Chapter 7
seven
JACK
When I got to practice the following Tuesday, all I could think was thank God there was a professional here who knew what the hell he was doing.
Then I watched Brady Judd put his hands on his hips and say loudly and indignantly, “I can so do the floss.” And he proceeded to enter a dance-off with four giggling little girls.
Sighing, I trudged across the field. At least I had a whistle this time.
One of the non-dancing children—Tori, the goalie—spotted me and ran over for a high five. She said “Hi, Coach Jack” in a way that had me smiling down at my shoes after she ran off.
Brady finally caught my approach. With the dance-off apparently over, he said, “Alright, ladies, form two lines at half field. I’ll be right there.”
The players scurried off, ponytails swishing.
“Hey, man.” Brady held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I took in the very tall twentysomething man in front of me. His smile was affable, and he looked athletic, like he knew his way around a soccer field.
“You too,” I replied, accepting his firm grip for a shake. “Thanks for helping me out.” Then I broke one of my own rules with the locals and said, “You can drink free at Magnolia whenever you want.”
He chuckled in response, or maybe he was always happy and amused. “I’ll take you up on that.”
“I’ll pitch in,” I offered, indicating the girls hopping around in the middle of the field. “Just tell me what to do.”
For the next forty minutes, I mostly chased down balls while Brady instructed the girls through various drills.
He maintained a good balance of silly and serious, which kept their attention and earned their undying devotion.
At one point, Gia faked an injury so he’d have to carry her to the sideline.
I’d caught her sneaky grin over his shoulder and stopped him from frantically calling an ambulance.
Callie and Michelle provided commentary and support from their seated positions. They’d pulled the same heart condition routine on Brady, and I felt less like an idiot for falling for it when he, too, told them to play at their own pace. The twins had abruptly taken a seat right there on the field.
The little practice crashers from last week, Jacob and Charlie, were back on the far side of the field, and I noticed them looking on with a fair amount of interest.
Brady and I stood on the sidelines while the girls scrimmaged to close out the practice.
Near the end, Jamie was guilty of a handball when she’d reacted reflexively to the ball coming straight at her face.
“Sorry! That was my fault. I’ll do better next time!” she shouted to the rest of her team.
Jacob, who had drifted closer to watch, laughed and said, “Another excellent option for the title of your autobiography.”
Jamie scowled in Jacob’s direction while Charlie high-fived him.
“Let’s go!” Rosie called impatiently and took the indirect kick. Play resumed, and the boys went back to their side of the field.
I leaned toward Brady and murmured, “Do we need to worry about that? Isn’t it bullying or something?”
Eyes on the field, my co-coach shook his head.
“Nah. Jacob has a crush on Jamie. That’s why he’s teasing her.
Take it from me, torture generally means he doesn’t have an outlet for the way he’s feeling about her.
Wait and see, he’ll end up showing his hand.
” A thoughtful pause. “Or Jamie will sit on his back and rub his face in an anthill. We’ll keep an eye on them, just in case.
But I’m guessing it’ll work out. Hopefully it won’t take a decade. ”
Sounded like there was a story there, but it wasn’t any of my business. Thankfully, parents started rolling up to the curb a moment later. Brady had the girls gather the cones and put the balls away before Rosie led another team huddle and Brookline U9 cheer.
“Our game is at ten on Saturday at Tanner Park. Be there fifteen minutes early,” I reminded them before they could all disperse. “I’ll have your jerseys with me.”
Their squeals of excitement could probably be heard from space.
“You working tonight?” Brady asked after everyone had gone and we were walking toward the parking lot.
“Yeah, till closing.”
“I’ll come by for a drink,” he said before slapping me on the back and hopping in a dark pickup truck.
“Uh, okay,” I muttered belatedly as I watched Brady back out of the space.
Then I made my way to my own vehicle, wondering what had just happened. I mean, I knew I’d promised Brady free drinks at Magnolia. But I didn’t realize he was going to take me up on it right away.
Was this how adults made friends? An extrovert just sort of elbowed their way into your life and didn’t leave?
Apparently so because twenty minutes later, after I’d quickly changed for my shift, there sat Brady Judd at the polished bar top.
I rolled the sleeves of my white dress shirt up to my elbows before stepping behind the counter.
