Chapter 7

Iwas substitute teaching and had football tryouts after school. I wrote my name on the board and sat at the desk to go through the email instructions from the current teacher who'd called in sick.

The first kid came into the room and placed his laptop and books on a desk in the back of the room. "Who are you?"

I stood, straightening my tie. "I'm your teacher for the day, Mr. Calloway."

The kid grimaced. "Great."

"I hope it will be," I murmured as more kids came inside, talking and laughing, putting their things by their desks.

It was homeroom. Then there was a period for flex time where the kids went to clubs, were pulled to other classrooms to complete missed work, or they could use the time to do their homework. When I went to school, we called it study hall.

I'd substitute taught enough to know that if I wasn't in control at all times, the class would quickly become a free-for-all. I straddled the line of being cool yet still firm. I wouldn't let anyone disrespect me, but I was inclined to let the kids test me out before I sent them to the principal's office. I wanted the administration to know that I could handle whatever came up.

A kid stood at my desk, his gaze on my name that I'd written on the white board in the front of the room. "Aren't you the new football coach?"

"I am. Are you trying out?"

"Fuck, no. That shit's a waste of time." The kid said it loudly, and a few kids chuckled nervously.

"There's no swearing in my classroom," I said it firmly, not raising my voice. The key was to remain calm. This kid needed to know that nothing would rile me.

He kept my gaze for a few seconds, then looked away.

I wanted to pump my fist in victory, but it was too early in the morning for that. I'd be tested a million more times in the next hour. "Please take your seat."

I knew better than to ever phrase an order as a question.

Thankfully, he turned and made his way to his seat, slapping high fives along the way probably for the swearing and not getting sent to the principal's office.

I raised my voice to be heard over the din. "Everyone, take your seats. Announcements start in a few minutes."

"Who cares about announcements?" another kid called out, but I ignored the outburst.

Kids just wanted to voice displeasure about school, and they didn't care if teachers agreed with them or not.

A bigger kid came into the room, scanning it before making his way to the desk in front of mine. He sat, slumped in the chair, his legs spread wide, then sneered in my direction. "Why are you here? Don't you have a real job?"

I stifled a grin. I loved this question. "I'm a firefighter."

"No, you're not," the first kid who challenged me called out from his seat in the back of the room.

I raised a brow.

"Why would you want to substitute teach?" the kid in front of me asked.

I glanced at the seating chart this teacher kept at the front desk. Fagan.

I smiled and said the thing they'd least expect any teacher to say in middle school. "Because I love hanging out with kids your age."

The room fell quiet because these kids probably never heard a parent or teacher say that. There was a reason why middle schools were short on substitute teachers. No one wanted to deal with disrespectful kids that were the size of adults. But I wasn't afraid. In fact, my body hummed with the challenge of getting these kids to respect and maybe even like me.

I'd be the cool teacher by the end of the day if it killed me. And if nothing else, they'd respect me. Because I didn't put up with shit, and I wanted them to learn.

The announcements started just then, and everyone stood for the Pledge of Allegiance. When the pledge was over, I took a seat, sneaking a peek at my phone while the media teacher droned on about the club schedule.

I smiled when I saw the text from Claire.

Good luck today.

Thanks for the well wishes, but I've got this.

I bet you do. You'll have those kids eating out of your hands by the end of the day.

That's the plan. Please tell Owen good luck at tryouts.

I wanted to keep the message chain going, but we both needed to get to work.

I will.

Then I tucked my phone in the top drawer of the desk and handed out the slips for kids who were being pulled to other classrooms.

When those kids grabbed their things and left, I stood in front of the room to set the ground rules. "You can work on homework. You can read. You can even play games on your laptops, but you cannot do any of that in pairs or groups."

I didn't care what they did as long as they kept to themselves. That seemed to have made them happy because the next forty-five minutes were relatively quiet. I only had to remind them a few times not to talk.

