Killian’s grandparents were remarkably understanding about the whole thing. Mrs. Bloomdale even brought me chocolate chip cookies as a way of apologizing for her son, who disappeared again before they could get him into rehab. But while I’d thanked her and shared the delicious treats with the team, I assured her that wasn’t necessary and checked in with Killian to make sure he wasn’t upset about his dad’s absence. Like the resilient kid he is, he’d just looked at his grandparents and said he was ‘just fine.’ Damn near brought a tear to my eye, but I’d offered him a handshake and coughed it off like the tough fucker I am.
With me in the stands and not able to coach, Allyson had to really step it up. And she did great, leading the Wildcats into each week with confidence after studying playbooks and watching games with me and Cooper as research.
She’s such a smart woman, just like I always knew she was, but I can see now that any insecurities I had back when we were kids were strictly my own. She never thought of me as a dumb jock with no real future. That was all my fear, not her judgment.
I wonder what would’ve happened to us if I’d never had those doubts, never gotten a tutor, and she’d never had a concern about my faithfulness. Where would we be now? Would we have made it through the test of time? There’s no way to know for sure.
We got so off course, but we’re back on track now, just like we should be. Well, almost like we should be.
I meet Cooper’s eyes, and he’s basically bouncing off the walls with excitement. I swear it looks like he’s vibrating inside his skin. “Be chill, man,” I tell him quietly as the celebration lunch goes on around us.
The kids talk about the season, dissecting each game with braggy memories of great catches they made and touchdowns they ran for.
Somewhere along the way, their chatter turns to video games, and I’m mostly out of my element there, but I try to interject so they can laugh at the old guy a bit. Cooper’s teaching me, but he says I’m still a level-one noob. I tried to give him an excuse, telling him that my fingers are just too big to push the tiny buttons, but he’d laughed and said we all had to work with what we’re given.
Smart little shit had turned my own words around on me because I’d told him the same thing about his small stature on the field. No, he’s probably never going to be a linebacker, but each position has special requirements and he’ll be a damn good defensive back if he keeps working at it. Allyson stands up, tapping her glass of tea with a spoon. The room quiets and all eyes turn to her, captivated.
“I just want to say thank you to each and every one of you. Thank you for letting me be your coach even though I definitely wasn’t anyone’s first choice for the role.” She looks at Mike, who shrugs like he had nothing to do with it. He’s made it to a few games and told me he was glad Allyson and I worked our shit out because he could see from a mile away that we had a spark. I think he fancies himself the Cupid of our little reunion.
“Thank you for working hard and playing your hearts out. Thank you for teaching a cheerleader about actual football.” She winks at Johnathan, who’s had some pretty significant growth this season. He’s gotten better at impulse control, both with his hands and his mouth, and is the first one to say ‘yes, ma’am’ when Allyson orders them to do another drill. He’s a natural leader and is using his powers for good these days. He and Cooper have even made peace and are decent buddies now.
“And most of all, thank you for a great season! On three . . . one, two, three . . . GO WILDCATS!” Everyone joins in with the cheer, and the few non-team folks in Hank’s look our way in surprise. Cooper lets out a growl that I’m pretty sure is supposed to be a tiger, and everyone laughs, copying him.
Before it gets too wild and Hank kicks us out, I stand up. “One last drill, fellas.”
They groan, but it’s over-exaggerated and so fake-sounding that I can’t believe Allyson doesn’t immediately suspect something’s up. But she’s cluelessly whining along with them. “Seriously, Bruce? No more drills. The season’s over.” She feigns lying back in her chair, one hand draped across her forehead dramatically.
I take her hand and the boys all get loud once again. “Ooh” echoes around us.
“Shut it,” I say with a snap of my fingers and a mean mugging glare, but a second later, I’m grinning and laughing along with them so they know I’m kidding. “Line up, three kids per side of the floor. Parents, you too. Just space out with the boys.”