Milán #2
“Here,” Jordan says after he puts down a cooler and hands us each a bottle of water from inside. He also has a big plastic container that contains a variety of snacks like granola bars, cheese cubes, and veggie sticks.
“Thanks.” I take the bottle and take a sip.
Next he holds out a bag of pretzels, and I take a few of those, too.
“You come prepared,” I say. “I’m impressed.”
“Thirteen-year-olds can put away a lot of food.” Chloe laughs. “It’s easier for everybody if they can take the edge off the hunger quickly after practice. Stops them from heading to the nearest corner store and loading up on stuff like soda and chips.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
“Time to kick back.” Jordan nods toward the seats, and we go and sit down, while Chloe is pulled into a conversation with a couple other people.
Jordan and I choose seats for ourselves and watch the kids gather around the coach.
There’s a part of me that expects Rory not to cooperate, but when they start to warm up, he does too.
He makes sure to stand a bit farther away from the others, crosses his arms over his chest whenever he gets a chance, and eyes everybody with distinct disdain, but he follows all the orders, so after a little while, I start to relax.
The boys are doing some kind of slalom between cones that have plastic sticks sticking out from the top, kicking a soccer ball in front of them.
I lean back in my seat. Fall is in the air, but it’s sunny today, so I close my eyes and enjoy the warmth for a minute before I peer at Jordan out of the corner of my eye. He sits leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyeing the field.
“Did you ever play?” I ask.
“Of course. Football, baseball, basketball, volleyball. If there was a ball involved, I played it. Mostly football, though. My mother was born and raised in Argentina. Footba—soccer,” he corrects himself with a quick, self-deprecating smile before he squints at the field.
“It’s difficult to explain. It’s almost like a spiritual thing down there.
It’s not just entertainment, right? And Mom was an Argentine first and foremost, so even though we lived in New York, she taught me to play and appreciate the game because it was part of her heritage.
I’m not as invested in football as I used to be, but when there are big tournaments like Copa America, I keep an eye on it for sure. What about you?”
I shake my head. “I’ve never been a team player.”
“You’ve never played doubles?”
“I have. And if you were ever to ask any of those partners, they’d tell you I’m not a team player.”
He hums thoughtfully. “How’d you get into tennis? Because of your father?”
I eye the field in front of me, pulled back to the past I’ve been avoiding revisiting for a long time now.
“At first.” I frown, absently twisting and untwisting the cap of the water bottle. I used to idolize Gerard once upon a time, and at the grand old age of four, there was already a part of me that figured if I did well in tennis, he might finally notice I existed.
“And then?” Jordan prompts.
“Then I played out of spite.” I open the water bottle, lift it to my lips, and empty it.
“There are players who are simply fun to watch. Players who make every tennis match feel exciting. They love the game. It radiates from their every move and makes them a joy to watch. It’s what makes players fan favorites, and combined with talent, it turns them into legends.
My father was that kind of player.” I glance at Jordan.
“Nobody has ever described my playing as fun to watch.”
He eyes me, the small smirk still in place at the corner of his lips. “How do they describe you, then?”
I think about it for a bit. “Unfulfilled potential gets mentioned regularly.”
“Do you agree with that?”
“It’s subjective, isn’t it? No matter how well you do, there will always be somebody who says you could’ve done better.”
He nods.
“So,” I say, thoroughly ready to move on from the career I had in my previous life. “You were the jock in high school?”
He doesn’t look taken aback by the sudden change of topic.
“I only went for my freshman year, and I don’t think that’s enough time to carve out any kind of identity.
” He glances toward the field thoughtfully.
“Well, no, I did have an identity. I was the kid with a kid. I dropped out when Theo was born, so it was short lived, but it had a lasting effect. I hear they took sex education way more seriously after that.”
“That’s not a bad legacy.”
“Are tennis players considered jocks?” he asks with a grin.
“Barely.”
He narrows his eyes like he’s assessing me. “You don’t give off jock vibes, anyway.”
“What vibes do I give?”
“Without prior knowledge, I would guess a brooding artist.”
“I tried my best, but I wasn’t hot back then, so the brooding didn’t hit quite the way it does for attractive people.”
He laughs and his eyes flick over me quickly as if assessing my attractiveness.
I don’t think it’s a conscious action on his part, but I’m still curious about what he thinks.
He doesn’t say anything, though, and once he catches himself, he looks away.
