Old Fashioned

by Steiner, Kandi

  It was always my theory for why he’d moved up so quickly in rank.

  They knew he’d play dirty for them.

  Patrick Scooter was the son of the founder of the whiskey distillery that Stratford, Tennessee, was built on. His father, Robert, had apparently been a stand-up guy. But Patrick? Well, I had my opinions about how he ran his business — how he ran this entire town. And the saddest part was that he didn’t work alone, because he couldn’t work alone. If Mayor Barnett and my ex-husband would have joined forces, they could have easily taken him down.

  But to them, money and reputation talked.

  Everything else was null and void.

  “You know, it’s a shame we’re not together anymore,” Randy said. “We could finally get that boat you’ve always wanted, take Paige out to the lake for long weekends in the summer…”

  “Yep, it’s sure too bad,” I said, not feeling bad at all. If Randy should have known anything by now, it was that his money didn’t mean a damn thing to me. I’d even told the judge I didn’t want alimony, though it was owed to me. All I asked for was child support — and even that was nothing, in the grand scheme of things.

  “How’s your little job going?” he asked next, changing the subject away from his unethical nature. “I heard you pulled a kid out of the game for no reason and that’s why the team lost last night.”

  I resisted the urge to grind my teeth together or scream or shove him backward so hard that he hit his ass right on the pavement. Instead, I blinked, took a long breath, and smiled.

  “Parker is one of our best running backs. It was unfortunate that he was injured in the third quarter, and I’m sure the team missed him once he was gone, but his injury was one that needed closer assessment before he could be cleared to play again. As for why we lost, I have my own opinions about that, but I recommend you talk to Coach. He’s the expert.”

  I chuckled internally at my sass on that last comment, but when I turned to my ex, he was watching me with disdain.

  Randy hated that I divorced him, but I knew he hated even more that I was working. When I got pregnant, he made it very clear that I was expected to stay home and take care of Paige and the house. They were my job, now. It didn’t matter that I had a passion for school, for learning, for the human anatomy and the way we push our bodies past their limits in athletics. It didn’t matter that I’d already had an internship at the hospital two towns over, or that there was a junior college baseball team talking to me about coming on as their athletic trainer after Paige was born.

  Honestly, I didn’t matter to him — not really. He’d made me feel that way, made me feel precious and special and doted on, like I was his entire world. The moment I said yes to being his wife and that ring was slipped onto my finger, his true colors came out.

  And I was already pregnant.

  I shook off the ghosts threatening to join us in that park, turning my attention to where Paige was asking yet another little boy if he wanted to play catch with her. She held her football hopefully, her eyes wide.

  “Oh, trust me, I plan on talking to Jordan. I’m sure this whole town does,” Randy replied. “Last night’s game was a mess, and if he has any hope of bringing another championship home, he’s got a lot of work to do.”

  “Mmm,” I answered, exhausted by trying to be nice to the man who’d been my own personal hell for years. My eyes flicked to where a gaggle of women were watching me and Randy more carefully than they were their kids, and I knew without a doubt they were gossiping about the divorce, likely painting me as the villain this town wanted to believe I was.

  How could anyone leave sweet Randy Kelly?

  He’s such a great officer, and an amazing father.

  She had nothing going for her. She was lucky to have him.

  Why is she even staying in Stratford if she doesn’t want to be with him?

  But they didn’t know me.

  They knew nothing.

  “Well, thanks for meeting up,” I said dismissively. “I’ll text you on Wednesday after practice to figure out where you want to meet.”

  “I could just come by to pick Paige up,” he offered.

  “No.”

  He frowned. “I used to live there, too, you know. That’s my house, too.”

  “Not anymore. Public places, Randy,” I said, a warning in my eyes. “Court’s orders.”

  An evil smirk bloomed on his face, like he knew something I didn’t, but instead of revealing his secret, he just offered me a wave and headed toward his truck in the parking lot. That smirk of his was one I knew well, and it elicited a deep wave of chills that cooled me to the bones.

  As soon as he pulled out of the lot, I took what felt like my first breath since he’d shown up. My body was always tense when he was near, senses on full alert — as if I might need to run or fight at any given moment. I rubbed the back of my neck with a sigh, turning to find Paige on the playground.

  When I did find her, my body tensed right back up.

  “Shit,” I said out loud, already jogging toward where she was standing at the opposite edge of the park. She still held tight to her football, but instead of pestering some kid her own age to play catch with her, she was talking animatedly to a very tall, very shirtless, very muddy Jordan Becker.

  He wore an amused smile as he listened to my daughter, huge biceps crossed over his bare chest. His eyes flicked to me when I was ten yards away, and he smiled even wider before he turned his attention back to Paige.

  “… You know what I mean? And, don’t even get me started on the cornerback. The twin. What’s his name?”

  “Boone Parson.”

  “Parson!” Paige said, snapping her fingers together just as I came to a stop beside her. She glanced up at me with a grin. “Hey, Mama.” Then, her attention was right back on Coach. “So, yeah, Parson. Does he butter his hands before the game? Because honestly, there were two times during the game last night where he could have had an interception if he’d just held onto the ball. Two times,” she repeated, holding up her fingers in a peace sign as if it wasn’t sinking in yet. “Can you imagine what that might have meant for the final score?”

