Don't Promise (Don't 3)

He was a natural with them.

Which I supposed made sense. He played professional ball after all, but sometimes you can play a certain sport and know everything there is to know about it and still not be able to teach it to a soul.

Or you could be like my dad and love the sport, but have no athletic ability. I laughed to myself.

Daddy loved football since he was a little boy, no older than three or four. He liked to joke and said there was a crossfire somewhere in his brain between the stage of knowing what to do and making his body actually do it.

It didn’t change his love of the game, though. He watched it religiously every single time the Sharks had a game. If the Sharks were home, then he was at the stadium, cheering them on. If they were away, then he had the grill fired up and the television blared pregame to postgame.

In a way, football had always been a part of my life too. Without my mom, it was how Daddy and I spent our time together. I bet that drunk driver didn’t think about that when he got behind the wheel. He didn’t realize how he would change my life. My dad’s. End my mom’s. My fingers tingled with the anger. I stopped to take three long breaths.

She had been gone twenty years. My dad did the best he could. He was an awesome dad. An amazing dad. A dad who played both parenting roles and was one of the best judges in DC. But it didn’t make the pain hurt less. It didn’t make the memories fade. I missed her.

I pulled myself out of my funk when I noticed two of the kids on the field shoving each other over God knows what. I rushed through the main center and down the hall to the back door. When I flung it open, I was surprised to find that Kane had already handled the situation. Both boys were running a lap around the field, each one holding onto opposite ends of the football.

I walked across the field, careful not to let my heels sink into the grass, and joined the kids as they observed the two boys jogging inside the perimeter of the fence.

“What is this?” I asked. I didn’t want him to know that I saw the fight, or that I already guessed at the meaning of his exercise.

“Something an old coach of mine used to make me do whenever I fought on the field,” he answered. “When we are here on this grass, we are our own family, we look out for one another. We don’t fight. If we have a problem, we talk it out.”

“I see. Did those two forget how to talk?” I prodded.

“Temporarily. But after a lap holding the ball, they should remember. That or they will be too exhausted to even care what they were fighting about to begin with.”

I tried to hide my smile. “And what happens if they drop the ball?”

“They start over. Like I said, they won’t be worried about

fighting when they’re done.”

“Ahh. Great strategy.” I looked up at Hawk. His eyes followed the boys. “I guess you don’t need me, then?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got this covered.”

“Ok.” I turned to leave.

When I got back to the rear door of the building, I heard the other kids on the field start to cheer the two running on.

“Come on, guys, you can do it. Just a little further.”

“You got this.”

“Woohooo!”

I grinned. This was the first time in almost four years working at the school that I could remember every single child on the field working together toward one goal.

It was enlightening and heartwarming. I wished I could capture it and save it forever. I realized I could. I ran to my office, grabbed my cell phone, and raced back to the rear exit. I pressed record as the boys passed the field goal posts. The rest of the team jumped and cheered for them. They had less than twenty yards left to go. I followed them all the way, capturing each and every moment until the very end. When I panned out, I caught Kane Hawkins staring directly at me with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes locked onto mine. I could feel the heat in his gaze from across the field.

I wanted to run from him. I wanted to turn and shut the door behind me, locking it soundly afterward. But I couldn’t move. I was held immobile by his tranquilizing stare. Chills broke out along the flesh of my arms, traveling upward to my chest. My nipples hardened and I shivered.

I fucking shivered from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet.

One look.

That was all it took, and I knew that if I let that man get his hands on me again I would never be the same.

So why did I have to fight every single muscle in my body to get it to turn and walk inside instead of back across the field to his side?