Page 38 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

I whisk them off to play carny games and funnel cakes.

Later in the afternoon, the games begin. The high school’s field is lined with contestants and the familiar energy of a game day hangs in the air. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a field, and even though my injury still nags at me, I can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. I miss home and I’m missing spring training with my team.

I have no intention of participating but Sam nudges me.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” Sam teases.

“Guilty,” I admit. “But hey, I’m here for the kids.”

She glances at me, her expression skeptical. “You’re here because Ellie guilted you into playing.”

“Maybe,” I say, grinning. “But I’m not complaining. You’re here too.”

She rolls her eyes, and a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

When the game starts, the sun is beaming on us and the kids are in full force as they race across the open field for a game of tag football. Ellie is in the thick of it, her ponytail bouncing as she runs for the ball, her yellow flag sticking off her hip. I jog along the sidelines, letting her get the pass as I call out, “You’ve got this!”

She grins, her cheeks flushed with effort as she throws the ball toward the makeshift goal. It’s a mess of arms and legs, but somehow, the kids manage to score. Ellie throws her arms in the air, cheering loudly when the ball goes into the net.

“Nice shot!” I say, holding up my hand for a high-five.

She smacks my hand with enthusiasm as she turns toward where the parents are lined up near the bleachers. “Did you see that, Aunt Sam?” she yells across the field.

Sam claps her hands from the sidelines. “I saw it! Great job!”

For a brief second, I get a taste of what it would be like if Sam sat on the sidelines of my football game cheering me on. The vision warms my heart.

The game ends in a tie, which means the kids and adults are forced into a tiebreaker competition. It’s a relay race involving water balloons and some questionable obstacle courses, and Sam and I end up paired together.

“This is your fault,” she mutters as we line up for our turn.

“How is this my fault?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“You’re the one who signed up,” she says, adjusting her grip on the spoon loaded with a water balloon. “Now, try not to drop it.”

“Same to you,” I shoot back, but there’s no heat behind it. If anything, it feels good to banter with her, to have these little moments that feel like something more.

We don’t win the race—Ellie’s team does, of course—but by the end of it, we’re both laughing, soaked, and out of breath. Sam shakes her head, and the water has soaked through her T-shirt. She looks at me like I blew it.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, but there’s warmth in her tone.

“Maybe,” I admit, “but you’re smiling, so I must be doingsomething right.”

She can’t hide the look in her eyes that tells me I’m making points.

As the sun dips it turns various shades of orange and pink against the Easter egg blue sky. The festival winds down. Ellie tugs on my hand, her eyes wide as she points to the ring toss booth.

“Jake, look! I want the cute lion! Can we try to win it?”

The stuffed lion is perched on the top shelf, bright and fluffy. Ellie’s excitement is impossible to resist, so I purchase tickets and hand a couple to the booth operator. He sets rings on the counter.

“I can’t promise we’ll be able to get it,” I tell her, aiming for the pegs.

It takes a few tries—and a little coaching from Ellie—but I finally land the ring on the right peg. The operator hands me the lion, and I bend to give it to Ellie.

“Here you go, champ,” I say, ruffling her hair.

She hugs it tightly, her face lighting up with joy. “I’m naming him Simba!”

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