Old Fashioned - Becker Brothers

She paused, and I realized I’d never been this close to Sydney — not in high school, not in any of the years since. And there was an energy pulsing off of her, one that hit me like a wave of electricity low in my gut.

“If your players are distracted by a woman on the sideline, that is on them — not on me. If their parents didn’t teach them that, then I’d wager that’s your new job. I’m an athletic trainer, and a damn good one, which is why I got this job in the first place. I’m here to do that job, and the last thing I need is for my new boss to tell me that I might be too pretty to do it effectively.”

“I didn’t say you were…”

“Then what exactly are you saying?” she probed, taking another step. She didn’t raise her voice, but the intensity between us shot up three levels. Her chest was a few inches from mine now, her eyes cast up, chin held high, jaw set. Those dark lashes brushed her cheeks when she blinked, waiting.

I catalogued every feature.

“What I’m saying is that you are the first new member to our staff since I became head coach seven years ago, and I’m making sure you understand that we set the standards high on this team.”

“Great. Your expectations have been made clear. Can I have a while alone to set up my office now?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you have a problem with authority, Ms. Clark?”

“Only as much as you seem to have a problem with equality, Coach.”

I blew out a frustrated breath, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as I debated whether it was worth fighting her over. I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to. But the truth was I knew I’d already put my foot in my mouth, that I hadn’t explained my concerns properly.

I did sound like a sexist asshole, and no verbal argument could win me out of that perception in this moment.

The only way for her to see that my concerns were valid was to witness them play out.

And I had no doubt they would — in less than an hour when that locker room filled with boys.

“Let me know if you have any questions as you get set up,” I said, forcing a calm breath. “After practice, I’ll get your sizes so we can order you staff polos and jackets for the games. The team should start showing up in about forty-five minutes.”

I didn’t say another word, nor did I wait to see if she had a last one to get in, either. Instead, I moved swiftly back down the hall, resisting the urge to slam my office door. I swiped my clipboard off the desk, attempting to focus, but I read the same line over and over again, all the while stewing on what I’d said, how I’d said it, and what she’d thrown back at me, in return.

It was less than an hour before the first practice of the year, and one thing was already abundantly clear.

It was going to be a long season.SydneyThirty boys and three grown men stared at the giant, square trophy in Jordan Becker’s hands as he carried it silently through the locker room. He sat it gently on the folding chair he’d propped in the middle of the room, placing his hand on the large, golden football that adorned the top of it. For a long while, he just stared at that trophy and didn’t say a word.

The entire locker room was silent, too.

As much as I wanted to hate him for his rather rude welcome to me on the team, I couldn’t deny that I respected him in that moment. He commanded attention — and he’d always been that way. I remembered him having the same presence in high school, though we weren’t in the same crowd. One thing I’d learned was that he didn’t speak often, so when he did, everyone knew it was important, and valuable, and necessary.

So many people filled the world with hot air, speaking before thinking, talking about nothing at all.

Jordan Becker was the exact opposite.

He was purposeful, severe — like the flood God cast down to cleanse the earth.

I stood straight in my little corner of the room, trying to blend while also knowing it was impossible. Until Jordan had waltzed that trophy into this room, I’d been about the only thing anyone could stare at. Eyes of each member of that staff widened when Jordan introduced me to them, and as the boys filed in one by one, their eyes stuck on me, too. They whispered to each other, smiling and elbowing each other in the ribs, and I could only imagine what they were saying.

Thank God, because imagining was still better than hearing it for real.