I knew other teachers allowed kids in their classroom to hang out together, but that could get out of control quickly. And I wasn't about to let chaos reign. I'd heard a horror story of one substitute teacher who allowed kids to pull out their phones and go through the teacher's desk. Not on my watch.

When it was time to move to their first class of the day, I let out a breath. One period down, six more to go.

* * *

After school, I went for a run on the track and lifted weights in the gym to kill time before tryouts. This school shared facilities with the high school, so the work out room was decent. Then I showered quickly and headed to the middle school's practice field.

I'd already talked to the athletic director, Mr. Elias, to ensure I had the equipment and uniforms we'd need to have a successful season. In general, the football teams seemed to be well funded, and the middle school benefited from that.

I grabbed a clipboard and the list of kids who'd registered for tryouts.

I was only on the field for a few minutes before the first kid showed up, along with his dad who was dressed in a suit.

"What's your name?" I asked the kid.

He glanced at his dad before answering, "Bryce Keaton."

I found his name on the list and checked it off. "Have you played before?"

"Every year since kindergarten," the dad said proudly.

"Why don't you put your things on the bench," I said to Bryce, sensing the dad wanted to be involved in decision-making on the team. Then to his dad, I said, "If you plan to stick around, you can sit on the bleachers."

"I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Brian Keaton."

I tucked the clipboard under my arm and shook his hand. "Jameson Calloway."

"Bryce has played quarterback for years, and I expect he'll play the same position on this team too."

I rocked back on my heels. "Tryouts haven't started. I don't know what the team will look like."

I braced myself for a rundown of Bryce's accomplishments, but other kids appeared, and I was busy checking their names off the list. Brian stepped off to the side.

"You're the coach?" a familiar voice asked when I was looking at the list.

I glanced up. "Owen? This is your school?"

He nodded and swallowed hard.

I checked off his name, then said, "Why don't you put your things over there and line up? We're going to run a lap and then stretch to start."

He nodded but still looked uncomfortable.

"Relax. You'll do fine." I didn't want to play favorites. I would pick the best possible team, and I was nervous because I wasn't sure how he would measure up against kids who'd played every year when his experience was more sporadic.

I surprised the kids by running a lap with them, then regrouped at the fifty-yard line. I paced the perimeter of their haphazard circle. "How you come out here and work reflects on who you are as a player and a team. I want to see a line running the lap and a tight circle stretching. When we name captains, they will lead the stretches and I want to hear everyone counting." I paused for effect. "We. Are. A. Team."

"Not everyone will make it," Bryce joked.

I held up my hand, and the smiles fell off their faces. "On this field, you will respect me and your teammates. There's a time and place for joking around but not between three thirty and five thirty p.m. You practice how you play. If you don't practice with discipline, then I won't play you on game day. Simple as that."

"Don't you have to play the best players?" a larger kid said. I recognized him as Fagan from my homeroom class.

"Hard work trumps talent when talent doesn't work hard. You may have a natural athletic ability, but if you don't come out here and work hard, you won't progress. I want to see drive, discipline, and focus."

"Sure thing, coach," Mark, I think it was, said.

I nodded in his direction. "Let's get to work."

I'd decided to run them through a typical practice while also timing their speed, logging their throwing ability, and judging their tackles. I got a pretty good feel for each kid, their abilities, their love for the sport, and how good of a teammate they might be. I was looking for more than skill. I wanted to coach a group of kids that wanted to be on the field and had a positive attitude.

Unfortunately, Bryce excelled in all the skills but only after I urged him to focus. His first inclination was to half-ass his way through the drills. I had a feeling he was used to being handed positions because of his father's interference.

He was skilled, but I was worried his attitude would be a problem for the team. At the end of practice, I pulled him aside. "If I'm going to put you on the team, I need to know that you can lose the attitude."

"I don't have an attitude," Bryce insisted stubbornly.

"I don't like the energy you're bringing to practice. No one is better than anyone else. We're all here to grow. I can make you better, but you have to be willing to listen, to take my advice, and work hard. Can you do that?"

Bryce sighed. "Yes, coach."

