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I shake my head. “I don’t see how you do it.”
“Years of practice,” he says, gathering his bag and pulling an envelope from it before walking over and handing it to me.
“Another check? You’ve already given me one this week.” I open the envelope and look at him over the torn edge. “Tickets?”
“I thought, maybe, for my birthday, you could bring him to one of my games before the season ends.”
I nod. “I’ve been thinking about it. I’m sorry—”
“No apologies. It’s a home game for the first of next month, and I thought maybe if you felt comfortable enough, you could bring him. There’s one in there for a friend.”
“That’s,” I swallow, “that’s very considerate of you.”
He nods and heads toward the door. “See you later?”
“Sure…Troy?”
“Yeah?” He turns back to me, and our eyes connect. “You…you’ve come a long way with him in a short time. I think it’s going just fine.”
He chuckles. “Just fine, huh?”
I nod. “Yes. He talks about you all the time.”
This earns me another flash of teeth. “Good to know. Night, Clarissa.”
“Night.”
Troy
Kevin squawks from where he sits at the bench between lockers. “Jesus, I’m dying. I can’t fucking reach my cleats. Dude, take these off me.” He stretches his foot toward me, and I swat it away.
The whole locker room is grunting in a collective heap of pain. “I hope it was worth it, you mother fucker!” Someone shouts, earning whimpers of agreement.
Coach Elliot is riding us harder than ever. Someone on the team hooked up with his daughter, and he’s had his nose rubbed in it. He’s not sure which number sacked his own kid, so we’ve
all been paying the price. None of us are safe. Coach hasn’t let up, and from the looks of it has plans to punish all of us for the whole of the season. We’ve squeaked by with a few wins, but nothing behind the scenes indicates solidarity for the team. All I know is he better get his shit together because my whole future rides on this season, and we’ve barely managed to hang on with the wins we have.
“I don’t think I can hang tonight,” Kevin drawls out.
“You’re not breaking my heart. I have plans anyway.” I close my locker and pull on my duffle.
“To do what?”
Take my son trick-or-treating.
“None of your damned business.”
“Ah, got something good on the menu?”
“It’s not always about women.”
“Said no man ever.”
“See you later.”
“What’s up with you?” He rises to sit on the bench. “You haven’t been hitting on much lately. You ducked out of the Hero party early. You’ve got something going on?”
“What’s with the twenty questions? I’m all about ball and the hustle this year. What’s wrong with that?”
