Rough Love (Tannen Boys 1)

“Yes, Coach B,” they sound out as one.

I nod to Mike, all business. “You up for this?”

He looks surprised, his dad bod already flushing. “Us too?”

“Well, yeah. Team includes the coach. Lead by example.” He looks at my boots and jeans pointedly, making it clear that I’m not dressed for running. I dig my heel into the turf, amused. “I wear boots and jeans in the fields all day, every day. I could run in these for miles if needed.”

Any excuses gone, he shakes his head and chuckles, but he walks over to the gathered boys with me. “All right, this isn’t a ready-set-go type of thing, so I’ll just count us off. We’ll practice this first bit and I’ll call out which foot to run on so we stay together, but the goal is for you to not need me or Coach Mike to set your pace but rather for you to be in tune with the man next to you, on and on down the line. That’s how you become a team. Got it?”

They seem ready to roll, so I call out, “One, two, three . . .” And we’re off, not like speeding bullets but rather like slow-plodding sloths, each kid unwilling to go faster than the one next to him. The lesson is already sticking, but I speed them up a little bit. “Left, left, left, right, left.” It’s not quite military precision, and some of these boys probably aren’t even sure which is right and which is left, but together, we make our way around the park.

The second lap is a bit faster, and I don’t have to say a word to keep the boys together. They do it naturally and a warmth fills my chest. The third lap finds us slowing back down a bit, exhaustion starting to hit us. But we cross the fence post of the finish line together and all twelve boys cheer for themselves, high-fives given freely between all of them, even Johnathan and Cooper.

“Great job, guys,” Mike says breathlessly. He’s got his hands on his knees, not exactly gasping for air but damn close. “Take five, get water, and then we’ll regroup for drills.”

The boys all run toward their bags, newfound energy from their youth bursting forth.

Mike watches them and then turns one hairy eyeball at me. “Shit, man. I’m in decent shape, lift weights three times a week, but hitting the treadmill ain’t nothing compared to running on uneven grass trying to keep up with those pipsqueaks.” It’s not an insult in the least. Instead, he seems pretty impressed with his team.

One side of my mouth quirks up. “I know. I work my ass off in the fields, but I don’t think I’ve actually run flat-out in way too long. It was good, though, for all of us.”

Mike nods his agreement as he puts his hands on his head. “So, drills next? What do you think?”

I squint at the boys. “First practice, you said? You know who’s got an arm and who can catch yet?”

“Nah, most of these boys have played flag football before, but not all of them, so there might be a sleeper pro.” He grins even as he says it.

“How about we do a couple of tossing drills then? See who can throw for distance, for accuracy, and with any form to speak of. And then reverse and see who can catch an easy toss.”

For the next hour, as the sun races across the sky, we do just that. A line of boys throwing to Mike and me and then us throwing to them. After a while, we gather back up in a huddle and Mike tells the boys they did a great job. He gives them a parental look of expectancy and they turn to me as one. “Thanks, Coach B!”

“Thanks for letting me jump into your practice today, guys. It was a lot of fun. You’re gonna have a great season,” I say honestly. Being back on the field, even if it’s just a bumpy field in a city park, brought back good memories, back when life was simpler, things were easier, and football was the solution to all my nonexistent problems. I don’t mention the behavior that warranted my stopping in the first place, the incident forgiven but not forgotten.

Unprompted, the boys all line up to give me another handshake and do the same with Mike, which makes me feel like my earlier lesson did some good. And then they’re off like the rambunctious kids they are, bags flying onto shoulders, loud shouts, and tumbling feet.

I watch them go, Mike at my side. “You did good today, Brutal. Those boys might not know what a treat they got, but I certainly do. You’re something else.”

I feel heat on my face, and I shake my head. “Once upon a time, maybe.”