I had everyone huddle up in the middle of the field because there were quite a few parents in attendance. "I'm impressed with how everyone worked today. This was an example of how my practices will go. I don't tolerate attitude or anyone putting someone else down. I'm all about positivity and growth. If you don't think you can be positive and support your teammates, this won't be a good fit."

No one said anything to that, but there were a few guilty expressions.

"I'm proud of you. You worked hard. Now go home, eat a good meal, and shower. Your parents will thank you." There was a chuckle at that. "I'll be in touch about who made the team shortly."

As the kids walked toward their bags and their parents, I let out a breath. I was in a tough position. Some of the more-skilled players had attitudes. I worried they'd be lazy on the field because they were relying on their talent and not hard work. Then the lesser-skilled players were quick with a word of encouragement for their teammates.

I wondered if I could get through to the first group of kids and turn it around. The challenge had me excited.

Claire sat on the bleachers and said, "I didn't realize you were the coach," when I approached.

I let out a breath. "I didn't either. I never asked what school Owen attended. Maybe I should have."

Claire glanced around, probably to see if anyone was listening to our conversation. "Is it going to be a problem?"

"I won't let it be." It wouldn't look good if I had a relationship with Owen's mother. If I put Owen on the team, I couldn't be anything more than a friend to him and his mom. "He worked hard out there. I'm proud of him."

"I need to get home and cook dinner. Thank you for your help." Claire stood, then moved away to find Owen, who was drinking water and talking to a friend.

I couldn't believe my luck. I'd enjoy having Owen on my team, but it meant I couldn't pursue anything with Claire. I wasn't sure she was even interested in me. I was probably overthinking the situation.

After the kids packed up and the parents had exhausted their questions about the process of picking a team and my plans for the year, I wanted to grab a beer with someone. My brothers tended to be judgmental about my decisions, and this was one of those times.

Yet I didn't feel like hanging out with my buddies from the firehouse. They wouldn't understand. They were in two camps: the ones that were married with kids and the single guys who went to the bar for a good time.

No one would understand my infatuation with a single mother who was a few years older and a lot more put together than me.

I texted Wes, hoping he wasn't working late tonight. I needed to talk to someone to get a different perspective.

We met at Max's Bar Grill in Annapolis. Sports highlights played on the multiple TV screens above the bar, and the dining room was packed with patrons eating.

Wes slid onto the stool next to me. "I was surprised to hear from you."

"You go out with Teddy, don't you?" I asked him, suddenly uncomfortable that Wes was calling me out. I tended to avoid my brothers when it came to any life decisions. I didn't always want to hear their opinions.

"When our schedules align."

That meant not often because they worked shift work. "Did Ryder head back home?"

Wes nodded as he caught the eye of the red-headed bartender who indicated she had one more person to serve before us. "This morning."

"I wish he'd stayed longer," I said as I settled onto the bar stool next to him.

Wes raised a brow. "Faith has school."

"It was good to see them. Faith was all Izzy could talk about." Faith was patient with her even though she was a bit older.

The red headed bartender paused in front of us. "What can I get you?"

"Whatever you have on tap." I wasn't picky, and I didn't intend to drink much since I needed to teach again the next day.

"Same," Wes said when she looked at him.

When she moved away to pour our drinks, Wes asked, "So what's going on?"

"I had football tryouts today."

Wes's lips tipped up. "How were the parents?"

"Desperate for their kids to get picked."

"That sounds about right."

"A few of the kids are really talented, but their attitudes sucks. And there're kids who have definite potential."

The bartender placed our glasses in front of us. "Want to start a tab?"

I slid my card across the bar top. "I'll get it now."

Wes tipped his head toward me in thanks. "You have enough to field a team?"

"I don't see how I cannot take the most talented kids if I want the team to be the best." I sipped the beer, remembering the last time I drank one on Claire's porch. It felt different than this. I had visions of coming home to Claire and Owen, eating dinner, then throwing a ball. It had felt nice. I never thought I wanted a family, not any time soon. But since I met Claire, the thought had been popping into my head more often.

