Page 20

Chapter 20

Tough Loss

Isaiah

P ulling into my dad’s driveway, I notice Jonah’s SUV is parked, and my jaw drops for two reasons. First he’s not late and second, he got his vehicle back from his druggie neighbor without a scratch on it. I mean, without any more scratches on it. Shaking my head, I step out of my SUV and head to the front door.

The wheels of our plane hit the tarmac less than two hours ago, but I decided to come to family dinner instead of going home right away. I’m exhausted and cranky from our loss yesterday.

I thought my players had the new pod system down, but after only four phases, they were second-guessing themselves and bungled everything we worked for. Even after I reminded them how it’s supposed to play out after the second half, they lost it again and reverted back to their old systems.

Bob and I spent most of the flight back brainstorming how we’re going to get this through to them. We came up with some ideas, and I emailed the whole team a detailed breakdown of what I’m looking for. We’ll see if that registers when I see them again on Tuesday for practice.

Even with a plan in place, I can’t shake the unsettling feeling causing my body to tighten. So as I step inside my childhood home, I beeline for the only reason I’m here today and pick up my niece and nephew from the floor.

“Um, excuse me,” Angie balks from her spot on the rug. “ They were trying to crawl!”

Squishing their pudgy bodies close to mine, I inhale their sweet baby scent and relax the smallest bit. “I’m angry. Let me have this,” I mutter.

Zofia grips a small tuft of chest hair peeking through the top of my dress shirt and Nico holds on to my beard for dear life. It hurts like hell but the endorphins overpower it.

“You okay, son?” Dad asks, walking into the living room with a long neck beer in hand. “That was a tough loss.”

“Yeah, was your goal to have them create massive gaps in the D-line?” Dane asks from his spot on the couch.

“No,” I growl, squeezing the twins a little tighter. “We were trying something new. Remember pod play when I was with the Hornets?”

“Yeah,” he says, and Jonah and Rafael nod, too.

“We ended up taking that and using it in college when you were in England. Worked great,” Jonah says.

“Yeah well, it’s not working so great now. My team can’t seem to grasp it long enough to keep it up. I don’t get it.”

“Who are you trying to emulate?” Dane asks.

“I’m trying to be like Coach Porter.” The guys all nod because they either played for him in college like me, or they know of his coaching abilities because he’s a rugby legend. I’m not the first or the last player he’s had go into professional rugby.

“That’s who I would wanna be like as a coach,” Dane shrugs.

“Maybe you just need more time,” Dad says.

“There’s only two more games this season,” I say. “I want us to head into the fall with some wins under our belt.”

“You’ll get there,” Angie says in a way only a big sister can.

Nico wriggles, and I take his cue to set both of them back down.

“Where’s Ivy?” I ask.

“She’s been at a delivery all day,” Angie replies. “She’s been burning the candle at both ends. This is her third delivery this week. That reminds me,” she says, her eyes lighting up as she leans over to place a hand on Raf’s knee. “We should get her a massage appointment with Marco as a little treat.”

“Make me one while you’re at it?” her fiance asks with a twinkle in his eye.

“Me too!” Jonah cheers.

“We’re not paying for everyone's massages,” Angie chides. “Book him yourself.”

Marco is married to my sister’s best friend, Cora. Cora is also married to another man, Jay. It’s a throuple situation. I think they call it a polycule. I guess everyone’s in love with everyone.

For a moment, the idea takes root in my brain. What if… Could I do that? It would certainly make things easier. Robyn and Dell? Jealousy rears its ugly head when I think of them together. It is jealousy, isn’t it?

“Sorry we’re late!” Rafael’s moms, Christina and Ana, holler as they walk in the front door. My vision zeroes in on the old Tupperware dish in Ana’s hands that I know they only use to transport homemade churros. Suddenly all thoughts are lost, and my stomach growls for sweet, fried, cinnamon goodness.

“Fuck yeah, churros!” Jonah bellows, jumping from his seat and running for them.

“Language, Jonah!” several people say in unison.

“Ninguno para ti,” Ana admonishes. “Los churros son para la gente que no dice groserìas delante de mis nietos.” None for you. Churros are for people who don't swear in front of my grandchildren.

Crestfallen, Jonah whines. “?Me detendré! ?Por favor?” I’ll stop! Please?

Ana slaps his hand from opening the lid and returns to English. “You need to prove yourself.” She turns her body away from my brother and offers me to open it. “That was a hard loss, Isaiah. Go ahead, you get the first pick.”

Smugly, I pluck one out and deliberately make eye contact with Jonah while I savor it. “Mmm. Still warm.”

“Fu—” Jonah begins, before correcting himself. “Fudge.”

Dane comes up next to me and takes one for himself. “No, it’s not fudge,” he teases, opening the dip inside the container and dunking his churro. “It’s chocolate sauce.”

I’m beginning to love these family dinners.