Page 13 of Love Game

With a bob of his head to his coaching staff, Danny stepped out from behind the lectern.

At last, his players stirred. A few grumbled as they shuffled from the room. Danny’s gut wrenched when he realized that none of them would even attempt to catch his eye. Not one suck-up in a whole pack of born overachievers. He was in deep shit.

He gravitated to the door, as anxious to leave the claustrophobic meeting room as the rest but hoping he hid it a little better. Most of the coaches would be taking off on vacation as soon as the students finished final exams. He had precious little time to make inroads with this program. Some of his staff and a handful of seniors would be back in a few weeks to help run the camps for teenagers who dreamed of playing for powerhouse schools in Florida, Alabama, or Michigan. He found it hard to believe many potential all-Americans had visions of wearing Warrior green and gold, but you never knew. The school had roots that ran deep, and the camps were a good way to spot talent and build relationships early.

When he turned back to switch off the overhead lighting, he spotted Mack Nord still parked in his chair.

Mack was exactly the kind of coach Danny admired. The type he’d always wanted to impress as a player. The man was a football fundamentalist so fervent, Danny wouldn’t have been shocked to hear he had his own Sunday morning show on local access cable.

The man cut no corners in putting every player through his paces. Danny appreciated that kind of old-school grit. He also liked listening to Mack’s assessments of each player’s strengths and weaknesses. Just the thought of those terse rundowns made Danny smile. On his first day there, Mack had certainly wasted no time sharing his opinion that Danny had been a fat-headed punk who let his dick make career choices for him.

He also said he hoped Danny had learned his damn lesson.

The same assessment had chased Danny from one no-name school to the next, but this time, he wanted to disprove it once and for all. “Mack? Did you need something else?”

The man’s white hair shone silver in the harsh overhead light. He tipped his head back and jerked his chin at one of the mottled whiteboards. “I’m taking the wife to Destin for a couple of weeks as soon as we wrap up the school year.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “She says it’s the price I pay for scribbling formations on every napkin or envelope in the house.” He chuckled and gave his head a rueful shake. “Once, I used one of her makeup pencils to sketch something out on the mirror. She damn near scalped me with her Pink Lady shaver.”

Danny couldn’t help but laugh. He’d spotted Mack’s wife bringing the old coot his lunch more than once since he’d started at Wolcott. She topped out at five feet tall and couldn’t have weighed much more than 110 pounds. Just the same, he had no trouble envisioning the scalping scene.

Tucking his hands in the pockets of his khakis, Danny stepped back into the room.

“Don’t let her complaining fool you. The woman never misses a game. She stores decades of stats in that pretty little head of hers and puts up with a guy who spends all year obsessing over a four-month season.” Mack gave a one-shouldered shrug, then sighed. “I guess she deserves a couple of weeks at the beach.”

“And a medal.”

“Oh, she has plenty of those. Every one of them set with diamonds.” He rose with an audible groan and turned to face Danny head-on. “They’re beat down. Calling them a bunch of losers isn’t going to make them any better.”

Mack’s blunt words stopped Danny in his tracks. “I didn’t call them losers.”

Mack still wore that smirk, but the sharp edge of his tone cut through Danny’s protest. “Not in so many words.”

“Not in any words,” Danny snapped, pissed off to find himself playing defense once again.

How the hell did this keep happening? He wasn’t a lineman, for Christ’s sake. He was the quarterback. The coach. This guy’s boss. He’d be damned if he’d spend one more minute apologizing for his past. Tucking his wounded pride under his arm, he charged right into the fray.

“I believe it’s reasonable to expect players who compete at this level—”

“Level,” Mack sneered. “Son, you need to stop worrying about who’s above you and below you and start worrying about what you have right up in your face.”

Danny stared at the older man for a moment, mentally rifling through a half dozen snide remarks about the above and below part, then tossing them aside in favor of driving straight up the middle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mack shuffled over to the nearest whiteboard and picked up the eraser. Danny bit his tongue to keep from protesting the obliteration of what might have been the most brilliant basketball play ever. Not that he would know. Hell, he didn’t even know if Kate Snyder had been the one to draw it.

“You forget you’re not dealing with those meat-headed numbskulls you had at Northern.”

The gravelly admonition jolted Danny from his fugue. “What?” He blinked twice as the implication sank its hooks. “Are you trying to tell me these kids are too smart to play good football?”

Mack took one last swipe at the play, then tossed the eraser onto the table as he turned to face him. “No, I’m telling you that they aren’t talented enough to play anywhere else.”

The bald statement set Danny back on his heels for a second, but like any good quarterback, he recovered quickly. “Well, then I guess we’ll need to work on our recruiting.”

“You can recruit until you’re blue in the face, but you know as well as I do that no ballplayer worth his salt wants to play on a losing team.”

“Is this some kind of super-loser circle jerk?” Danny regretted the snappish retort the instant it popped out, but like a fumbled ball, there was nothing he could do but fall on it. “There has to be a way to break the cycle.”

Mack nodded once. It was an achingly slow tip of his head but a nod nonetheless. “There is, but I can tell you it has nothing to do with playing on any of your levels. I had a nun who used to yell at us to keep our eyes on our own papers. That’s what you need to do, son. Look at what’s in front of you. Make the best choices you can. Stop worrying about what everyone else has. It’s time for you to play smart.”

The sneer was back, and the damn thing made Danny feel about two inches tall. Crossing his arms over his chest, he planted his feet wide and lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going to share your thoughts, Yoda, or am I supposed to use the Force?”

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