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Sailor
Ipull my Jeep up at the high school, putting it in park and leaning my seat back. Liam and Quinton, my nephews, grab their football equipment out of the back and hop out.
“You’re not coming to watch?” Liam asks.
I squint at him even though I’m wearing sunglasses. My hair of the dog cure for my hangover not quite doing the trick today, and to make matters worse, I ran into Logan at Mary’s Cafe. Literally.
“She doesn’t want to watch our stupid tryouts,” Quinton says. “I can text you when we’re done if you want.”
“Mom would watch,” Liam mutters, and any thought I had of bailing and picking them up after crashing for a nap on my sofa is gone.
“Of course, I’m staying to watch,” I say. “I was just waiting on everything to get started before I headed over to the bleachers. I’ll be there, though. I promise.”
Liam’s face lights up, and he thanks me before starting toward the field. Quinton leans over toward my door.
“You don’t have to give him everything he wants. He’s not a baby.”
I shrug and go ahead and get out. “Your dad can be the one to tell you both no. Aunt Sailor doesn’t do let downs.”
We walk together, him carrying his equipment over his shoulder and me simply holding my keys and phone.
“I hear our coach used to play in the NFL. That he was All-American in high school.”
“Yep.”
“Did you know him?” he asks, his voice somewhat hopeful.
“No. He’s older than me. Think he was in your mom’s class,” I say. “Good luck out there.”
I watch my nephew trot onto the field as I find a spot on the bleachers. Today’s tryouts have drawn quite a crowd. I suppose everyone wants to see the NFL hotshot in action. I roll my eyes at the group of women seated a few rows down. They’re single and desperate ? a terrible combination. Nothing wrong with being single, but don’t ever, ever be desperate.
I’m sitting there Indian-style, my baseball cap pulled low, and my annoyance level high as he walks onto the field. It’s ridiculous how one person can command such attention. The whole damn stadium goes quiet.
Without addressing his audience, Logan Decker rallies his would-be football players into a seated semi-circle around him. He gives them a rundown on what he expects to see today, and I wonder if these boys are taking any of this in or if they are having a starstruck moment like the S&D group over there.
Finally, he shuts up, and the kids get up. Logan fires off orders to last year’s assistant coaches and the kids split up into groups for offense and defense. Liam and Quinton are both offensive players, having agility and speed. Both of my nephews are excellent athletes, but while Quinton is great at pretty much all sports, I can admit, football is not necessarily Liam’s forte. Still, I bet he has more heart than anyone else out on that field.
“Is their dad going to make it?” Bernadette, one of the S&D ladies calls over to me.
My sister has barely been dead three years, and these women salivated over my brother-in-law while the dirt was still fresh on her grave. Thirsty bitches.
“He’s working today.”
“That man does work hard, doesn’t he?” another one pipes up.
“He is the chief of police,” I reply dryly. “Say, who are you ladies here for today? Do you have someone playing? Cause if not, don’t you think it’s a little strange that you’re here ogling high school boys?”
“My cousin’s son is trying out,” Bernadette says, miffed.
“I bet he is,” I mutter and go back to watching the field so that if Liam asks, I can at least tell him I saw him.
Even if he did just fumble the ball.