  “Paige Marie, what on Earth are you doing?” I asked, grabbing her hand in mine until she looked up at me. “After all the stranger danger drills we’ve had, and you run up to a grown man on the playground?”

  Paige’s face screwed up in confusion. “Coach isn’t a stranger,” she argued, looking at Jordan before she glanced back up at me with her hand stretched toward him. “It’s Coach.”

  I pursed my lips — my classic Mom Look — and Paige shrunk an inch.

  “Yeah, Sydney,” Jordan said, tapping his chest with both hands. “I’m Coach. I’m not a stranger.”

  “You do not know Jordan personally,” I said to my daughter, ignoring Jordan completely — mostly because he was still very shirtless and I did not know how I felt about that. “I understand that he feels safe because he is in a position of power in a sport that you love, but you still need to be safe, okay? You do not run up to an adult that is not your family without talking to me first. Understand?”

  Paige dropped her gaze to her sneakers. “Yes, ma’am.”

  My heart ached a little at the sight, mom guilt sneaking in as it always did. I grabbed her shoulders and squeezed, moving her in front of me. “Now, go ahead and finish telling Coach how to make the team better.”

  Paige threw her head back, grinning up at me as Jordan barked out a laugh. For the next ten minutes, I listened to my daughter give every opinion she had on virtually every position on the team, as well as the plays that were run and the errors that were made in last night’s game.

  I had to fight back laughter when she said things like buttered his hands and couldn’t block to save his life, knowing full well that she picked those phrases up from watching player discussions on ESPN. And when she struggled for the right words, Jordan helped her through them, suggesting what he thought she was trying to say. I knew she�
�d be cataloguing this conversation, adding it all to her football talk arsenal.

  When she finally paused for air, I told her to go find someone to play with while I talked to Jordan, and that we were going to head home for lunch soon.

  Like a bullet, she was off.

  Jordan and I watched her sprint to the jungle gym, and I hung my hands on my hips, shaking my head. “I would apologize, but I love that little girl — quirks and all.”

  Jordan chuckled. “I would have been offended if you did apologize. That was the best football conversation I’ve had in years.”

  I smiled, glancing over my shoulder at him. The minute our eyes met, I remembered all too well the last time they had — when we were chest to chest and breathing fire at each other in the locker room, and when his eyes had stared at my lips…

  I swallowed, but immediately after that tightness in my throat, I remembered what he’d said, how he’d blamed the entire loss on me. Judging from Randy’s comment, the entire town now thought the same thing.

  I frowned, clearing my throat before I turned back toward the playground. “Well, I better—”

  “She said she wants to play,” Jordan interjected before I could excuse myself. “Did you know that? That she wants to play football?”

  I sighed, watching my daughter tuck the football into her chest and run with her hand out like she was blocking a defender. “I am very aware.”

  “You don’t seem happy about it.”

  “I love that she’s found something she’s passionate about,” I explained. “But… as her mother, I worry. If you haven’t noticed, there aren’t many girls playing football, and there isn’t a single female player in the NFL.” I turned to him with a frown. “How the hell do you tell your nine-year-old daughter that her dream of playing football professionally has practically zero chance of ever happening? How do you tell her that the sport she loves is a man’s sport and she should try something else, like basketball or softball? And, that even if she does try one of those and happens to fall in love with it, she still has a very slim chance of ever doing it professionally, because female sports are not revered in America the way male sports are?”

  Jordan’s face changed several times as he listened to me, and when I finally stopped talking, he shrugged. “You don’t.”

  “What do you mean I don’t?”

  “I mean, you don’t tell her any of that.”

  I scoffed, crossing my arms as I found Paige on the playground again. “You’re not a parent. You don’t understand.”

  “No, I’m not, and I agree that I don’t fully understand what it’s like to be in your shoes,” he said, moving until he was in my view. I let my eyes flick to his, but the rest of him was so distracting that I ripped my gaze away as soon as it had connected. “But, what I do know is that there’s nothing in this entire world like that feeling when you’re a kid — that feeling where you can do anything, be anyone, if only you work hard enough. There may not be any precedent set, not yet, but does that mean she can’t possibly be the one to set it?”

  I chewed my lip, watching my daughter laugh uncontrollably as she played football.

  By herself.

  “What if she were the first girl to play high school football for Stratford? Or the first to play for an NFL team? Hell, right now, there are girls playing football in college. Who’s to say one of them won’t be the first to play professionally, and suddenly, those doors you thought would always be closed for Paige open up.”

  I allowed myself to face him fully then, searching his eyes and smirking a little when I found nothing but sincerity there. “You really believe all that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” he said confidently. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching my mother endure what she has, it’s that women are a hell of a lot stronger than anyone gives them credit for. And if Paige has her heart set on playing football?” He shrugged. “I would never be the one to tell her that she couldn’t do it.” He paused. “Mostly, because I hate being wrong, so I wouldn’t take that chance.”

