Page 94 of The Problem with Players

“Yeah, but would that big college-level team have a coach who called me a dumbass on the regular?”

“Don’t be silly, Nathan. There are plenty of coaches around the world who would love to call you a dumbass,” she joked. She blew her whistle and started for the field. “Kevin! Run that play again, but step more into the pitch. You almost got it. Let me show you.”

I smirked at her as she walked away to help the players.

Sure, maybe there would be coaches who called me a dumbass, but none would do it as insultingly as she did. There was something so sweet about hearing Avery Kingsley call me a dumbass. It held a certain level of prestige to it.

After practice,Avery and I headed home to find a note on the front door from my mother.

Made you and Avery a pan of enchiladas that you can bake for dinner. Left it in your garage fridge.

-Mom

Avery smiled at the note. “You boys are so spoiled.”

“The perks of living on a family farm. If you don’t want to cook, someone else probably has dinner on the stove.”

“I bet my mom would’ve been the same way,” she mentioned.

That caused me to pause for a second as I was about to unlock the door. Avery hardly ever talked about her mother. Even when we were kids, the topic didn’t come up much. I figured it was because some things were too hard to talk about.

“You miss her a lot, huh?” I asked as I unlocked and opened the door.

She nodded. “Every single day.” She walked into the foyer of the house and began to take off her shoes. “Do you miss your dad?”

“No,” I said without hesitation. “But I do miss the idea of a father.”

She smiled a comforting type of smile that felt far from judgmental. “I know how tough it was for you when he passed. We didn’t talk much about it, seeing how things between us ended abruptly, but I know how harsh he was toward you. You not missing him is completely understandable.”

“But it comes with a level of guilt.”

“Losing a parent always comes with a level of guilt. Even when you’re young.” She placed her duffel bag in the front closet before taking mine from me and doing the same. We were moving into a routine with one another after practice, and it felt so…good. “Do you want kids someday?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do. I just hope that I do better than him when itcomes to raising all my kids. I’d want to love each kid equally, unlike my father.”

“He wasn’t as harsh with your brothers?”

I shook my head as I walked to the kitchen to get water. “No. Mostly me. Maybe because I was the oldest. Maybe because I wouldn’t allow him to snap at my brothers. It’s hard to say.”

“I read an article once about how no child has the same parent. Each one experiences their parents in a different light based on personalities, the time period, and the situations at hand. It’s like how my dad has a completely different relationship with Yara, Willow, and me.”

“Yeah. I just hope I don’t have any of my father in me to pass on to my kids.”

Avery shook her head. “You don’t, Nathan. You’re your mother’s child, not your father’s. And for what it’s worth, you’d make a great dad.”

“How can you know that?”

“I see you with our team. You treat everyone as individuals and care for them as if they were each the center of your universe. That’s what a good parent would do. Treat each child as a unique individual.”

“Those kids mean a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to them, too.”

I poured two glasses of water and slid one across the island toward Avery. “We make a good team, don’t we, Coach?”

She shyly grinned and nodded. “We do all right.” She took a sip of water. “I’m going to go get the enchiladas from the garage fridge. I’m starving.”

“Sounds good.”

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