said in awe. “Can we set them up?”
“Heck, yeah. How else are we going to practice together this week?”
Tyler’s eyes grew wide. “Practice together? Me and you?”
“Sure, unless you don’t want to. I guess I could always ask your mom instead.”
“Actually, Mom’s not so good with sports,” Tyler whispered. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
Scott laughed. Somehow, he didn’t think Felicity would appreciate hearing her son’s confession. But since he was on a mission to build up the boy’s self-confidence, he let it slide. Hopefully, the little dude had some natural talent hidden behind those glasses and shaggy hair, so Scott would have something to work with this afternoon.
He tipped his head toward the door, anxious to help and excited to have a ball at his own feet again. “I won’t. Now come on, let’s get these goals outside and set up.”
…
Felicity sat on Edna’s back porch Wednesday afternoon beside a snoring Bruno, trying to enjoy a bit of sunshine as she emailed J.B. with an update from the day’s visit to a high school a few miles north of there in Auburn. While she did, Scott and Tyler continued their backyard training. It warmed her heart to no end that he’d taken it upon himself to try and cheer Tyler up Monday. Amazingly, it’d worked like a charm. Not only had Tyler perked up after his first “real training,” but it turned out that, under the proper guidance, he wasn’t as uncoordinated as she’d believed him to be.
Maybe she’d been wrong to worry that he’d get hurt trying sports.
Though, what she loved even more than seeing his progress in the backyard was how her son had come downstairs before school this morning, eager to go back, rather than leery. And from the sound of it, not only had the teasing over his glasses ceased, but after Tyler’s improved performance on the playground, his peers were now fighting over which team could claim him. If two focused practice sessions could give him that big a boost, maybe it was time she signed him up for one of their local recreational leagues. But if the coach wasn’t Scott, would Tyler still flourish?
Too bad it wasn’t an “if.” Scott would be gone soon, headed back to Columbus, and Tyler would just have to get used to another instructor. Maybe she could talk Scott into coming back a few times a year to put on a clinic for the local youth? That’d be a great PR boost for him and more chances for Tyler to grow under his guidance.
More chances for her to see him after he left, too…
“I take it things went well at the school today?”
She glanced up to find Edna at the doorway, carrying a tray of lemonade and plastic cups. While Edna seemed to live to give Scott a hard time, the two women had hit it off from the get-go. If she knew that Scott and Felicity were sneaking kisses—okay, more than kisses—behind her back, she had yet to let on.
“Scott did great,” she said, easing back into her seat. “And the crowd loved him. Hometown favorite, you know.”
“Oh, yes. This town’s gobbled him up since his high school days. The boy had more shots on goal than anyone in the history of Quail Hollow High. Lemonade?”
“Please. And it sounds like someone’s followed his career closer than she’s let on.”
The older woman smiled. “Just because I don’t agree with him pissing his life away on that ridiculous sport doesn’t mean I’m not proud of all he’s accomplished. After his mother passed, there was a time I feared the boy wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, let alone dribble a ball or score a goal.”
“His mom passed away?” Felicity took the cup Edna offered. “How long ago was that?”
“A little over sixteen years now. She had an aggressive cancer that the doctors didn’t catch in time. Truth be told, back then, I don’t know that they could have done much to save her if they had.”
Sixteen years ago? Felicity did some quick mental math. If he was twenty-eight, that would have put him at around twelve. Such a young age to grapple with so much heartache.
“How awful. Were he and his mom close?”
“Oh yes, he loved his mama. Always so sweet, drawing her pictures, picking flowers for her.” She leaned closer. “Usually from the neighbor’s garden, which always tickled me. I couldn’t stand that old ninny Gladys Boxberger.”
Felicity grinned. Tyler had compl
ained about a Brandon Boxberger in his class. Apparently, personalities didn’t fare well in that family.
“So, of course, he took her passing very hard. And his father…” Edna shook her head. “My son dealt with his grief by ignoring it. Boxed everything of hers up and had it to Goodwill within days of her passing. The house was next, then this town. He moved to Connecticut without a single glance back. Hasn’t returned other than for Scott’s high school graduation and Ike’s funeral. The rest of the time it was him flying us out east to visit. Denial is an endless, bitter path, I’m afraid.”
“You said he moved. What about Scott?”
“Scottie didn’t want to go, wasn’t ready to leave all he knew behind. Ike and I took him in so he could finish his schooling in Indiana. He’d fly out to spend major holidays with his family in the beginning—his father remarried shortly after the move; Scott has two younger half sisters he’s never been all that close with—but by the end of high school, even that dwindled to a visit or two a year. Scott and his father, they just never clicked like he and his mother had.”
Felicity turned her gaze to the backyard, where Scott and Tyler were huddled around a pile of soccer balls, a trail of safety orange cones stretched out ahead of them. “Was that when he turned to soccer? After his mom passed?”
“Actually, it was before then, shortly after she was diagnosed. Marla knew he would need something to focus on after she was gone, something to help get him out of the house and work through his grief. He was terrible at first, had never played the sport before sixth grade, when most of the other kids on his rec team had. Got picked on a little, didn’t try all that hard. But after she passed, and with some gentle prodding by my Ike, something inside Scottie changed. He dug into his drills and had a ball at his feet at all times, both inside and out. By the time spring tryouts came around in middle school, he was running rings around those same boys.
“I’d been ecstatic at first, glad he wasn’t holed up in his room grieving in silence. It was encouraging, seeing him out there, growing a passion for the sport. And his grades were good—we made him finish homework before practice, most days. But, well, there comes a point when your passion can start to eclipse other things.”
