Still asking himself that question the next day, Mitch pulled Simon aside at the beginning of practice. When he’d told his brother about his deal with Becca Bragg, Deacon had laughed.

“Man, anything to keep you out of the barracuda’s jaws, eh? Sucker. But hey, better you than me. Stan is back, so that’s a plus. But we have some special-teams work to get to before our walk-through. We can’t have a repeat of last week. So, to fix it for the Mountain Top game, it’s gonna be a long practice. You dealing with Bragg helps, trust me.”

Since Mitch had no job and no responsibilities but the football team at the moment, it was left to him to handle Simon. The others were more than happy to wipe their hands clean of the troublemaking wisecracker.

“Simon. Let’s talk.”

The boy followed Mitch to the unoccupied office. The rest of the team had gathered outside to practice.

Mitch stared at him in silence, remembering the tactic from one of his favorite coaches.

Simon stared back.

Mitch remained calm, unmoving.

A minute later, Simon fidgeted. As the silence went on, Simon expelled a heavy breath, then scowled. “Why am I here?”

And the power shifted subtly to Mitch. He sat back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head. “Why do you think you’re here?”

Simon groaned. “Is this another talk about my sucky attitude? Because I don’t think it’s sucky to want to win.”

“It’s not. But it’s not wanting to win that’s a problem, and you know that.”

Simon sat for a moment, his arms crossed mutinously across his chest. “But they’re making bad calls.”

“They?”

“The coaches. And Mike Tanner and Jed Smith. Boyd, even.” The team’s defensive line. “They didn’t compensate for the other team’s strong side offense and their guys that can run rings around us.”

“Simon, the coaches are here for a reason. Now I grant you, the last game was a little challenging, but football isn’t a one-man team. You can’t solve every problem. You’re a running back. Offense is your game, so leave the defense to your teammates.”

“I can play defense too.”

Trouble was, he could and did a hell of a job as a cornerback. Mitch needed a better tactic to get through to the boy. “Simon, I like you.”

“Sorry, Coach. You’re not my type.”

Mitch laughed. “You’re such pain in the ass.” The kid smiled. “You remind me of me when I was your age. Thought I knew everything. Was always right. Could run faster than everyone on the team. But if the quarterback hates you, he won’t throw you the ball. If you annoy your offensive line to no end, no one’s gonna block for you. And treating your defense like they’re beneath you is plain stupid. Division ruins a team. We’re all either one pile of shit, or we’re not. You aren’t you, here, kid. You’re a Cougar. Tanner, Smith, and Boyd are Cougars.”

“Linda Madison is a cougar,” Simon muttered.

Mitch opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. “Um, so, yeah. You get what I’m saying?” How old was Linda? He’d thought late thirties. Maybe she was older.

Hmm. For that matter, how old was Becca Bragg? She couldn’t be much older than him, so she must have had Simon young.

“Yeah, sure.” Simon sighed. “Shut up and play. Be supportive even when the rest of the team sucks.”

“Exactly.”

Simon shrugged. “I guess I can do that.”

“Another thing, why’d you let me think your dad was alive? Your mom looked at me like I was lower than scum.”

Simon shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

Realizing he navigated troubled waters, Mitch leaned forward. “I get if you’re missing your dad. Look, if you need a break during practice or some space or something, just let me or the coaches know. It’s not a problem.”

“It’s not that.”

“Skipping classes?”

“They’re boring.”

“But it’s not about your dad.”

“No.” Simon looked him straight in the eye. “Look, I went to therapy years ago. Dad died in a freak car crash when I was seven. I’m over it, mostly. It’s just…” He sounded as if he’d started to say something else but ended with, “I’m good, okay?”

Mitch didn’t push. “Fine. But you start mouthing off or cutting classes again, and there’s going to be trouble. I’ve done what I can to smooth things over with the coaches. School is another matter.”

“I know.” Simon groaned. “Look, it was two Lit classes. That’s it. I’m still getting As. My grades are good, and I’ll make up any work I missed. That should get my mom off my ass.”

