Page 8

Jack

“ H e’s good.” Logan’s voice is low, and my chest is tight.

We’re standing on the sidelines with our arms crossed, and it’s another hot as hell August day in the south.

The crowd of onlookers in the stands behind us is bigger today, and the word about a new player on the team has spread through town like wildfire. Everybody’s curious to see what he looks like and how he’ll play—and what I’ll do.

We watch Levi complete pass after pass, even pivoting quickly and running it up the middle when he spots an opening.

Garrett is on his second afternoon working with Buddy on the defensive line, and I’m seeing improvements. Still, they have lapses like this where a hole will open for Levi to charge straight through and look like a superstar.

“Your brother should be on the coaching staff,” Logan says under his breath. “Even when we were just players, he was a great motivator. He talked a lot of shit, but he also helped a lot of our teammates improve their game.”

“He got it from our dad.” My arms are crossed, and I hold my expression steady.

I don’t want to give anyone in the bleachers any ideas.

“Even Zane has that little Allen kid looking better this week.” Logan lowers his arms, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re a family of coaches.”

Garrett puts his hand on the shoulder of a teenage boy who’s as tall as he is. He gives him a playful shake, pointing to another big boy and telling them what to do. I can hear him saying they have to work together, read each other’s minds.

“But he wants to be sheriff.” It’s as much as I can say.

I can’t say I’d hoped he’d take Buddy’s place when he retired.

“Maybe he’ll outgrow it.” A tease is in Logan’s tone, but I don’t smile.

“I doubt it. You know my brother loves being in the community, talking to people, and knowing everybody’s business.”

Logan huffs a laugh, and we look up to see Levi barely escape a sack by stepping out of a big lineman’s grasp. He pitches the ball to Austin, who’s in the running back spot for now.

My jaw clenches as I watch Allie’s son take it all the way down the field, stiff-arming a cornerback and almost crossing the goal line.

“Damn,” Logan exhales. “That was a sweet play. Those two work well together.”

“Yeah.” I nod, a low growl in my throat. “Austin’s a team player.”

We’ve come a long way in the three years we’ve been working together. I’ve trained him to be my star quarterback. I’d envisioned his senior year, having all the scouts recruiting him, and him landing a deal that takes care of him and his mother.

Now we have two wildcards in the mix—Rip Sinclair and Levi Powell.

“Let’s call it. They’ve done enough for one day. ”

Giving his whistle a sharp tweet, Logan waves for the boys to come off the field. They all go straight to the cooler, ripping off helmets and drinking Gatorade or pouring it over their sweaty heads.

Garrett walks over to where Logan is with them on the sidelines, and I walk over as well. The boys straighten, facing me, and I take off my cap.

“Good practice today.” I nod, meeting their eyes, one by one. “I saw a lot of good hustle out there. D-line, you’re coming together. Week two is starting off strong.”

They know I’m right, and I like seeing the satisfaction in their eyes. Football is as much a head game as a physical one. I notice Levi standing a little bit apart, and I make a mental note to work on this.

Even if he is throwing a wrench into my plans, my boys need to come together as a team.

“Thanks to Sheriff Bradford for assisting Coach Outlaw.” The boys clap, and a few of them make cheer noises. “Thanks, bro.”

“Glad to help.” Garrett nods. “You’ve got some good talent out here. It won’t be long before nobody’s getting through that line.”

“Get some rest, and I’ll see you all out here tomorrow, bright and early.”

They turn, walking off the field in the direction of the parking lot. Hanging back, I look over at the rest of my coaching staff, and we’re all a mix of optimistic and concerned.

“Told you he’s a good boy.” George Powell walks up to my side. “He’s your QB-1.”

“I have a QB-1.” My tone is even.

I don’t like being told how to run my team, and the minute I start letting parents call the shots, it’s all over.

George’s eyes narrow, but he smiles. “Not trying to tell you how to do your job, Coach. Just proud of my boy.”

I don’t answer, and my expression is neutral. A crowd of onlookers watches us from the stands, and I’m not about to open those floodgates.

“See y’all tomorrow.”

Having two great quarterbacks is stressful, but in this last week of camp, it’s a good problem. On my mind today are the kids who won’t make the cut, and I dread this time of year as much as I look forward to it.

Newhope is a 7A school, which means we’re one of the biggest in the state. We draw a lot of boys from all over the county, and for many of them, it’s their one shot at getting into college.

