Page 31 of Peak of Love
She felt it even now, across from a soccer field on a Saturday morning with boisterous ten-year-olds and their curious parents—her body tingled with awareness of one man. It was unnervingly powerful and, since she had to focus on checking the lineup, exceedingly inconvenient.
As if to confirm her misgivings, Celina saw Parker Whittaker walk up to Dane. Asher’s dad was a great fan of the boys’ sporting events, always encouraging and supporting. It was one of the few opportunities for him to show emotion. Because when he wasn’t cheering from the sidelines, his relationship with his grandsons was muted. Maybe even strained.
There was nothing strained about the way he greeted Dane, however. The men shook hands enthusiastically and then stood side by side, looking towards the team with unrestrained pride.
The team was playing the Spokane Wizards that morning, a group notorious for their rough play encouraged by a coach who was rumored to be a former boxer. Celina was a little concerned by the aggressive pep talk from their part of the field, especially since there seemed to be way too much Red Bull cans for already hyped up preteen boys.
She averted her eyes from the opposing bench and directed her attention to encouraging the team. Their soccer club, the Shipping News Bobcats, had a far less intense approach. The great thing about Coach Shane was that he wasn’t under the illusion that the club was a training ground for elite competition. He showed the kids skills and strategies while never losing perspective. He reminded parents that the team consisted of children trying to get exercise while enjoying time together. The coach never got too excited and therefore set the tone for calm sportsmanship.
Not today. Today, everyone seemed to pick up on the opposing team’s energy. Ten minutes in, Celina already knew she was going to run out of ice packs. The refs weren’t calling anything, ignoring even questionable slide tackles that could do some serious damage. Wrists were sprained as they took the weight of bodies falling. One face plant resulted in a bloody nose.
As much as Celina was attentive to the team’s needs, she was acutely aware of her sons. Jonas was having a blast. He was smaller than a lot of kids his age, but he could work the ball down a field faster than anyone. He also loved nothing more than a sharp dodge as he squared off against a defender.
Asher, he is so light on his feet. Just like you!
Jerome, however? He was initially irritated, she could tell. Then irritation turned to agitation.
Our boy is so serious. I can feel him concentrate all the way from the sidelines.
The debacle, when it came, was inevitable. Jonas juked one of the bigger kids from the Wizards. The guy sprinted to Jonas and hit him hard from the back. The refs couldn’t ignore that one. Unfortunately, instead of letting the scuffle pass, the other coach tapped an even bigger kid to sub.
When Jonas took a pass while speeding down the field, the new player charged towards him, looking to cut block her son from the knees. Her throat squeezed, preventing the terror from finding her vocal cords. But instead of colliding, Jonas jumped up to prevent contact and then landed—accidentally on purpose—over the kid. They both sprawled on the field, looking entangled and, thankfully, uninjured. Jonas sprung up. While still on the ground, the big kid punched upward, right at her son’s stomach.
Hell broke loose. Parents screamed from the sidelines and even the usually calm Coach Shane screamed at the referee. That’s not where Celina’s attentions honed in.
Jerome began walking to the middle of the field. No, that wasn’t it. He stalked determinedly towards the offender. Celina started running towards them although she was too slow, too late. Jerome had tackled the bigger kid and started swinging his arms wildly.
She was about to lunge herself to stop her son or to protect him—she wasn’t sure. The problem was that once other players saw Jerome pummeling the kid who injured his brother, all the boys took it as a free for all. Within seconds, the two were swarmed.
And then Dane arrived. Swiftly and methodically, he lifted a boy and handed him to an adult nearby, until the pile thinned and she could see her son on the ground still swinging wildly. Dane wrapped his arms around Jerome—taking a heavy fist to the chin—and pulled him to his feet. Jerome was panting wildly and the kid on the ground was crying as his father helped him up.
In a flash, she saw Jonas and Parker run to Jerome. Her angry son pushed past everyone and walked straight towards her. She noticed red marks on his right cheek.
Most of all, she saw anger that glowed from behind his hazel eyes like stoked coals. She barely recognized him. And she hardly recognized his low voice when he hissed, “I hate this game. I’vealwayshated it. Iquit.”
She reached out to touch his cheek and attempt to calm him. He swiped her hand away, walked to the bench, and began gathering his sports bag.
Her boys were well-meaning and, despite the extent of their tragedy, considered well-adjusted. Jerome always had a fighting spirit. As they approached eleven years old, she’d noticed the intensity of his moods and the challenge in his voice. Maybe some of this was to be expected. Still, the vehemence triggered her deepest fears.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Am I supposed to discipline him immediately and publicly for his bad behavior? Should I comfort him through this roller coaster of emotions? Asher, I’m drowning in my ignorance and impotence. Our son needs me, and I’m drowning.
She pushed down bile and squared her shoulders, walking towards her son and willing him to look at her in the face. “We’re having this discussion, Jerome, though not while we’re both upset. Wait in the car while I wrap up here. No—wait—” She had a vague sense of danger in sending her son to a parking lot where the opposing team might find him alone. Jesus, she was stupid. “Wait, I mean go to the locker room and… ”
“I’ve got him, Celina,” Dane said from behind her. “I’ll wait with him in the parking lot till you’re ready.”
On his way out, Dane grabbed one of the ice packs. He tossed it at Jerome. Her son caught it and followed wordlessly while refusing to look back at his mother, his brother, or his team.
He hadn’t experienced such raucous behavior since he found himself in an underground boxing match in Vegas a few years ago. Actually no, this was worse because all the swearing and threatening happened in front of kids. If this was what most of the games devolved into, he was even more impressed by Celina’s composure as a “soccer mom.”
Did she really have a choice? The boys were raised very similarly to how their father was raised; that is, excelling in every sport. Asher was a fantastic skier, an avid swimmer and tennis player, a high school soccer star. Dane kept up, mostly because Asher could talk his best friend into anything.
“Your dad ever tell you about the near brawl in tenth grade?”
Jerome, slumped and brooding, perked up. “Dad caused a brawl?”
Dane was winging it here, getting a little uneasy while hoping the punchline would stick.
“He didn’t cause it. He… ” Dane let his mind wander back to memories of leisurely hangouts and teenage angst. Clearing his throat, he continued. “A bunch of us were out on that strip of beach by Evergreen Lake. Your parents ever bring you there?”