“Simon.”

He flushed. “I’m telling you that. I wouldn’t say that to her.”

“Good. Surprisingly, I like your mom. She’s cool and doesn’t fawn all over me.” Mitch was blunt but honest, as he’d figured that would matter to the kid more than platitudes. “She loves you and puts you first. Seems like she’s a good mom.”

“She’s the best.”

Mitch nodded. “So stop giving her a heart attack and play nice. Pretend, okay? We both know you’re so much smarter than the world around you.”

“Sarcasm, Coach?”

“Like I said, I was once you. Then I grew a pair.” He smirked, and Simon laughed.

“Fine. Can I get to practice now?”

“Sure, just as soon as you apologize to all the coaches. Especially Deacon. I mean, it’s not like he has your entire football career in his hot little hands or anything.”

Simon frowned.

“Yeah, think about it, Einstein. You piss off the wrong people, the future you want is no longer the future you can achieve.”

“I get it already.” Simon seemed thoughtful. He stood. “So, you and my mom… You’re not trying anything with her, are you?”

“Did I stutter? I said no. She’s a nice person. And she has too much to deal with having you for a kid.”

“That’s true.” Simon gave him a strange look.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The kid smiled, but Mitch didn’t trust it. “See you on the field.”

Mitch watched him bounce out the door and wondered where his own energy had gone. He was only thirty-five but felt much older since retiring. As if after accomplishing all he had, there was nowhere else for him to go.

He stared at the blotter on the desk in front of him, seeing Deacon’s scrawl in a few notes. Deacon had made something of himself. He was more than a football star.

What did Mitch have? Besides a hefty bank account and a nice new home in the mountains, he had no woman, no job, and no goals for the future. He didn’t regret retiring while on top, having seen too many guys hang in until they embarrassed themselves. He’d tired of pro ball, to be honest. Not something he’d ever admit out loud. But now what? What did he do with his life?

He’d turned down offers for TV, not interested in being in the spotlight anymore. He didn’t want to endorse any products but the sports supplements company he’d bought into years ago, which continued to earn him a lot of money. And he kept track of his many real estate investments, which built equity and again, earned him money.

With no need to make another million and no drive to beat anyone into a starting lineup, he had no direction. Nowhere to go, nothing to do.

“Yo, Coach Flash.” One of the kids stuck his head in the door. “You coming? Coach Dorset wants you.”

Mitch stood and stretched. “Yeah, I’m coming. Tell Dorset I’ll be out in a minute. And for God’s sake. It’s just Mitch. No Coach in front of my name, okay?”

The boy smiled. “Sure, Flash. I’ll let Dorset know.”

Mitch, not Flash. “No, he’s still Coach Dor—” The boy had already turned and raced away.

Mitch hurried to catch him before he dropped the Coach in front of Dorset. That would not go over well. He found half the boys on the field ready to scrimmage, trying out a new offensive play, while Deacon, Stan, and Dorset worked with the other half.

Paglitelli tossed him shoulder pads, a pinnie, and a practice helmet. “Deacon said you’d show us a few moves.” Since Mitch had started wearing sweats and sneakers to practice in order to help demonstrate techniques, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to suit up.

He had a great running play in mind, one that had him open and ready to run down the field thanks to a timely block and the quarterback’s fake handoff. They’d gone over it a few times, and Deacon had been working with the QB to get the timing down right.

Mitch stared at the equipment then figured, what the hell? Why not? They were just a bunch of high school kids. How much damage could they do?

As he put on the equipment, he felt a familiar rush of excitement he’d missed for too long.

With a smile, he joined the kids, who hooted with enthusiasm. Cheers for Flash went up, and then he took the line on the other side of Simon.

The boy nodded at him, then settled into position.

“Okay, guys, watch how we run this,” he heard Paglitelli call from the sidelines and saw Deacon join the group.

His brother smirked at him. “And try not to kill Flash on the first play.”

 

******

 

One week later

Simon lit up, his face full of joy as he recounted their practice that afternoon.

