6. Landon #2
His eyebrows rose. “That was immediate.”
“Because I know you.”
His laughter followed him back toward the defense.
The final forty minutes moved the way I wanted.
We worked goal-line execution until the offense stopped treating the end zone like a suggestion, cleaned up pursuit angles, and ran the last series twice because the defense celebrated before securing the stop.
By the time I blew the final whistle, sweat had darkened shirts, and the same boys who arrived sloppy were moving like they’d learned something.
They gathered near midfield, some kneeling and others standing with helmets tucked beneath their arms.
“You got better today. That matters more than whether everything looked good. Improvement requires enough humility to admit what failed and enough confidence to run the next rep without dragging embarrassment with you.”
Malik nodded toward my pocket. “That apply to dating too, Coach?”
The team dissolved into laughter.
Malcolm coughed into his fist.
It sounded suspiciously like, “Hershey.”
I looked at him.
He looked toward the sky.
I returned my attention to Malik. “You deeply invested in a life you don’t contribute to.”
“I’m just saying, communication important.”
“Your mother know you offering relationship counsel before you’ve learned to wash your own uniform?”
His grin disappeared. “You ain’t have to tell everybody that.”
“I believe in transparency.”
Caleb leaned toward him. “Coach cooked you.”
“Practice over,” Malik muttered.
I let them laugh before lifting one hand.
“Bring it in.”
They crowded close and stacked their hands.
“Discipline on three.”
“Discipline!”
They broke apart toward waiting parents and water coolers.
I stayed long enough to speak with Caleb’s father about his progress and reassure Jamari’s mother that one rough practice didn’t mean her son had lost confidence.
Coaching wasn’t finished because the whistle said so.
Sometimes, the most useful thing I did all morning was make sure a kid didn’t turn one bad rep into evidence against himself.
When the last parent left, I checked the time.
Eleven thirty-two.
Malcolm crossed toward me, carrying a mesh bag of cones.
“Third date?”
I looked at him. “How the hell you know it’s the third?”
“I didn’t. Thank you for confirming.”
I stared at him.
His grin got wider.
“You manipulative.”
“I coach defensive backs. Baiting bad decisions is part of the profession.”
“Move around.”
“My boy courting.”
“You keep saying that like you discovered it.”
“’Cause you usually act like admitting you like somebody requires board approval.”
“I’m grown. I can like a woman.”
“Exactly. Growth.”
I unlocked the SUV.
Malcolm leaned against the next vehicle. “Go see your woman.”
“She’s not my woman.”
“Yet.” I looked at him. He lifted both hands. “I ain’t said nothing.”
“You literally just did.”
“And now I’m finished.”
From across the parking lot, Malik yelled, “Coach smiling again!”
I didn’t turn around.
“Six laps next Saturday.”
His protest carried across the field.
Malcolm laughed. “Abuse of authority.”
“Individual accountability.”
“You got terminology for everything.”
“Several degrees, actually.”
“Go see Hershey, Big Dawg.”
I tossed my equipment bag into the back seat.
“That sounded almost supportive.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t.”
I shut the door and pulled away.
For once, Malcolm minded his business.
Mostly.
The grocery bags shifted against one another in the back of the SUV when I turned onto my parents’ street.
I’d ordered everything the night before and picked it up after practice because treatment days had their own inventory.
Milk. Fruit. Soup. Bread. Bottled water.
The crackers Mama tolerated. Ginger candies she claimed tasted terrible but somehow kept in every purse she owned.
The dashboard read 11:58 when I pulled into the driveway. The front door opened before I reached it.
Lennox stood there in basketball shorts and one sock, holding a bowl large enough to feed a family reunion.
He looked at the bags looped over my arms. “You bought groceries?”
“I usually do when the house needs food.”
“Could’ve told me. I would’ve helped.”
“You watching me carry them right now.”
He stepped aside. “I’m supervising.”
“You’re eating cereal at noon.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“That doesn’t make it lunch.”
“It got milk, grain, and vitamins. Balanced meal.”
I walked past him. “Langston University owes us a refund.”
Daddy sat at the kitchen table with his reading glasses low on his nose, sorting through mail. He glanced up long enough to take in Lennox and his mixing bowl before returning to an envelope.
“Your brother been defending that cereal for ten minutes. Don’t waste your education.”
“I’m feeding my inner child,” Lennox said.
“Your inner child need employment.”
Lennox looked at me. “See what I deal with?”
“You’re nineteen and eating cereal from a mixing bowl. I’m siding with the opposition.”
Mama’s laughter came from the living room, softer than usual but strong enough to pull my attention toward her.
