“He’s got a problem with me.” Ricky Ames pointed at him.
“He has a problem with you?” McCoy asked, running a hand over his face.
“Yeah. He does. Knowing I’m faster and younger and better, maybe? Guess the competition’s too much for him?” Ames had no idea what was about to happen.
Brock did. Had he goaded the kid? Maybe. Did he regret it? Not so much.
“Go home.” McCoy’s eyes were laser focused on Ames. “I don’t tolerate this sort of thing on my field or on my team.” He shook his head. “Go home.”
“Are you serious?” The shock on Ricky Ames’s face was almost comical. If he wasn’t spitting blood, Brock might have laughed.
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Coach McCoy pulled his cap off his head, bent forward, and threw it across the field. “Get off my field! I don’t want to see you until Monday.”
“Monday?” Ricky echoed. “That’s a week—”
“Wanna make it two?” McCoy asked, so red Brock feared he might have his third heart attack right here on the field.
That shut Ricky up and sent him running off the field.
“Is this a problem?” McCoy asked, reaching up to tilt Brock’s face.
“Ricky Ames? Or my jaw?” Brock asked. “I’m the one bleeding here.”
“Yeah. I saw that.” McCoy smiled. “I admire your restraint. I was hoping you’d knock him on his ass.” McCoy shook his head. “Get some ice.” He headed back to the middle of the field, clapping his hands and telling everyone to get back to work.
“Are you okay?” Emmy Lou’s hand—on his forearm.
He nodded, all too aware of her touch.
“Your mouth.” She reached up, winced, then pressed her hands together. “You’re bleeding.”
He was bleeding and standing there, staring, like a fool.
“That was restraint,” Travis King said, shaking his head. “That was the single most badass thing you have ever done on this field.” He blew out a harsh breath. “Fuck, that was intense.”
That’s when it registered that all three of the King siblings were there, on the field—while he kept right on staring at Emmy Lou.
“I was hoping you’d put the little shit in his place before your coach showed up.” Krystal was still glaring after Ricky Ames. “No one looks at my sister that way,” Krystal added. “No one.”
Krystal’s words kicked up the ebbing fire of his temper, but he managed to nod.
Which earned him an odd look from Krystal. “So, that was something. How’s life?” she asked. “Haven’t seen you in the tabloids recently, so I’m guessing nothing new.”
“Good to see you haven’t changed.” Brock took the handkerchief Emmy handed him. “Thank you.”
Emmy smiled. Damn but that smile. Sweetness and concern, all rolled into one. He almost believed it. He stared at the turf at his feet, pressing her handkerchief to his lip. It smelled like her.
Krystal wasn’t done giving him a thorough head-to-toe inspection. “I’m surprised to say it, but it’s good to see you, Brock Watson.”
He hadn’t expected her to hug him. From the look on her face, she hadn’t expected to give him one, either—but she did.
“That was weird,” she said, stepping back. “I don’t even like you.”
Where the hell had that come from? He hadn’t done a thing to Krystal—to any of them. Emmy included. His hand tightened around the handkerchief.
“Jace.” Jace Black stepped forward to shake his hand. “Big fan. Hope you’ll be able to play this season.”
“Me, too.” It had becom