Brady was in the middle of laughing with Kayla about something, a glass of whipped pineapple gose already in his hand.
“There he is,” Brady called jovially.
“Hey,” I muttered, sort of awkwardly, but if Brady noticed, he didn’t seem to mind.
Kayla wandered away to restock glasses, and I felt the need to wipe something down. It wasn’t even five yet. The bar wouldn’t be busy for another hour.
I wasn’t sure how to do this. Small talk with strangers was like pulling teeth.
Luckily, Brady didn’t need any icebreakers or conversation starters. He took another sip from his glass, then said casually, “I didn’t know you and Bonnie were friends?”
“We’re not,” I said reflexively, the lie sticky on my tongue. So I amended, “Not . . . really.”
Bonnie and I weren’t friends, exactly. Friendly, maybe.
But I had no other way to classify her. A woman I kept running into.
A distraction. The first person I’d taken care of, maybe ever.
Someone I liked teasing. Abruptly, my thoughts turned to Jacob, the eight-year-old smart-ass giving Jamie Santiago a hard time because he had a stupid crush.
Then I remembered I was a fucking adult, and what was going on with Bonnie was not the same.
Yes, I was attracted to her. She was beautiful and smart and funny. But she was also kind and sincere, real in a way I couldn’t explain. Anyone would think so. It didn’t mean anything.
Brady’s friendly, open expression didn’t change at my weird hesitation. He didn’t call me a liar or give me a disbelieving eyebrow raise. “So how’d she get involved with the team?”
“The girls dragged her into it. She was leaving school during the last practice, and she could tell I had no idea what I was doing. She mentioned you and offered to talk to you about the team. I’m pretty sure she felt sorry for me.
” I chuckled, finally giving in to the urge to grab a rag from beneath the counter.
That was all true. But it wasn’t the whole story.
However, telling Brady about Bonnie’s drunken night in my apartment felt like going a step too far. I had a feeling she didn’t want anyone to know about that.
“Nah,” he said with a shake of his head. “I doubt she took pity on you. That’s not really Bonnie’s style. I know how much she hates it when she thinks people feel sorry for her.”
I thought about that, and another little piece of the Bonnie puzzle clicked firmly into place. She hated being an inconvenience, couldn’t stand the idea that she’d been weak in front of me, and felt the need to earn people’s forgiveness with baked goods.
I was suddenly glad Bonnie hadn’t overheard Kayla admit that she and Sasha had overserved her at the bar because they’d felt bad about her divorce.
Bonnie was prideful. I bet she didn’t accept help easily either. Knowing this gossipy small town, she probably hated all the worried stares and heartfelt hugs, the knowing looks, and the soft-spoken “So how are you really doing, honey?” comments.
“Bonnie just genuinely likes helping people,” Brady added, drawing me out of my thoughts before I could rearrange any more puzzle pieces.
I believed that too.
But who helped her?
Briefly, I entertained the ridiculous thought that maybe I had a little.
She’d fallen asleep texting me the other night, after she’d admitted she had trouble sleeping sometimes.
I didn’t know why I’d told her about that trick from Lia.
It had been something warm and tender from my childhood.
Lying on a twin-size bed while my grandmother had asked me my three favorite pizza toppings or video games or baseball players.
Things that didn’t hurt to think about for a boy with no mother or father.
Who felt separate and disconnected from his peers.
Soft reminders and cloaked comfort.
Maybe I’d had the urge to help Bonnie, a person who could only accept that help in secret, in the middle of the night.
I also didn’t know why I’d texted her a second time on Friday and again on Sunday.
Instead of delving too deep into my motivations, it seemed safer to indulge the silliness and wait for answers to innocent questions like her three favorite types of candy (Reese’s Eggs, Reese’s Hearts, and Reese’s Trees, like a complete lunatic) or her three favorite Star Wars movies (The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, and The Force Awakens, all acceptable).
We’d continued playing our innocent little game.
I’d asked about her favorites instead of why she covered her mouth when she laughed.
Or why she’d been drinking alone the day her divorce was final.
Anything that pointed to me being too aware or too curious about someone who was so far out of my league that she might as well have been actual royalty in our small town.
I didn’t know what any of that meant.
But I knew I liked talking to her. She was funny when she wasn’t so damn worried about saying the right thing.