“You can talk to me, you know?” she says quietly and then waits.
Maybe she’s magic, maybe this tea is stronger than I think, or maybe I just needed this right now, but I do talk to her. Like a cork popped off the champagne bottle of my emotions, I spill everything.
I tell her about Allyson and me in high school and all our plans and dreams. I tell her about how much I loved her and wanted to do right by her. I explain that there was some misunderstanding, but we were too stubborn and stupid to just talk it through. I tell her about going to see Al at school and seeing her with that fucking khakis guy who married her and gave her the baby I always wanted to have with her. And finally, I tell her that I think something went wrong with Allyson’s marriage, that she’d said she’d had to save herself.
I dump it all out, purging the poison from my soul. Mama Louise sits there, sipping her tea and listening. Even as I rage and admit that I want to find this fuckwit, Jeremy, and peel him open with my bare hands for hurting Allyson.
Through the whole thing, Mama Louise doesn’t say one word, not even about my coarse language or desire for violence. She just lets me vent.
Finally, I sag, empty of words and full of confusion and anger. “Feel better?” she inquires like I didn’t just spill my guts to her for the first time ever.
I’m not upset at her calm reaction, though. In fact, I think I prefer it. If she started spouting off advice or asking more questions, I’d probably bail and head home. But it seems this wasn’t about my giving her information. Instead, she knew I needed to get everything out and gave me a safe space to do it.
I nod. “What the hell did you put in this tea? Truth serum?” Even as I question it, I take one more gulp of the sweet, delicious liquid, finishing my glass.
“A mother never tells all her secrets,” she says innocently, taking a tiny sip of her own drink. “So, what are you going to do now?”
I shrug sullenly.
“Okay, so maybe you don’t have to know what you want to do about the whole Allyson situation just yet. Let that simmer like chili and figure it out slowly. You two have time enough, and I suspect you don’t know your own heart just yet, so don’t be mucking around with hers. But what about the boys?” I can feel the carefulness with which she asks. This is a defining moment.
“I want to coach them, but why am I even doing this? They’re not my kids, not my responsibility. I could just walk away. It would be so easy . . . to just walk away.” My voice trails off as I imagine the Wildcats having practice without me. It leaves a hollow, gnawing hole in my gut that feels like shit.
How did this happen?
Just a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know these kids, but now, I feel an obligation to them. I need to see them play, to see them grow, both on the field and off. I pulled up on a fighting group of kids who insulted and hurt each other. Now, they’re a team that looks out for each other, celebrates each other, and supports one another.
I did that, I think proudly.
Not alone, but I played a major part in it. I changed those boys’ lives for the good the same way so many coaches did for me. Not by waving a magic wand and making whatever good, bad, or ugly shit they have to go through disappear, but by giving them a place where none of it mattered and they could be themselves.
But she’ll be there now, and that changes everything.
“You gave your word.” Mama Louise looks at me, her blue eyes boring into mine in the dark. “Some of those kids have happy homes, never known a day of difficulty, and would bounce right back with no problem. Some of them have had people let them down over and over again. Don’t be one more person to lie to them. They need a strong example, a man who gives his word, follows through even when it’s hard, and doesn’t give up on them. They need you to be Brutal Tannen, football star, and they need you to be Bruce, role model.”
“It’s so hard to see her and not take her in my arms,” I confess, my head dropping back to rest against the chair. “Whatever shit went down before, I still love her. I think I always have. And coaching is going to be damn near impossible with her right there but so out of my reach. She was always out of my reach.”
It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said to Mama Louise, all my fears and hopes and insecurities laid bare. She presses her lips together, and I get the feeling she’s holding herself back from hugging my neck like one of her boys.
“Fight for the boys first. They’re the priority for the next few weeks.” She nods her head, emphasizing the important truth of her statement.
I think she’s done at first, but after a long beat, she adds. “And along the way, fight for yourself a little too. You said she was in an unhappy marriage and is a single mom now? Get to know her again. Don’t be in love with the girl you knew. Fall in love with the woman she is now. No pedestal, no better than or less than, just two people with a whole lot to build on.”
That’s a lot to swallow and even more to think on. I tell her honestly, “Thank you. I didn’t know I needed this.”
She smiles, all the heaviness of our conversation gone. “You’re not the only observant one around these parts, mister. I’ve got eyes in the back of my head, and you can ask the boys, I know everything that goes on around here.”
“I actually believe that.” She preens under the praise, straightening in her chair and stretching out her denim-clad legs. “You heading in? Want me to close up the kitchen?”
Her gaze ticks back up to the sky. “Nah, I’m gonna finish my drink and talk to John a bit. I’ll take care of the glasses.” She gestures to the empty one in my hand, and I set it on the table next to her for her to clean up.
I step off the porch, walking toward our family homestead a few acres away. Bobby took the truck, so I’m hoofing it. But the quiet night surrounds me like a soothing blanket and I don’t mind the walk. I could use the time to process everything Mama Louise said, and hell, everything I said too.
From the darkness behind me, I hear Mama Louise’s soft voice whisper into the night. “Hey, honey, how was your day?”