But nothing about the way he holds himself indicates he’s embarrassed by the blatant perusal, and that’s pretty damn attractive.
The kids get a water break, so Jordan and I get up and hand out drinks for the next five minutes. Rory stays away, so I grab a bottle and take it to him.
He looks at me suspiciously when I hold the bottle out to him, but then he takes it and drinks.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
He snaps his eyes away from where he’s been staring at the field.
“Lame,” he says quickly, putting on a scowl almost as if an afterthought.
I lean against the railing next to him.
“You were right,” I say. “You are fast. Maybe we should have had you join the track team instead.”
He glances at me. His lips part. No words come for long seconds.
I will him to talk. I root for him. For this moment here, I’ve been unexpectedly transformed into Rory’s cheerleader.
The how and the why are a mystery to me that I’m not going to dissect.
Rory sends me a funny look, like he’s not quite sure what’s happening here.
We’re in the same boat there, kid.
I’m absolutely ready to back away by now, which, considering the effort I put into this was minimal and I’m already discouraged, is pathetic.
But then I look at the bench, where Jordan is still standing. He’s not looking at the kids, though. He’s looking at us. Me and Rory. And when my eyes find his, he raises his brows and nods encouragingly.
Oh, good. Now I have people rooting for me, too. I hate it when that happens.
“I was once chased by a cow,” I say.
Rory turns his head to stare at me.
I shrug one shoulder. “Fastest I’ve ever run.”
“Was that what passed for fun when you grew up? Because TV wasn’t invented yet?”
I put on a mock scowl. “How old do you think I am?”
He sends me a calculating look out of the corner of his eye and a barely hidden smirk as he innocently says, “Fifty?”
“The education system is really letting your generation down if you think TV hadn’t been invented fifty years ago.”
“I guess you would know.”
I snort out a laugh despite myself, and the look Rory sends me is less sullen and more dubious about my reaction.
“I’ll have you know I’m thirty-five. In my prime.”
“Sounds like something people say when they’re in denial.”
He finishes his water, and when the whistle sounds, he runs back onto the field. As he does, he takes a quick glance at me over his shoulder.
I make my way back to Jordan and settle in next to him while the boys divide into two teams on the field.
“That looked like a good chat?” Jordan looks genuinely invested, even though he has no stakes in this game.
“I… think so?” I say carefully.
He beams at me. “Yeah?”
“We didn’t get into an argument, and that’s, like, ninety percent of our usual communication.”
We both concentrate on the field for a bit. Some things become clear. As said before, Rory is fast. He’s also not that great with the ball. Maybe he actually should look into joining the track team.
“Damn, that boy can run,” Jordan mutters, eyes on Rory.
I nod, even though Jordan doesn’t see me.
Practice ends twenty minutes later. The kids gather around the coach and listen seriously while he talks.
Rory stands to the side, a bit farther away from other boys, but then Theo carefully inches closer and says something to him.
Rory looks startled, but then he nods and says something back. Theo grins at him.
Another whistle sends all the kids to the showers, and Jordan and I head to the field to help clean up.
Theo and Rory emerge half an hour later, both with damp hair, both carrying their bags over their shoulders, both studiously avoiding each other again. I’m not sure how they managed to time their departure at the same time, but here they are anyway.
“Nice practice,” Jordan says when Theo reaches him. He hugs Theo to his side and smiles at him. “You too, Rory.”
Rory rolls his eyes. “I was crap.”
I clear my throat pointedly.
“Thanks,” Rory mumbles a second later.
“You weren’t that bad,” Theo says, but he looks a bit like he regrets even opening his mouth a second later.
Rory scoffs.
“It takes some time to learn ball control,” Theo says hesitantly. “I can show you some stuff that’ll help.”
Take it. Take the offer. Run with it.
Rory’s eyes stay on the ground.
“Whatever. Sure. Whatever,” he says in quick succession, and I don’t think any of us can figure out if this is him agreeing or shooting Theo down.
Jordan makes the decision for all of us. “Great. There’s a park right near our house. Perfect for some light practice?” He looks at Theo for confirmation. Theo nods wordlessly.
Jordan sends me a subtle smile. I get that feeling again. The warmth. The relief of an inhale after you’ve been underwater.
“I’ll call you,” he tells me. “We’ll set something up.”
I nod. My stomach bubbles with excitement.
“For sure.”