Becca stared at him, listening, so happy she could smile for hours on end and not stop. But she pretended not to care too much, not wanting to let Simon know how she’d worried about him. His moods had been all over the place since turning fourteen. It had already been a long few months, dealing with his ups and downs.

But then, her uncle had said she and Nora had been the same exact way during their teens. With any luck, this phase would pass.

“And then Mitch faked like he had the ball, and like, four guys jumped on him.” Simon laughed. “I think we surprised him. The first time he played with us, he ran circles around us. But now we’re on to his moves. Coach Deacon says we’re doing great. After last week’s win, I bet we can take Eagle Creek on Friday. Yeah, us Cougars aren’t so bad after all.”

She started. “So, Mitch, ah, Flash, was playing with you again?”

Simon nodded and shoved half a slice of pizza into his mouth. He tried explaining a play, but she shook her head.

“No, please. Finish your dinner. We can talk after.”

He laughed, showing off more masticated cheese than she wanted to see. Ever.

“So, what’s going on with you and Jenna?” she asked once he’d settled down.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you two friends again?” Simon and Jenna had been best friends since kindergarten. Only recently had some friction risen between them, but darned if Becca could find out what. Even Jenna’s mom had no idea.

“We weren’t not friends.” He shrugged. “It’s cool.”

“What’s cool?”

“It.” He made a face at her. “Gosh, Mom. Chill. I’m good, I’m not cutting classes, and I’m kicking tail on the team.” He beamed. “Flash thinks I’ve got some skills on the field. He’s going to show me some things at practice tomorrow in a one-on-one.”

“Good.” I think. “Just be careful, okay? I’m still not sure letting you play is a good idea. Do you have any idea how many kids suffer from concussions and broken bones playing that game?”

He groaned.

On a roll and unable to stop herself, she added, “Why not ask Coach Flash how many bones he’s broken during his illustrious career?”

Simon studied her.

“What?”

“You don’t like him, do you?”

“Who?”

He gave her a patient look. “Coach Flash.”

“I don’t not like him.” Great, now I sound like my fourteen-year-old. “I just think he’s a little full of himself.”

“You know, he’s actually not.” Simon looked thoughtful. “I thought he was too, but he’s a nice guy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We talked about me being less of a jerk to the team. He made some sense.” Simon grinned, and she saw a hint of the adorable toddler she’d once held in the young man he’d become. “Said I reminded him of himself.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Simon chuckled. “The old guy isn’t too bad on the field. He’s still got it.”

“A grown man playing football for a living. I just don’t get it.”

“Yes, it’s so sad he’s got millions in the bank and is famous,” Simon added with a dose of fresh sarcasm. “Mom, it’s such a cool sport.” He gave her detailed descriptions of their new defense, some offensive drills they’d incorporated, and then a play-by-play of practice. Again.

She tuned out after the fifth instance of Flash is awesome and mentally reviewed a new cookie recipe she wanted to add to their menu. Except as her son spoke, Mitch Flashman’s face kept popping into her thoughts.

He’d kept his word and spoken to her son. Yeah, he had that going for him. The superficial appeal of his killer good looks and solid body should mean little to her. So why did she feel breathless when she remembered his smile? Or his dark-gray eyes? Or his large hands and feet and…?

“Mom, are you listening to me?”

“Sure, sure.” She swallowed a large sip of water and stood to collect their plates. “Football, blah, blah, blah, Coach Flash, blah, blah. Got it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the pizza, at least. I can use the carbs.”

Becca watched him leave the kitchen and stared sadly down at her belly. She didn’t need the carbs, but she hadn’t wanted to go grocery shopping, so it was pizza to the rescue. Except now that they’d both eaten, she realized they had nothing in the house for breakfast either.

With a sigh, she yelled out to Simon that she was leaving to shop. The good thing about having a teenager in the house was that she could legally leave him behind and not worry about child services knocking on her door. Well, not with Nora no longer babysitting.

But then, that was a story for another time.