Page 6 of The Check Down

Night and day from my previous head coach.

Coach Mundy extends his hand as I approach. He’s gotta be close to my parents’ age, but the man doesn’t look a day over fifty.

“Just met your family.” He gives me a warm smile that stretches his silvery-blond mustache wide. “Good folks. Mighty proud of you.”

There’s a pinch in my chest at the thought of my family. He’s right. They’re my biggest supporters. “Yes, sir.”

“Tried to recruit your brother. The fighter. That kid’s built.”

I shake my head, but there’s no stopping the smile that spreads across my face at the mention of Tucker. “He’s pretty busy these days. Just opened up his own gym, and he’s training a few kids who want to follow in his footsteps.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that.” He straightens and rubs the back of his neck. “Listen. Lacey.” He huffs a breath. “You’re a hell of a talent, and all the talk about you being too old and washed up is hogwash.”

I roll my lips to hide the smile that threatens to escape.Hogwashis one of Fred Lacey’s favorite words. Fixating on this similarity with my dad is damn helpful with keeping me from dwelling on the rest of his words for too long.

Old and washed up.

If Coach notices, he doesn’t let on. “I know days like today won’t become a habit for you. Shake it off, and we’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

Shoulders heavy, despite all the pep talks, I dip my chin. “Yes, sir.”

He narrows his eyes, considers me for a beat, then slaps my bicep and starts back toward the coaches’ offices.

I make it five steps in the opposite direction before he calls my name. “We do things kinda different round here,” Coach Mundy says, hands on hips, his voice echoing in the stark hallway. “They tell you about the event on Tuesday night?”

“My assistant mentioned something about it.”

“Season-ticket holders have been integral to keeping our team in this city. Memphis is a small market, and there’s been talk here and there for a long time about relocating to a more populated city.”

I nod. The rumors pop up every few years, especially after sub-five-hundred seasons.

“The organization holds this event every year. It gives some of those diehard fans a chance to rub elbows with the team. Gives us the opportunity to thank them for their dedication.” He heaves a breath. “It’s asking a lot of you guys to give up one of your off nights, but it’s tradition.”

“I’ll be there, sir.”

His whiskers twitch as he smiles. “Good man. I’ll let you get to your folks, then.”

I pass a few team personnel and players on my way to the family zone, and before I even round the corner, I hear them.

Stopping in the corridor, I give myself a moment to breathe before I approach them. Strains of my mom and dad’s amiable bickering fill the air of the quiet hallway, with Aunt Dottie’s opinions sprinkled in. I swallow the lump in my throat and blink back the rogue tears that threaten to spill.

My family ishere, and they got to see our last name on a Blues uniform today.

What a fucking privilege.

That thought strengthens my resolve to give all I’ve got to this season. It might be my last year to play, and if that’s the case, then I want to go out on top.

Coach is right. I’m leagues better than today’s performance.

I don’t want to let him down, or the team. But what really paralyzes me, makes my gut feel like granite, is the thought of letting down the people waiting around the corner.

After another deep breath, I steel myself, push my shoulders back, and round the cinder block wall.

It takes them a second to notice me, but when they do, Mom’s voice shrills above the rest.

“There’smy baby boy.”

“Mom, he’s thirty-four years old,” Shaw grunts.

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