Page 38 of Home Game

“Yeah, they’re gonna be tough. We front-loaded our schedule. It will pay off, though, I think.”

I nod at his assessment and watch the game play with him.

“They’re sloppy with the handoffs,” I say, pointing to the screen.

He drags the video back a few seconds and watches them run the play again.

“Good spot. We’ll need to work on that with the defense tomorrow.” He makes a note, then turns his attention back to the screen.

“So, what’s up?” he asks, his gaze not on me. He’s such a hard man to read. Harder when he’s not looking at me. I swallow.

“I want to get in some extra pass work. You think I can get the end zone lights on?”

He stops the video and leans back in his chair, studying me.

“Tonight?” His brow pulls in.

“I was . . . well . . . yeah. Tonight. Tomorrow. Next day?—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Uh, man, I don’t know if I can get facilities to stick around. And the AD is up my ass about costs and raising more money. It’s something like two hundred for every extra hour the lights are on or some bullshit.” He chews on his pen cap as he stares hard into my eyes.

“Forget the lights, then. Just give me a key to the back gate, and I’ll use my headlights.”

Coach chuckles and tosses his pen on his desk.

“Hell, if you’re willing to go that far to get better, I may as well get out there with you.” He stands and closes his laptop as I push back in the metal chair, the legs scraping along the concrete floor.

“I didn’t mean to make extra work for you,” I say, feeling bad when his phone buzzes and I see an image of his wife pop up on the screen. He holds up a finger.

“Hey, babe. Wyatt and I are going to work out a few things. I’m gonna be an hour. If you want to bring the boys, though . . .”

“Really, it’s o—” I try to let him off the hook. He holds up a finger, though, and listens as his wife talks. A second or two later, he holds the phone away from his ear.

“You like rice or chow mein?”

My face puzzles.

“Rice, I guess? Is she?—?”

He repeats my answer and is off the phone and heading out of his office seconds later.What just happened?

“My boys are starting pee wee next week, and they’ve been dying to meet you. So, hope you don’t mind having some helpers out there. And apparently, my wife is hungry, so we’re getting dinner delivered.”

“Oh, wow. Umm, okay.” I try my best to keep up with him, shutting off the locker room lights and snagging my duffel as heholds the locker room door open for me. My mom is working late, picking up all the extra hours she can so it hurts less financially when she takes off Fridays.

I follow Coach down to the field, the sun still up just enough that we might be able to get away with some work before I have to pull my truck around. He stops at the equipment room to grab a bag of balls and wheels out a basket I think he wants to use as a target, but as he slides the door back down to lock it again, an acrid scent hits my nose.

“You smell that?” I ask.

His head snaps to mine and a half-second later, he drops the balls and we both rush around the building to get a clear look at the field. The flames aren’t terribly high, but they trail across the width of our end zone.

“Call nine-one-one!” Coach shouts, sprinting down to the field. He hurdles the fence and scrambles to open the box for the automatic sprinkler lines, flipping them all on at once. He races through the middle of the field, water blasting him from all directions, and stops at one of the large corner jets. He cranks it to point the spray directly at the flames, and the air fills with white smoke just as I finish telling the operator there’s a fire at the school field.

I pull my collar up over my nose and cup my hand on top. Our field backs up to desert, so it’s not like someone drove by and flicked out a cigarette.Do people even smoke cigarettes anymore? I don’t think throwing a vape pen out a window has quite the same effect.

“Fuck!” Coach’s voice reverberates off the bleachers.

I jog up behind him, and when I get a clear view of the burn marks, I see what led to his reaction.

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