Chapter 13
Iris
Today I show up to practice on time.
At ten sharp I'm on the field with my cleats laced tight and a pair of cold-weather gloves I don't actually need, but I wear them anyway because I like how they look.
Hades watches me from the sideline, smiles, and nods. Once.
For any other coach, that would be nothing. For Hades, that's an Olympic medal, a kiss on the forehead, and a hug all rolled into one.
Since I had the real talk with Paula and then we slept together, this is the third day in a row I've been on time. I guess habits form like this: one day after another, little by little, baby steps, no applause.
In the scrimmage at the end of practice, I score twice and flick a backheel pass to Tina that comes off so clean she screams. I like playing this way. Having fun. Letting soccer be soccer instead of just an excuse to work through whatever mess I've got going on off the field.
“Hades told me she's impressed with how focused I've been the last two weeks,” Tina murmurs, falling into step beside me.
I smile. Two weeks ago this girl was crying in a locker room after the worst chewing-out of the year, and now she's turning into an example for the rest of the team. I love it.
***
That night, Zoe and Tessa invite us over for dinner.
Well, I basically invite myself, because I need time with Wesley.
Paula checks the street several times before we go in.
She plays it cool. Doesn't want to worry me, doesn't say a word.
She doesn't have to. A few days ago, when I came to take care of Wes, my stalker photographed me at this very door.
The photos are in an envelope Paula won't let me see.
But if I let that guy take away dinners with my friends, he's won. And I won't give him that.
“Iwis!” the kid shrieks, latching onto my leg.
“Boss! You feeling better?”
“Betta. Look, come.”
He grabs my finger and drags me to the living room.
Shows me a new drawing. It's a dragon. At least I think it is.
A bunch of crooked lines in every color, none of them straight, but there's something that could be a head and something that could be fire.
Or a flower. Who knows, but he says it's a dragon, and I believe him.
“Oh man, that's incredible, boss. Does it have a name?”
“Pola.”
“Pola?”
“Pola,” he repeats, pointing at Paula, who's sitting next to Tessa.
I look at Wesley. I look at Paula. I look at the dragon.
“The dragon's name is Pola,” I tell Zoe, who's drying her hands with a kitchen towel.
“Yeah, it seems so. It's his new obsession,” Tessa confirms from the couch.
“He named the dragon after Paula? Not after me?” I press.
I must be visibly jealous, because Tessa and Paula get up and come look at the drawing.
“That's a really cool dragon, Wes,” she says, crouching down to his level.
“Come,” the kid says, pulling her hand.
He drags her to his room to show her his ball collection, and I'm left standing there, stunned.
“I've seen them a million times anyway. I don't care,” I lie.
From the living room we hear him describe each one. He has six. The red one is his favorite. The blue one is flat, but you can't throw it away because it has feelings and would get sad. The green one smells weird. The multicolored one doesn't bounce.
Zoe elbows me.
“She's good with kids,” she whispers, tilting her chin toward Wesley's room.
I don't answer.
“She left you speechless. That's new,” Tessa teases.
“Shut up, idiot.”
“He named a dragon after her, Iris. Wesley doesn't name his dragons. That's love.”
“He's two. He names everything. Yesterday he named a rock,” I argue.
“The rock was called 'wock,'” Zoe reminds me. “This is very different.”
Dinner is full of noise, like always, but the good kind. Tessa made roast chicken with potatoes and a salad I'm not touching because it's got too much kale. They've put Wes's high chair between us and I can't stop watching Paula cut his chicken into tiny pieces so he can eat.
We talk about soccer, like we almost always do. The next game. Hades's new high-press system. Tina and her solid practices these past weeks. The songs we'll play in the locker room to get hyped.
After dinner, Wesley falls asleep in Zoe's arms while Tessa cleans up and Paula helps. I stay on the couch with a glass of wine and a dumb grin on my face.
“Hades has been analyzing tape on the bottom team in the league for weeks,” Zoe says out of nowhere.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. It's weird.”
“Hades is weird. That's part of her charm.”
“Yeah, well.”
She doesn't say anything else, but we both know what it means. She's scouting a new player.
***
“Today was a good day,” I say when we get home.
“Yeah, it was.”
“I want more like this,” I admit, lowering my voice. “By the way, I saw you talking to Alex Drummond at the club today, and she looked tense.”
“She always does,” Paula says, brushing it off.
“You know you can tell me, right?” I push.
“It's nothing. She has questions about my security protocols with you. That's all.”
“Are you going to tell me anything else?”
“Now isn't the time.”
“Why not?”
“Because today was a good day. And what Alex said doesn't matter, because I've stopped pretending I'm dating you.
We're actually dating now. And that's not going to make me any worse at protecting you.
If anything, the opposite. If that guy gets anywhere near you, I swear I'll rip his head off,” she tells me.
“You told her? That it's real now?”
“Yes, she asked.”
“Oh man, I would've loved to see her face,” I say, rolling my eyes.
We get into bed. Her body against mine. Her hand on my waist. My back against her chest.
“Paula?”
“Yeah?”
“The Pola dragon has four legs,” I whisper, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb.
“And what does that have to do with anything?”
“The last one had three.”
“I have no idea where you're going with this.”
“Wesley likes you better than me.”
“You're an idiot,” she murmurs against the skin of my neck before she kisses it. “If you're not sleepy, I can think of better things to do than count the legs on a dragon drawn by a two-year-old,” she adds, sliding a hand under my pajama top to touch my tits.