I’d been overwhelmingly confused when we first started hanging out with the Bennetts. They all talk about John Bennett in the present tense, like he went to the grocery store and will be right back. But he’s been dead for years now. I’d even worried that Mama Louise might be a little bit bonkers or have a touch of early-onset dementia that her boys were ignoring.
But over the last few months, I’ve realized it’s nothing like that.
Mama Louise is well aware of the fact that John is gone, but her faith that he’s waiting on her in heaven is unshakable. Even in his absence, she loves him with all her heart.
That’s admirable. That’s a love we should all aspire to have, one that transcends time, space, and every obstacle life and death puts in our way.
So if she wants to talk to the night a little, I say let her. I even whisper myself, “Thanks for letting me borrow your girl tonight, Mr. Bennett. She helped this old motherfucker out a lot.”
I swear a star winks back at me, but that’s not possible. Right?
Chapter 16
Allyson
I can’t help but look toward the parking lot for the fifth time in as many minutes.
The boys started their warm-up easily, lining up for their run, and I’d even tacked on one bonus lap while I got my shit straight. Because I am tits-up fucked over.
Bruce isn’t here.
Our fight Thursday night had been near-nuclear, but I never dreamed he’d just bail without a word. I thought he at least had the balls to send me a text saying he was out if he was going to quit after our argument.
I’ve played it over in my head more times than I can count. If the scene had been an old-school VHS tape, I would’ve worn it out. But my brain cues it up easily, ready to play it across the screen in my mind again, fresh and bright like it was the first time. I grit my teeth and blink hard, forcing the mental image to change to a set of X’s and O’s, a play that we worked on previously.
Another glare at my phone tells me that nothing from Bruce has come through, nor has any other divine intervention come my way. This is on me. I need to rally and handle this on my own. It’s fine. I’ve done harder stuff before.
I laugh at myself. Because running a football practice on the fly for twelve pre-pubescent boys might actually be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not because the rest of my life has been rainbows and unicorn shit but because these kids are vicious and I know they already smell blood in the water. My blood.
And I have an audience. It’s Saturday morning, so more of the parents are available to sit on the sidelines, not that they’ll help me, but they’ll definitely be watching me flounder in my new role.
The team crosses the finish line with customary high-fives and then they crowd around me. “Where’s Coach B?” someone asks. I’m not sure who, but we’re all thinking it so it doesn’t matter.
“Honestly, I’m not sure, guys. Something super important must’ve come up, though, because I know he wouldn’t miss out on a practice unless he really had to.” I’m trying to convince myself as much as them, but no one’s believing the meaningless crap I’m serving up. I can see their faces fall, resolute that they’ve been let down again.
But I won’t let them down.
“Let’s get to practicing. Coach B won’t want to hear about your slacking off just because he wasn’t here to push you. This is a chance to step up and push yourself, show him and each other how far you’ve come as a team.”
As far as rally speeches go, it’s not half bad. Maybe a little rah-rah, but I was a cheerleader. And I’m absolutely willing to make Bruce out to be the scary bad guy who’ll be disappointed in them if it gets me through the next hour without a revolt.
“Set up to run the play from Tuesday. It was looking good, but it could be better. You guys are better. Let’s do it!” I inject enthusiasm into my voice, but they grumble as they get set.
We run it several times, and each time it seems to get worse instead of better. I don’t know enough football to correct them and resort to calling on them to dissect their own mistakes.
Johnathan smirks. “I know what we did wrong. We got a girl as a coach. Girls don’t know football.”
Ouch. Little shit.
He’s been the hardest kid to reach, for both Mike and Bruce, and now me and Bruce. He’ll be solid gold sometimes, even show true leadership potential, and then a minute later, I want to choke him. I’m not sure what’s up with him yet, so I’m not sure how best to handle his bratty mouthiness. Especially when his brother is the most laid-back, follow-along-with-whatever kid on the team.
Cooper rears up in my defense. “Shut your mouth, Johnathan! It’s not like your mom or dad is even here to watch you practice. At least my mom is helping.” His pride that I’m here burns bright white in my heart, and I have to fight back the urge to scoop him up in a hug because he’d die if I did that right now in front of his friends on the football field.
But Johnathan isn’t done either. “Yeah, but where’s your dad, Chicken Coop?”
It’s a low blow, uncalled for and cruel.
I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle loudly, glad that my own dad taught me that trick when I was a little girl. I’d lost the ability when I was missing teeth as a kid, but it came in handy again as a cheerleader.
The boys jerk and twelve pairs of eyes turn to me. Not a single one blinks, and quite a few look guilty even though they didn’t do anything.
“Is this how a team behaves, gentlemen?” I ask harshly.
There’s a grumble of nos.
“I asked you a question. Is this how a team behaves?” I get down in Johnathan’s face, letting loose the full powerful strength of my mom glare.
“No, ma’am.” They answer together this time, as militarily precise as eight- and nine-year-olds can be.
“Do you want to be a team, Wildcats?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they say, getting better with each response. Backs are straightening, shoulders dropping, and eyes locking on me.
