Page 106 of The Problem with Players

With each game we played, the crowds grew more and more. It turned out the Honey Creek Hornets were finding a spark of light in the media realm. The boys were eating it up, too. I’d played the game long enough to know that a team always played better when they had a strong crowd behind them. Something about the energy of being cheered on from the bleachers pushed players harder.

Something was so rewarding about it, too. Not only for the players but also for Avery. She’d finally been given the chance to lead the team and had more than proved herself in that position. It wasn’t every day you ran across a female coach in the league, so it was refreshing to see her do better than most of the men in our conference.

Still, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to slip in rude comments along the way. After we beat the Parkway Giants, we shook hands with the coaches. Their head coach, Frank, shook my hand and gave Avery a dirty look. Then said, “I think it’s nice that you’re pretending to be the assistant coach, Pierce. Everyone knows this team was shit without you. Way to carry this team on your back. It’s good to see this sport run by a man.”

The dig was said loudly enough for Avery to hear it. I flinched, knowing that wouldn’t sit well with Avery.

“I beg your pardon?” Avery snipped with a puffed-out chest. If there was one thing she wouldn’t allow, it was disrespect of any kind.

Frank smirked and held his hands up in the air. “Don’t get your tampon in a twist, Kingsley. You make a stellar assistant coach. But don’t get confused. This ain’t your sport, sweet pea.”

“I’ll show you a fucking sweet pea,” Avery yipped, marching toward Frank with invisible smoke blasting from her nostrils.

“Whoa, there, slugger,” I said, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her back behind me.

Avery’s brows shot up as she stood there, stunned. She tilted her head and pointed a stern finger my way. “Don’t fucking do that again, Pierce,” she scolded, her warranted anger spewing toward me.

I took a deep breath and stepped toward her. I said softly, “He’s a dick trying to get under your skin because we just smoked his team. Walk it off, Coach.”

“You walk it off!” she hissed, a fire brewing in those brown irises. “That’s some sexist bullshit.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But walk it off. Otherwise, everyone around us will label you the angry, unstable coach.”

Avery glanced around to see all the eyes on her. She grimaced, seeing people staring at her, waiting for her to snap. It wasn’t fair. She’d always be judged harder than any other coach in the industry because there wasn’t a dick between her legs. Even though Avery was better than most, she’d always have a target on her back if anything went wrong in the slightest. People like Frank were waiting for her to lose her cool and snap so they could label her in such a way. It was bullshit, but it was the way of the world.

Women in the industry had to prove themselves fifty times more than men.

A male coach could have a meltdown for a whole season and be labeled as passionate, while a female coach could throw off their baseball hat after a bad play and be called overly emotional.

Was it right? No. Yet it was the world we lived in. And now, with more attention on our team, we had more attention on our Avery.

She glanced up at the bleachers, where her father was sitting. Matthew Kingsley showed up to every single home game, no matter what. I hadn’t officially met him, but he was clearly his daughter’s biggest fan.

Matthew smiled a sad grin toward her. Then he mouthed, “Breathe, baby.”

Avery grumbled and took a breathe before she stomped her feet off toward the building.

“Is it that time of the month for her?” Frank snickered with his assistant coaches who joined in the laughing.

“Fuck off, Frank,” I blurted out before walking off the field.

“Walk it off, Coach?!”Avery spat out as she stood on the baseball batting mound at my place, clearly still enraged with what went down. “Are you kidding me, Nathan?”

“That was me having your back.”

“Really? Because it felt like you were stabbing me in it.”

I slid my hands into my pockets and leaned back against the railing of my porch. “You’re pissed at me.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. It’s nothing like having a man tell a woman that when she’s pissed off. I almost didn’t notice without you informing me what I was feeling.”

Her sarcasm was at a new level. I watched as she took a ball from the bag beside her, tossed it into the air, and knocked itout of the park. I swore her swings became Incredible Hulk strength whenever she was mad.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Screw you,” she replied before hitting another ball. She then turned toward me. “Frank Stagg is a dick.”

“The biggest dick, yeah.”

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