  I scoffed, shaking my head and letting out a long breath. “I’m scared,” I admitted. “She asked me if I’d let her play next year. She turns ten in March, and for her birthday, all she wants is to go to football camp next summer and play little league.”

  “I think you should do it.”

  I swallowed, all my mom senses prickling to life under my skin. “What if she’s bullied? What if she gets hurt? She’s never done more than toss a football around with her father, and he hasn’t even taught her much but how to line her fingers up on the laces.” I looked at Jordan. “I want her to have an equal opportunity, but you and I both know that’s not usually how it works.”

  Understanding settled in his eyes, and he nodded, lips pressed together. “Well… I understand your concern, and I can’t say that none of that will happen. She will probably get bullied. And as someone who has played football all his life, I’d say chances are pretty good that she’ll get hurt, too.” He paused. “But, isn’t that the risk we take with everything? If all we did was play it safe… would that really be living at all?”

  I’d never heard so many words out of Jordan Becker’s mouth than I did in that park that morning. He was always a man of quiet reserve, but it was like I’d found the secret to splitting him wide open.

  Football.

  My eyes trailed from where his gaze held me, down his chest, bare and glistening and smothered with a reddish, clay-like mud. His body was that of a Greek god — broad shoulders, narrow waist, calves that were bigger than my head. I used the mud as an excuse to catalogue every hard ridge and deep valley of him, all the while pretending like I wasn’t suddenly aware of how hot the mid-morning August sun was.

  Mud covered him in patches on his abdomen and arms, and almost every inch of the skin on his legs. It specked his cheeks and forehead, matted his short hair, even peppered the inner canals of his ears. I let my eyes stray to his basketball shorts, which I would hate to be responsible for cleaning, before I found his eyes again.

  His stormy eyes.

  “So… did you have to fight your way out of the jungle last night or something?” I cocked a brow.

  Jordan chuckled, grabbing the back of his neck. “Uh… I like to run in the mud.”

  I blinked. “I’m sorry, you what?”

  He nodded behind where I stood, and when I turned, I found his Bronco just as dirty as he was. There was a bucket of soapy water and a large sponge next to it, along with a hose from the park’s free car wash station.

  “I don’t know,” he said when I turned back to him. “I went mudding with a friend in high school when I got my first truck at sixteen, and I guess that’s where it all started. I used to take my little brother a lot, and then I started going by myself. And… well… one time when I was out there, I got stuck, and I had to run back to the main pit to find someone to come dig me out. At first, it sucked. But, then… something happened. It was like… I don’t know, like I had this moment of total clarity, of a complete clearing of my mind. It was just me and my body, and even though I was sore as hell the next day, it was like I’d taken a hit of some magical drug rather than gone for a run.” He smiled sheepishly. “Been addicted ever since.”

  I smiled, and for a long pause, our eyes connected the way they had in the locker room the night before. Only this time, there was no anger, no accusation. We were standing in an open park, and yet somehow it felt like we were in the smallest room, like the oxygen we shared was limited.

  “Sydney,” he said, swallowing. “I—”

  “Mommy!”

  Before Jordan could say whatever it was he had to say, Paige flung her arms around me, panting after the sprint she’d just made toward us.

  “I’m hungry,” she said. “Can we go eat lunch?”

  I glanced apologetically at Jordan, but he waved me off.

  “We sure can. What do you feel like having?”

  “Hmm…” she tapped her finger to her
lips, just like I’d done earlier, and my heart swelled. I loved little moments like that, when I saw pieces of me in her. “Macaroni and cheese!”

  “And how about some chicken nuggets, too,” I offered.

  “Yes!”

  “And broccoli.”

  Her nose wrinkled, shoulders deflating. “Broccoli,” she repeated, dragging the word out. “Yuck.”

  I chuckled, tugging on one of her braids before I steered her toward our car. “Greens make you strong, baby girl.” I tossed a look back at Jordan. “See you on Monday.”

  “See you,” he said, then he hollered at Paige. “I’ll be sure to get onto Parson for you, Paige.”

  “Tell him if he wants anyone to draft the defense team he plays on for their fantasy football team in the future, he better get his act together.”

  That made us all laugh, and with one final wave at my boss, Paige and I climbed in the car, leaving Jordan with his mud.

  And me with a burning curiosity over what he was going to say before my daughter interrupted.

  Sydney

  There was a different energy in the locker room that following Monday.

  Gone were the smiles and the rambunctious boys from the weeks prior. No one looked excited as they tugged on their cleats and wrapped their wrists. No one was telling a loud story about a girl or making a joke about another player’s mom. Instead, each boy filed in quietly, one by one, and got dressed without much of a word to anyone else.

  They weren’t exactly defeated, either. They didn’t seem sad. No, it was more of a determined silence, as if they knew before Coach said anything that they had a lot of work to do, and they’d all shown up ready to do it.

  I found the quietness welcoming as I worked, helping players with their bandages and doing some soft tissue work on those who needed it. I even checked in on Parker, who was sheepish and blushing when I approached him. He apologized and seemed sincere in it, so I dismissed him, deciding to let Jordan determine what his punishment would be.