“Good. Because you are a team. Good or bad, you’re in this together. With me.” I raise one eyebrow at Johnathan again, who’s looking considerably less cocky. “Line up and take a knee.”
They hustle to follow the order, and I pace the line back and forth once, meeting each little boy’s eyes. I try to filter through the military movies in my mind, or even a football jock romcom, something to help me out here. Finally, I decide speaking from the heart is my best bet.
“I am a woman. And I don’t know a lot about football. Which, to be clear, is not true of all women. There are female team owners, coaches, reporters, and even players. Just because I’m not doesn’t mean you can disrespect them. Or me.”
I can see the quiver of Johnathan’s lower lip and decide maybe he’s had enough . . . for now. “But I have been part of a team before, and how you behave when things are tough is what makes you or breaks you. So maybe we don’t work on that play anymore. Maybe we don’t do the throwing drill I had planned next.” They groan at the loss of their favorite activity. “I think what we need is some good old-fashioned team building. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, ma’am?” they say uncertainly.
“Circle up, but make it a big one. Get some room between each of you.” They stand and move to make a loose circle around me. “Drop and give me ten push-ups.”
Several of the stronger boys do so instantly until I stop them. “On my count. Together.”
I can hear the groan work its way through them, but they hold a plank with me and I count us off. I don’t make it too slow, nor too fast. They’re just kids, after all, but this is an important lesson.
We move on to high knees, jumping jacks, air squats, lunges, and every single body weight exercise I’ve seen on infomercials late at night when I’m working at home after Cooper’s gone to bed. We’re all sweaty and tired, and my breath is coming in hard pants.
“Last but not least, we’re pulling one from my cheerleading days. Are you ready for this?” Not a single soul makes a peep. They’re too exhausted and probably too nervous to argue at this point.
“Here’s the drill. You turn to your left, double high-fives, drop for a pushup, pop up, and everyone yells ‘WILDCATS!’ Then you double high-five the teammate to your right, tagging them for their turn. Pay attention and don’t miss the team yell,” I warn them. “We have to make it all the way around with everyone cheering together every single time or we start over.”
I point at Johnathan, letting him start. He high-fives Anthony, drops and pops back up, as everyone watches raptly. They yell together, and then Johnathan turns to high five . . . Cooper.
I didn’t set them up that way, but it seems serendipitous, and their high-five seems filled with meaning. Maybe I don’t suck at this, after all. At least the team part. The football part . . . definite suckage.
And talking to Bruce? I’m even worse at that, I think painfully. I still can’t believe he didn’t come, but there’s no sign of him. I haven’t checked my phone in a bit, but there’s really no excuse barring an emergency.
My heart stutters. Maybe something really is wrong? Maybe I’m being a bit self-absorbed to think this has anything to do with our fight the other night. He could’ve had an accident on the way to practice, be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, all while I curse him for no-showing. I nibble at my lip, suddenly nervous.
The boys continue their way around the circle, picking up momentum like they’re racing the clock. My heart speeds up to meet their frantic pace, but where they’re smiling and having fun with what’s become game-like, I’m freaking out a bit.
Anthony is the last kid, and when he high-fives Johnathan, completing the circle, they all cheer wildly. Wildcats seems like a rather appropriate name right now.
“Great finish, guys!” I praise them, having achieved what I’d hoped to with the game. I even saw Johnathan apologize to Cooper while Killian was doing his push-up. It’d b
een fast, but Cooper had nodded his forgiveness, so I’m taking that as a win.
Hell, I’m taking the whole damn practice as a win . . . for me! I have no idea what I’m doing, but it wasn’t that bad in the end.
“Bring it in.” I hold my hand out and their sweaty ones cover mine. “On three . . .”
“WILDCATS!”
They grab apple slices and peanut butter from the bag where I left the snacks and run for their parents. I see some questioning eyes from the adults too, but I hold my thumb up in silent assurance that everything’s fine. Just fine.
Except it’s not.
Now that practice is over, I’m flipflopping between fury at Bruce for no-showing and terror that he didn’t come because something’s wrong.
Michelle comes over. “Uh, so that was God-awful. What the hell, Allyson?”
I called her Thursday night after Cooper went to sleep to give her the whole sordid story of my conversation with Bruce, so she knows how bad it got.
I shake my head. “You know everything I do. Bruce was supposed to be here, but he no-showed and he didn’t call.” I pause to check my phone but hold it up to show her that I have zero missed calls and no text messages. “We had that argument on Thursday, but I didn’t think he’d take our shit out on the boys. What if something’s wrong, like really wrong? Like a car accident or a farm mishap?”
Okay, so maybe I sound a bit hysterical because she tilts her head, a bemused smirk on her face. “Is this the part where I get to smack you and tell you ‘get ahold of yourself, woman’? Because I could be in for that.”
I mean-mug at her. “No.”
She fans herself with her hand, holding her hair off her neck. “Look, I’ma be straight with you. Practice? It sucked ass and those boys nearly did you in. We need him. Go get him, beg him if you have to, Allyson. Hell, beg him on your knees if you have to.” Her eyes glint with mirth. “Or just drop to your knees and get dicked for shits and giggles if you want to.”
Rough Love Page 15