Fowl Play (Tuft Swallow)

40. Kodi

CHAPTER 40

Brian looks over the center console of my Subaru, gripping the steering wheel as if preparing himself to make a break for it. For us.

“You sure you’re ready?”

“I have to be.”

“You totally don’t. You could have Nick lead practice.”

“Nick?” I snort. “Have you seen him play cornhole?”

This is about the twelve-millionth time we’ve had this conversation today. It started last night after girls’ night, when he picked me up as promised and walked me back to his place, where I spent the night. I totally would have jumped his bones, crutches and all, if I hadn’t just so happened to start my period literally an hour before. Ugh.

While I’m practically positive Brian isn’t the type of guy to be squeamish about “woman issues,” I really didn’t want to lose my virginity on my period. It just feels gross to me. And to his credit, Brian was absolutely fine with simply snuggling all night. He hasn’t pressured me to do anything I’m not ready for.

Which only makes him sexier, of course. Ugh.

Brian shrugs. “Leading practice isn’t about how good you are at cornhole. It’s just about overseeing and managing the time clock.”

I tap my thumb on the seat belt release, considering. Then glance in the back, where the six practice boards are stacked along with my crutches over the folded-down bench seat.

“No. I have to do this.”

“Okay.” He turns off the ignition. “Let me get the boards. You just sit here until I can get your crutches, okay?”

I open my mouth to argue, but he shoots me a stern look. So I take a breath instead. “Fine, yeah. Okay.”

I feel like the biggest failure as I sit in the passenger’s seat of my own car waiting for Brian to unload all the practice equipment. Even moreso, when Lily, Callie, Nick, and D’Shawn rush over to help him with the boards and start greeting each other. Joking around. Without me.

The little bubble of me and Brian, that magical space I’d been living in for the past 24 hours, pops. And I’m back in the reality of sports and injuries.

I sink into the weird, slippery-but-not-slippery fabric of the bucket seat, squinting my eyes shut like some kind of toddler playing hide and seek, convinced that if I can’t see the team members looking at me with pity and disappointment in their eyes, then maybe they can’t see me for the trainwreck that I am. Then Brian’s opening the door, my crutches leaned up against the side of the car.

“Let’s go, baby girl.”

His eyes are smiling and expectant, completely void of the judgment I’ve been expecting from everyone, and I dare a glance over his shoulder to see nothing but the relaxed grins of my teammates behind him. Maybe they don’t all hate me after all.

I take a deep breath, grab his hand, and lean on him as I step out into the world.

Once again I sit, helpless, on a metal bench on the sidelines as Mr. Landon misses his fourth shot by several yards from the cornhole board.

Brian squeezes my hand. “How ya holding up?”

“He’s not even looking at the board.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Landon. That’s his fourth miss of the night.”

“Did you notice that D’Shawn and Callie have been neck and neck knocking each other’s bags off for the past twenty minutes?”

His comment tears me away from my laser-focus on Mr. Landon’s pathetic display, and I turn to Callie and D’Shawn.

He’s right. My eyebrows shoot up as I see them go bag-for-bag, each one-pointer being scooched or sunk with every other toss. It’s hypnotizing.

Delilah and Jonah have both stopped throwing their own bags, and started cheering them on. Callie makes a particularly impressive throw, pushing off Lily’s blue bag and sinking in a hanging red and the airborne bag in one serendipitous arc.

“Fuck yeah, Callie!” I shout, grasping my crutch and flinging myself to standing. I raise my other hand in the air in triumph. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Brad and Jonah turn to me with wide eyes, as well as Geneva and Ginger, who’s eyes had been focused on their own games. Now everyone’s looking at D’Shawn, the pressure mounting.

He tosses, and the blue bag sails across the field of play, lands on the board, and slides until it’s clinging to the wood by a corner over the hole. He lets out a disappointed moan. Then Callie steps up to the throw line for game point.

She breathes, she shoots, and she scores.

Everyone erupts into cheers, including Brian, who’s clutching my screaming ass in a side-hug and half-carrying me over to my besties.

“Callie, that was so good!!”

“I did it! I fucking did it!” Tears spring to her eyes as my friend literally bounces with joy, and the whole team gives her big pats on the back and Brian starts handing out drinks.

When I step back to give the other players room to congratulate my friend, I’m able to zoom out and actually look at everyone on the field at once. The smiles on everyone’s faces, the relaxed shoulders and easy laughs as they grab a hard seltzer and knock back a sip.

Have I ever seen everyone at practice having fun?

Realization dawns on me as I remember that I have—but not since I took over the position as team captain. Did I ruin it? Am I ruining it still?

“Kodi, can up!” I hear, looking up and seeing a hard cider hurtling towards me. I panic, freezing with one hand lifted lamely from my crutch, when a strong, tan arm appears out of nowhere in front of me and snatches the can.

Brian pops it open with a hiss and hands it to me. “Can up, coach.” He winks. “Now would be a great time for a little speech or something.”

I swallow, accepting the can and looking out over the field at the smiling faces surrounding me. My heart is beating about a thousand miles a minute. I don’t know how to give a pep-talk that isn’t related to skill or strategy or get-out-there-and-make-the-other-guys-pay. All I’ve ever known to do is focus on everyone’s weaknesses, or celebrate wins: real wins, against rivals.

How do I tell my team that watching Callie and D’Shawn play, or really, watching everyone hang out and cheer them on while I sat on the sidelines, jumbled up everything I thought I knew about captaining a beer league?

“Well, you guys, as you can see, I–” my throat catches. I look down at my knee in its brace, my crutches jammed up into my armpits and my work shirt wrinkling and stained with sweat from the hot, humid, Tuft Swallow summer evening. “I think that the rest of this season is going to look a little different than I thought it would.”

The faces around me react to what I’m saying. A few crinkle in confusion, some nod understandingly, and yet others still retain the glow from their earlier cheers. I take a big swig from my can, and look over at Lily, whose stare is intense and supportive.

“I’ve been a bit of a hardass,” I admit. A couple chuckles radiate through the group, and the honesty lightens the weight in my chest. “Okay, okay, a lot of a hardass. You all know that my past experience with championships is a little…wrought.”

“Oooo, an SAT word,” D’Shawn jokes.

More laughter. But despite it being at my expense, I find myself feeling even lighter. I grin. “Yeah, and here you thought I was just a one-trick pony! Turns out, it helps to have a backup when your sports scholarship falls through.”

Brian’s shoulder leans gently into mine, and I feel his hand reach gently to hold the small of my back. I look up into his kind eyes and take a breath.

“The fact is, I’m not gonna be able to play the next few weeks. Definitely not the rest of the regular season, and probably not even most of the playoffs. Which means,” I raise my voice over the little gasps and sympathetic noises that pick up from the group, “I’m gonna need you guys to pick up the slack. And if I see more displays like the kind of relaxed, easy, and quite honestly,” I watch as everyone’s faces fall as one as I let my voice take on the tight-ass coaching timbre I usually use at practice, before pausing for dramatic effect and scorching them all with a blazing smile, “best damn cornholing I’ve ever witnessed that you all displayed today, well then. I think we’ll be in pretty great shape!”

Tears burst from Lily’s eyes as she coughs out a laugh, and everybody else joins in as the tension breaks like a party popper. Brian squeezes the arm around my waist, and I feel the warmth of his grin as he stares down at me.

But I only have eyes for my team. The Mighty Swallows, once again looking like the returning champions I hadn’t realized they already were.

“To the reigning champs!” I scream, thrusting my cider into the air. A chorus of cans rises to the sky, and we all drink to a new era: for the team, for our practices, and, hopefully, for me.