She sat curled at one end of the sofa beneath a light blanket, a scarf tied neatly around her head, and a glass of water resting on the side table.
Treatment had taken some of the color from her face.
Her voice still had all of it.
“You done coaching everybody else’s children?”
“For today.”
I bent and kissed her forehead, letting my fingers rest briefly against the side of her neck.
Cool.
Good.
“How’d treatment go?”
“I’m home.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She patted my cheek. “It went the way treatment goes. I’m tired, not fragile.”
“I didn’t say you were fragile.”
“You thought it with your whole face.”
Her water looked barely touched.
“How much you drink?”
“Enough.”
“That answer lacks measurable data.”
Mama narrowed her eyes. “You brought groceries and an attitude?”
“I brought accountability.”
“You always rename bossiness when it belongs to you.”
I carried her glass into the kitchen, refreshed it, and returned with crackers and ginger candies. She watched me arrange them within reach without protesting.
That told me more than anything she’d said.
Daddy came in behind me with the last two bags. “Soup’s in the pantry. Fruit’s put away. Your son bought enough bottled water to baptize the neighborhood.”
“Hydration matters.”
“So does moderation.”
Lennox wandered in with his bowl. “Can we discuss nobody bought the cereal I asked for?”
Mama looked at what he was eating. “You have cereal.”
“This the last of it.”
“Then cherish it.”
I laughed and headed toward the guest room, where I kept enough clothes for days that started on a football field and ended somewhere I didn’t intend to arrive smelling like turf.
My shower took ten minutes.
Getting dressed took five.
Cream trousers. Dark-chocolate knit polo. Loafers. Gold chain. Watch.
I checked the mirror once.
Looked good too.
No need for false humility.
When I walked back into the living room, Mama looked up and smiled slowly.
“Where you going dressed like somebody’s answered prayer?”
Lennox nearly inhaled cereal.
“Self Ridge.”
Mama’s eyebrows lifted. “That must be some exceptional ice cream.”
“I’m more interested in the woman who made it.”
Daddy lowered the newspaper he hadn’t been reading.
Lennox put his bowl down.
Mama smiled wider. “Oh, really?”
“Don’t.”
“Do what?”
“Turn two sentences into a wedding program.”
“I didn’t say anything about a wedding.”
“You were thinking it.”
Daddy pointed toward her. “She got the look.”
“I do not have a look.”
“You’ve had that look since he was sixteen and brought home that girl who wore too much perfume.”
Lennox sat forward. “What girl?”
“Ancient history.”
“That sounds evasive.”
“It’s protective.”
“Of who?”
“My peace.”
Mama laughed, and I bent to kiss her forehead again before checking the blanket around her feet.
“Call me if you need me.”
“I won’t.”
“Mama.”
“Your daddy will.”
Daddy nodded. “I will.”
“Lennox too.”
My brother lifted his spoon. “I’m literally standing here.”
“I know.”
“You said that like I’m decorative.”
“You’re wearing one sock.”
“I can still use a phone.”
“Preserve that skill.”
Mama caught my wrist before I straightened.
“Have a good time, baby. And don’t spend the whole afternoon worrying because I’m tired.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
She gave me a look that had dismantled lies since I was old enough to tell one.
I sighed. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all.”
I squeezed her hand once and stood.
At the kitchen entrance, I stopped. “What ice cream you want?”
Mama considered the question like I’d asked her to choose a retirement plan.
“Butter pecan.”
“Easy.”
“With real pecans.”
“Knew there was a condition.”
“I don’t want them little apologetic crumbs some places sprinkle in there and call abundance.”
“I’ll communicate your standards.”
“And don’t bring me anything sugar-free.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“People hear cancer and start removing pleasure from everything.”
Daddy nodded. “She still mad about that pudding.”
“Because it tasted like regret.”
I laughed and looked toward Lennox.
“You?”
“Cookies and cream.”
“Predictable.”
“Classic.”
“Children order that when imagination fails.”
He pointed his spoon toward the door. “Go see your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Mama lifted her water. “Yet.”
I shook my head.
As I reached the front door, Mama called after me.
“Tell that pretty girl I said hello.”
I turned around. “How you know she pretty?”
“You said she was.”
“When?”
“Last Sunday.”
Daddy looked at me.
I looked at him.
Mama smiled.
I opened the door. “Y’all too invested.”
“Drive safe.”
“Love you too.”
The door shut behind me while they were still laughing.
By the time I hit the highway, two coffees sat in the console, and a box of pastries for the Crème & Chill staff occupied the passenger seat.
I started the playlist I’d built the night before and immediately questioned whether arranging songs around casual comments Hershey had made throughout the week qualified as excessive preparation.
Probably.
Didn’t care.