Page 19 of The Kid Sister

Dad had planned this season as the best chance of proving himself to them. That’s why he pushed me so hard. He was desperate for Granddad and Nana to be proud of him. And I was desperate for him to be proud of me.

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Three mornings a week, I was up at five completing my run to the bridge and back, a five mile circuit which took around thirty minutes. In off-season, it was everyday and often longer. Endurance work wasn’t something touted by a lot of football coaches—in a game we averaged a little over a mile of running—but Dad was adamant that having superior aerobic capacity made you a better player. Football was a sport of short, sharp powerful bursts, but it was the ability to resist fatigue that was key. I’d been running for so long now that it was second nature. A habit. That was how champions were made. Dad was fond of quoting Aristotle:Excellence is not an act, but a habit.

Every day he’d had to run to school, through fields, up hills and trails in all weather, rain, hail or sleet. To be fast, to run further, to get himself out of his dead-end town to a better life.

And every day I got out of bed, putting my body through the habit. And it wasn’t a matter of whether I liked or enjoyed it, rather a matter of just doing it. Like taking a shower or cleaning your teeth.

As practice came to an end, and with a certain amount of dread, I anticipated that Dad would have me do extra after everyone left. Like a hundred medicine ball throws or something. As the pressure mounted on him—the Principal, the Director of Sport, the Board, the school community—all wanted, all expected a state championship appearance, so, too, did it mount on me.

I had to do more, had to be the best.

I always dallied after training, checking on my boys, my duty as captain to make sure everything was all right with them. Encouraging them, persuading them to eat well, sleep well, grab a massage, keep their grades up. They probably all thought I lingered to talk with Dad, discuss training, go over plays, but in reality he wanted me to work that little bit harder than everybody else, push me to the brink.

“You leaving now?” Tennessee asked, heaving his sports bag over his shoulder, his hair damp from the shower.

“Nah, I’ll be a few minutes yet,” I said, stripping off my shirt in pretence that I was about to get into the loathsome ice bath. “Where’s Millie?”

“She left already. She wanted to write her report.” Tennessee and Millie had been dating for a few weeks now. Millie spent every training with the team, recording and photographing our sessions, interviewing players and coaches. She had recently set up a new daily blog for the Chargers, charting our road to the state championship. Yep, exciting, yet daunting. She was garnering a lot of interest for us and Dad loved what she was doing. And it would be great, if we got the results we wanted.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said, dismissing him with a wave.

That left me alone in the locker room and on cue, I heard Dad’s office door open. I drew in a long inhale, my trepidation high. I was not only physically tired today, but mentally. I had a chemistry test to study for, and I anticipated a night of revision. Fun—not.

But as Dad emerged through one door with his trademark gruff call of my name, there was a knock on the main entrance and in peeped Sierra, loaded up with her backpack and carrying a white tote bag.

Dad fell silent and the two of them looked at one another, while I was like a shadow between them. Shirtless, at that.

“Oh Coach,” Sierra said, her eyes darting to me, but just as quickly averting back to Dad. Like she didn’t want to see my exposed upper body. I pulled on the shirt I’d just taken off. “Oh Coach,” Sierra repeated. “I just missed my ride home with Sawyer, so I just wondered if Cullen,” she paused as she fleetingly glanced at me, “or you could take me. I’m sorry, but I’d already told Mom I was going with Sawyer, so I don’t wanna mess her around.”

“Of course,” Dad said, his tone softening in an instant. “You’re here pretty late?”

“I had to sterilize and rinse all the bottles by myself,” Sierra said, “because the twins had to go to their music lesson.”

“You should ask Mrs. Mercer if you need more help,” Dad said.

“Uh no, it’s fine,” Sierra said. “It’s just that Sawyer must have forgotten to wait for me.”

“Cullen can take you,” Dad said, nodding at me.

The moment stunned me. “Uh, sure. Of course,” I said, trying to fathom that he was giving me permission to leave. I grabbed my sports bag and backpack as if I’d been assigned a seat on the first spaceship to Mars. “No problem.”

“Thanks so much,” Sierra said, smiling as she touched the brim of her cap. Her smile was still beaming as I hitched a bag over each shoulder. She held the door open for me as I squeezed my way out and I heard her say, “See you tomorrow, Coach,” as she followed me out.

I slowed and waited for her to catch me up, bewildered at how Sawyer could forget to give his sister a ride home, or how he hadn’t mentioned it. Most of the time, Sierra’s mother came to pick her up because she usually finished before us.

We’d walked a few steps in silence before she said sheepishly, “Sorry about this.”

“Hey, it’s no problem,” I said. “I just didn’t know Sawyer was supposed to wait for you. He didn’t say anything. I think he gave Flynn a ride again.”

Sierra shrugged, her voice lowering to a mumble. “Oh you know Sawyer, I’m pretty sure sometimes he has nothing in his brain. Other than food.”

“I know the feeling,” I said, huffing out a laugh.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got a granola bar in my bag if you want it.” She stopped and lowered her tote bag to the ground, then unhitched her backpack from her shoulders, but let out a short, sharp gasp, then an apologetic, “Ah, sorry, you probably can’t have it, can you? I think it has a pretty high sugar content.”

She was about to pick up her backpack again, full to bursting, when I reached for it.

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