Page 214 of Worth the Trip

“For emotional damages.”

His eyes widened.

His mother laughed. “You just made his morning.”

“He made mine.”

He walked away, guarding the cup like entrusted property, and I was reaching for the next order when a whistle carried from the sports field.

My attention followed it.

Landon stood across the festival grounds with a cluster of children around him.

I’d seen him dressed for work. I’d heard about practice plans, film, recruiting, eligibility reports, and players who occasionally tested both his patience and their academic survival. I knew he regarded coaching as something larger than a scoreboard.

Watching him inside it was different.

A boy stood in front of him after missing whatever movement they were practicing, shoulders low with embarrassment. Landon crouched until neither of them had to look up or down. I couldn’t hear him from our booth, but I watched him demonstrate the movement at half speed, break it down with his feet, then send the boy through again.

Better.

Landon clapped once.

The child lit up and ran toward the back of the line.

“Mm-hmm.”

I kept my eyes on the field. “Nyla.”

“I ain’t say nothing.”

“You made a sound.”

“That could’ve been anything.”

“It wasn’t.”

She came beside me with a fresh roll of receipt paper. “Go on and look at Big Lando, Noli. Ain’t nobody stopping you.”

“I was watching the clinic.”

“Was the entire clinic six-four with locs?”

I turned toward her.

She grinned.

“You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re in love.”

That reached further than the teasing surrounding it.

Nyla saw it.

Across the field, Landon had moved to a ladder drill where a little girl stood with both hands on her hips, apparently unimpressed with his demonstration. He listened to whatever critique she offered, nodded with grave seriousness, then moved through the ladder again at an exaggerated pace. She copied him, beat him through the last square, and threw both arms overhead.

Landon stumbled backward, clutching his chest.