Page 11 of Summer Catch

It gave Jon a second to watch him at work. There was a fundamental competency to Kieran’s graceful, sure movements that Jon really enjoyed. He could watch this man do anything.

True to his word, Kieran was back quickly. “So, you excited for the rookies coming in?” he asked.

“You should ask me instead if I’m ready,” Jon said wryly. “Mr. Green’s been badgering me to add another quarterback to the roster, give Perez and Charlie a run for their money. I’m not against it, really, but I’m not for it either.”

“Why not?”

Jon never felt like Kieran’s questions made him defensive. He wasn’t asking them so Jon could justify his decisions. He wasn’t trying to backseat coach this football team, like it felt everyone else was.

“Nelson’s playing well. And,” he added wryly, “Randy and I designed a whole offensive system around him. I don’t really want do it again, if he doesn’t work out. I’ve got other shit to do.”

“That’s fair.”

“Mr. Green just doesn’t think Nelson’s the future.” Jon hesitated and then reminded himself that Kieran was a friend. He could be honest with him, and it wouldn’t come back and bite him in the ass. “I’m not sure I disagree with him.”

Kieran nodded. “I can see that.”

“He’s . . .” Jon winced. “He’s serviceable. He’s what we can afford.”

“And sometimes you gotta settle for that,” Kieran pointed out. “The defense looks good, though.”

“They do. We’ve drafted well the last few years, miraculously.” The old ownership hadn’t done much else well.

“We’re not gonna set the NFL scoring record this season, but I do think we can score some points. Enough, I hope, that we can win some close contests. I’m not hoping for the moon, here, just enough to convince Mr. G to keep me on.”

“He’s pretty reasonable, though, yeah? He knows the ceiling, considering all your limitations,” Kieran said, leaning forward. Those eyes were so hypnotizing Jon wanted to lose himself in them. Forget all about the job he’d been hired to do, the semi-impossible job he’d been hired to do.

“He’s going to be a great owner,” Jon agreed.

“And you, Jonathan Kelley, are gonna be a great head coach,” Kieran said with a fierce grin. Almost like he was daring him to argue.

When he’d been hired, great hadn’t even been on his radar. He’d hoped he could do a decent enough job, with all the cards stacked against the Condors, that they won some games. But more than that, more important than anything else, had been his intention to make sure all his players felt safe in Charleston now. Unlike in past seasons when that hadn’t necessarily been true.

“I’m gonna try,” he said.

Kieran leaned in closer, so close Jon’s mouth went dry—with desire? With want? With something else entirely?

“What I believe is that you’re gonna do it,” Kieran said. “I’ve seen a lot of coaches come and go here in Charleston, but there’s never been anyone like you, Jon Kelley.”

Chapter 5

Kieran knew he should take a step back. Not text Jon so often. Not respond quite so quickly when Jon texted him. There was a very loud part of him that kept screaming he was falling in deep, so deep he might not get out—and how dangerous would that be if he was wrong and Jon hadn’t experienced a change of heart since he’d told him two months ago that he was straight?

“Feels like you’re always glued to that, these days,” Nadia, one of his longest tenured employees mentioned nonchalantly to him, gesturing to the phone in his hand.

Jon had just been telling him about the first day of rookie practice.

They’re hopeless, he’d said, how am I supposed to turn these guys into NFL players? I’m gonna tear my fucking hair out if they don’t start LISTENING.

Don’t do it. It’s a good head of hair, and it doesn’t deserve to be sacrificed for some punk ass kids who think they know better than their coach.

“Yeah,” Kieran agreed. He couldn’t exactly argue. He knew he should pull back. Try to find a place with Jon that was just friendship, but every time the moment came when he should, he couldn’t do it.

“New boyfriend?” she asked, raising a dark brown eyebrow.

“No, not really. No.”

That eyebrow skated up even higher. “He doth protest too much.”

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