The bartender handed me the card with the receipt. "Have a good night. Let me know if you need anything else."

I slid the card into my wallet and signed the receipt. "Will do."

Wes nudged my elbow with his arm. "If anyone can reach those kids, it's you."

It was rare for me to receive a compliment from one of my brothers. There was more teasing around our house than anything else. They were competitive and never failed to capitalize on our mistakes. "I appreciate the vote of support."

"So what's got you upset?"

"Who said I'm upset?"

Wes chuckled. "You asked me to meet you for a beer."

I cradled the already-sweating glass. "A man can't ask his brother out for a beer?"

Wes raised a brow. "You've always done your own thing."

For the first time, I wondered if my brothers were bothered that I hadn't been close with them. As kids, I'd played more with Daphne, and as we got older, I didn't feel as close to them. They were so competitive with each other. I never felt like I was in the same stratosphere as them.

"I met one of the mothers before. I was helping her son prepare for tryouts, not realizing he attends the same school where I'm coaching."

Wes whistled low. "You really didn't know he'd be there?"

"We never talked about what school he attended." It hadn't seemed important at the time. "We talked about football and what to expect at tryouts. How he could improve. You know, I give good pep talks." My coaches loved having me on the team in high school. They said I was good for team morale.

Wes lowered his bottle. "I can't believe you didn't ask."

I leaned in close and lowered my voice, "What were the odds of it being the same school?"

Wes gave me a look. "You knew it was a possibility."

"I'm telling you; I was surprised when he showed up."

"Is he good enough to make the team?" Wes asked, shifting closer when a woman slipped between him and the other stool to get the bartender's attention.

"He's in the bottom third of those who would make the team."

"You think you can work with him?"

"He wants to learn. He wants to get better. But the problem is that he's got an arm on him. I could train him to be a quarterback, but we already have one. That kid has a father who wants him to be the sole quarterback."

"Train this kid as the backup. It can't hurt anything. And if he ends up being better, you play the best one."

"Yeah, maybe." I could see the untapped potential in Owen. He just needed more confidence. I had a feeling his parents' divorce, the move, and his father's inattention had all messed with his head.

"What else are you worried about?" Wes asked, assessing me.

I shrugged. "How to juggle the personalities of the parents with what's best for the team." I was a nice guy. I didn't like making other people angry. But at the same time, I couldn't run the team how Bryce's father wanted me to. What kind of coach would I be if I did?

"You do what's best for the team and try to block out everything else."

"And when a parent complains to the athletic director?"

"I'm sure you're a great coach. Who else would volunteer to teach and coach middle school kids?" Wes teased.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment," I said wryly.

He bumped my shoulder. "I have to give you some shit."

Silence fell as we sipped our beers and watched the football game on the screen. "What's going on with you and Sutton?"

Wes frowned. "You know we're friends."

"Sutton with her trust fund and her expensive designer clothes. She's too good to have you for a friend."

Wes's jaw tightened like it always did when one of us questioned their relationship. "We're friends. We have been for years."

I'd always suspected there was more to the story. But their relationship had withstood endless ribbing from my brothers.

Then Wes shifted to face me. "Are you interested in the backup QB's mom?"

I let out a breath. "Even if I am, it doesn't matter. I'm a few years younger than her, and you know what everyone thinks about me."

His brow furrowed. "What's that?"

I gave him a look. "I'm an overgrown kid. I don't take anything seriously."

Wes sighed heavily. "You know we're just giving you shit, right? It doesn't mean that you're not a good guy or wouldn't be a good fit for this woman."

It was exactly what it meant. "I don't even know if she's interested in me. And if I put her kid on the team, nothing can happen."

"Maybe it's for the best then. You said yourself she's not interested anyway."

"Yeah, you're right." I swallowed down the rest of my beer. As much as it sucked, I didn't know if there was anything between us, so there was no point in worrying about it. Why would someone like Claire be interested in me anyway?