Page 17 of Love Game

Grinning, Danny stepped back into his stance and held the ball like he was posing for a goddamn trading card. “Well, here’s your chance, kid. Get ready.”

“Do we run it?” Landry yelled, glancing from player to player, then back at him.

“Not for this.” The defensive players’ faces fell so dramatically, he almost laughed out loud. “Unless you’re on D. If one of you guys”—he pointed to the three defensive players in the group—“grab it, you can try to get past me. But if I get two hands on you, you’re down. Deal?”

The players nodded and shuffled, smiles cracking their wary expressions as Danny lobbed a high, arcing spiral into the air. Youth, exuberance, and uninjured knees were the keys to pulling down that jump ball. Forgetting the fact that he was still fresh meat to his teammates, Landry snagged the ball. His victory dance was inventive and amusing, but his crowing came to an abrupt halt when his wobbly pass back fell five yards short of Danny’s feet.

Chuckling, Danny trotted forward to retrieve the ball. Palming it easily, he pointed a finger at his youngest player. “Good thing you can catch, because my mama can throw deeper than you.”

The players hooted and hollered, bumping each other as Danny lobbed another up for grabs. This time, it landed square in Oswalt’s hands. The big guy looked up, more surprised than anyone that he had the ball. Laughing, Danny backed off a few steps and waved the big man toward him. “Come on, muscle man. Wanna make me eat that pass?”

Oswalt took off, but the man was more of a cannonball than a bullet. He tried to zig, then zag, but his massive body wasn’t meant to juke. Danny let him have another ten yards before tagging him with both hands and plucking the ball from his meaty paws.

“Way to go, big guy,” Danny commended. Patting the kid’s shoulder, he gave him a playful shove back toward the group. “Make sure you tell Coach Jenkins to give you more cardio work. You can’t run it back if you’re winded after twenty yards.”

“Aw, man. I hate that damn treadmill,” Oswalt complained as he took his position in the group.

Danny jerked a thumb at Mack. “Would you rather I have Mack run you through wind sprints?”

“Shit no.”

“Didn’t think so,” Danny replied mildly. “And watch your language. It may just be a few of you here, but this is practice, not a pickup game.”

Oswalt grimaced and bobbed a quick nod. “Yes, Coach.”

By the time he put up four more passes, the scores were fairly even, and the boys’ competitive instincts were beginning to sharpen. Danny’s smile grew wider as their eyes narrowed. He threw short and made them scramble to get under it. He threw long, just to see who had the jets to go after it. He talked a little trash. As expected, they couldn’t stop themselves from trying to give it right back to him. Picking at his age and injury, doing their best to psych him out.

All the while, Danny laughed. He laughed more than he could remember laughing on any playing field since his high school days. The days before the big schools came recruiting and his love of the game was consumed by stats and the fight for starts.

When Landry shagged his fifth pass, it was almost a relief. Danny was tired of being the guy standing at the front all the damn time. He wanted to get in there and mix it up. He wanted to play. Just for a little while.

And he did. Moving as a mob, they came in about ten yards to accommodate for Landry’s puny arm. Danny crunched Anderson’s foot to get one. Jabbed an elbow into Kilgorn’s ribs to nab another. As Landry tossed up his sixth pass, the mass of bodies fighting for the ball looked more like a rugby scrum than anything related to American football. Danny, Oswalt, and Nelson were wrestling for the ball like bridesmaids after a bouquet when the shrill threeeet of a whistle sliced through the commotion. They all looked up to find Mack standing on the sideline, his hands on his hips and a disapproving scowl dragging the corners of his mouth.

“Are you the head of this program or some kind of head case?”

Danny sat up, the ball clutched to his chest.

“What the hell is this supposed to teach them?” Mack demanded.

“Uh-oh,” Anderson muttered. “Someone’s in trou-ble.”

Eyes locked on his assistant, Danny searched his semiscrambled brain for anything resembling a plausible answer. What came out was, “It was fun.”

Mack started toward the center of the field, wearing his “I mean business” face. Knowing he needed a more substantial response—and fast—Danny tossed the ball up to Kilgorn and rolled to his feet.

“Take a knee, fellas,” he ordered, running a hand down the front of his grass-stained dry-weave polo. Before Mack had a chance to light into him, he held up a hand to get everyone’s attention. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

His players nodded. A few mumbled, “Yes, Coach.” Landry grinned and added, “A blast.”

“Sometimes we forget football is a game,” Danny said quietly. “I mean, we know it’s a game, but let’s face it. These days it’s more like business, right?”

The players nodded in unison. When he turned, he saw Mack nodding too, his lips drawn into a tight line of disapproval.

“But it’s a game. A game we all love playing.” A lump of emotion formed in his chest. Pressing his fist to his sternum to hold it all in, Danny continued. “I’d forgotten how much I love it until just a few minutes ago. I think maybe a few of you had too.”

“But, Coach, that wasn’t actually football,” Nelson said with a smirk.

Danny met the kid’s supercilious stare with what he hoped was an expression of benevolence and not the malevolence he felt toward the little snot in that moment. He’d be damned if he let one snide kid steal his fun.

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