Page 19

The Ballad of Hot Rod

May

‘ T oday, we hit on the no-look twizzler, something a close friend of mine particularly excels at back in New Haven …’

Colt, with the whistle and keys around his neck, commandeers the clinic like he’s been coaching for an eternity. I’m afraid it’s a good look on him, Rider Orange. The thought is unwelcome in my brain, and I immediately shove it right out the back door the second it enters. He does a good deal of pointing, a couple of waving gestures towards the goal. Were his arms always that jacked? Was he always that jacked, Colt? And sweet mama , how are his calves still stunning ? For crying out loud, the man was in a knee brace for two months. There’s still tape all over his leg. Stunning calves. Beautiful quads. Quads that could probably crush a watermelon—

‘May!’

‘Huh?’ My eyes snap up from calf-level to meet Colt’s stormy ones.

‘I was asking if you’d like to demo for us.’

Demo? It’s his shot clinic. I blink, waiting for Colt to call me on my BS or turn this into an opportunity to flame me for being off my game, but the switch-up doesn’t come. One of the most complex goals out there, and the MLL’s star scorer isn’t demonstrating it himself?

‘Yeah.’ I slowly adjust my grip on my crosse, stepping up towards the goal, although I’ve still got an eye on Colt. He steps away with a nod towards me. ‘Jordan’ll set you up.’

What? There’s no way he can’t even set me up. It’s our fourth shot clinic and the pattern is striking. When has Colt actually picked up his crosse and demonstrated or passed or anything of the sort? I can think of maybe one instance, other than for our bet when he’d first arrived, and for said MLL star scorer, he’d done a piss-poor job.

‘Sounds good.’ I try to give Jordan a dramatic wiggle of my eyebrows to convey my thoughts, but my goggles do me no favours. I probably look like I’m having five different kinds of facial spasms.

Colt blows the whistle, and Jordan flicks the ball my way as I run past the goal. I cradle it in the net of my stick, spin back, and – without looking – fling it towards the net. It’s a frustrating attempt, and one I’m not at all proud of when the ball clears the goal, just barely brushing the side of the net.

‘Shit!’ I groan, crosse raised. ‘Dude, how do you expect me to make this? That shot’s my weakest point!’

I’m about ready to stalk towards Colt, who’s readying his composure for the storm, when someone else’s damn voice saves him.

‘Whoa, what’s this?’

What the hell?

An unfamiliar guy jogs towards us from the right entrance to the field, from the fence. Is this CJ Bradley, part two? I wonder what estranged Oklahoman son has returned to cause us misery this time.

But as he draws near, I realize he is very much not one of ours. However, he’s not unfamiliar, either, and I share a look of recognition with my team. Distracted from our trouble in paradise, heads turn towards the newcomer with wide eyes. He’s not in a Woodchucks jersey, but for anyone who keeps up with the MLL, it’s evident this is none other than Bradley’s right-hand man, Rodney Wilson.

Rod Wilson grins, definitely not reading the room, as his deep brown eyes crinkle in the corners and he runs a hand through his unruly black waves of hair. He looks older than Colt, although I know from stats that they’re only about a year apart in age. People like to say it’s probably the shadow of a beard, something the clean-shaven Colt’s never dared to attempt, or the fact that Rod became a (now single) dad at eighteen, at which point Colt probably still needed someone to strap up his shoulder pads for him. ‘Won’t you say hey, Coltie?’

The tension in Colt’s body immediately leaves it as he cracks a smile. ‘Hey.’

Our entire team watches in shock as the guys embrace so enthusiastically you could hear the back thumps from a field over. Jordan’s jaw is literally on the floor. Oh, my idol , her eyes scream.

Once they’ve got over their reunion, Colt introduces Rod. ‘This is Rodney Wilson, my pillar on and off the field. You’ve probably seen him in games, but I’m excited and pretty surprised you get to meet him in person … Bro, when did you even fly in?’

Rod smiles slyly. ‘I planned it all out. Came in yesterday. That awful street lacrosse game just got done in Chicago, so I figured why not drop by and check out the scene. Connor and JJ came, too. Either way, figured it’d be a good time to watch you all play at home. Tali’s here, with your mom. She’s probably being a nuisance in office hours right now.’

No way. No way does Colt just get to hide behind his star teammate right now, ever so conveniently. I want to know why I just had to humiliate myself on the field so he could go on some ego trip. ‘Great. It’s nice to meet you, Rod.’ I smile tightly. ‘But back to the problem at hand. I’d love some explanation about why you just had me demonstrate a shot everyone here knew I wouldn’t make?’

Rod’s eyebrows fly upwards almost comically, and he takes a step back, hands raised in surrender. Colt shoots his friend a murderous look. Good. He deserves to muscle through a struggle alone, for a change.

‘We will talk about it.’ Colt’s voice is low yet stern, and it’s a far cry from the happy-go-lucky I’ve got tired of over the past few weeks. It’s strained.

Then, in a tone so quiet that only I hear it, ‘You’re not playing by the plan, May, and it’s gonna get us shot in the foot.’

‘Maybe I’m not,’ I mutter, ‘but neither are you. Like you said. We will talk about it. For now, though. Why don’t we …’ I return my tone to a fairly normal volume. ‘Why don’t we make sure your friend enjoys his time in Oklahoma?’