It’s on my mind every day of camp, and I relate to it on a personal level. After our parents died, it was my family’s situation as well.

But I’m expected to win games, and I can’t field a team of charity cases. It doesn’t matter how good of a coach I am or how strong the rest of the players are. They all have to be good for us to win games, especially against the other big, local schools.

Then, if we advance to the state championships, we’ll face teams from Birmingham, Montgomery, and Huntsville. I’ve got some hard conversations coming up, and I don’t relish the thought.

At least I have my brothers with me.

“Kimmie’s upstairs in the bathtub.” My little sister meets me at the house. “Allie had her at the library most of the day, and she had a Thomas burger for dinner.”

“Thanks, Dee.” I open the refrigerator, taking out a beer. “I appreciate it.”

Dylan has helped me with Kimmie since we moved back to Newhope when my little girl was only a year old. For a few years, Austin helped in the summers, when he was in middle school and not old enough for the team .

It’s when we got to know each other, and I saw how interested he was in learning the game. I’d be tired from camp, but I’d walk out with him to throw a few passes before he went home.

He’d never played tackle, but he had a good arm and could throw a straight spiral. We started playing on the weekends and in the summers, and he soaked up my instruction like a sponge.

These thoughts press against my temples when I turn to see my little sister with her arms crossed, studying me.

“I know that look.” Her voice is gentle. “What’s worrying you, big brother?”

I twist the top off my beer with a wince. “Levi Powell is a strong player.”

Her full lips tighten, and she nods. “I had a feeling he might be. You’re worried about Austin?”

“He’s worked hard. He earned his place as starting quarterback.” Leaning my elbow against the side of the appliance, I rub my fingers over my eyes.

“And you’ve taken a personal interest in Austin. Something you never do.” My sister’s voice is measured. “Does Levi have more natural talent?”

“No.” I shake my head. “But he’s quicker. His instincts are good, and it’s clear he’s had more experience in the position than Austin has.”

She leans against the counter watching me. “What can you do about that?”

“Not much. Austin’s only been playing three years. He’s only played in Newhope against the other teams in the county. Levi plays like he’s been doing it all his life.”

I think about my early conversations with Allie, how she told me he played some flag football in elementary school, but she didn’t let him play peewee tackle.

She protected him, and I don’t blame her.

Knowing what we do now about brain trauma and early childhood development, I think she made the right call.

Levi, on the other hand …

Dylan’s brow furrows. “Can’t you have two starting quarterbacks?”

“Yeah.” I nod, thinking how in the past it was pretty common with high school teams. “But a good coach would figure out how to make best use of both players. Austin’s a good running back. Hell, he’s a good team player. Whatever I tell him to do, he gives 110 percent.”

And it fucking breaks my heart, because I know his dreams.

She steps forward to give me a hug. “In that case, I’m not worried. You’re the best coach in the world.”

Exhaling through a smile, I return her hug. “Thanks, sis.”

“Don’t forget your little raisin upstairs.” She nods, heading for the door. “See you in the morning.”

I return my beer to the fridge and jog up the stairs to where I hear Kimmie in the tub singing some girl song I sort-of recognize. It’s something Dylan would’ve listened to at her age, about learning to drive or driving around a neighborhood.

“Hey, Peanut,” I call, putting my hand on the door to open it.

“Daddy!” She screams so loudly, my heart flies to my throat.

“Kimmie!” Bolting for the door, I stop in my tracks when she shouts.

“Don’t come in here, Daddy—I’m naked !” Horror is in her tone, like how dare I try to see her without clothes on?

Standing in the hallway, I put both hands on the door jamb. How the hell do I navigate this new development? Hell, just last night she was dancing around the house with no clothes on, and when I finally made her get in the tub, she wanted me to hold the towel so she could jump into it.

That was less than twenty-four hours ago.

I glance out the window at the top of the stairs, but Dylan is gone.

“Okay…” I exhale, trying to think. “Can you get out of the tub on your own and dry off? ”

“I’m seven years old, Daddy.” She’s already getting pretty good at that teenager tone.

Leaning against the wall, exhaustion rolls over me. “Don’t make a big mess, okay? Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll tuck you into bed.”

I hear splashing on the other side of the door, and I envision water covering everything. Holding back, I go to my room to change out of the clothes I’ve had on all day. I need a shower myself, but I’ll do it in the morning. I don’t have anyone to impress tonight.