Chapter Twenty-Two
Declan Effect
Rod
Canoe Battleship seems to have worked its magic, because with three weeks until the big game, the kids are already doing a lot better.
We have them running a completed pass drill – they’re in two lines, each passing to a partner, then taking a step further apart, and if they drop the ball, they have to start over from the first point.
It makes for both good healthy competition and good healthy teamwork.
‘This is so nice!’ Jordan chirps, buffeted by a swig of her huge chai tumbler. She’s as peppy as always, but I notice some restraint to her smile, a wary look my way before throwing her sunglasses on.
I do the same. ‘Yeah, this looks way better than last week already.’
She just shoots me that same tight smile. Maybe we’re not that kind of close, but I practically spill the words. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh?’ Her practised expression falters. So she’s definitely not okay. What she tells me is otherwise, though. ‘I’m fine,’ she says, voice clipped. ‘Just some stuff with the ranch back home. Mom’s doin’ way too much.’
‘That’s totally not concerning.’
Jordan chokes out a laugh but doesn’t say anything else by way of explanation.
I clear my throat awkwardly. What do I even say?
A tacky, painful, We’re still friends, you know, you can talk to me, starts to burble up in my throat, except I swallow it right away.
Friends don’t look at one another like I’m drowning and she’s dry land.
Even if Bia was right and the best is, in fact, yet to come, that’s unlikely.
Jordan will leave in three weeks, and this summer will be a mirage, a memory of ‘did something crazy’ that can be brought up at the bar for the sole purpose of oohing and aahing.
I don’t get the chance to say anything. As the kids are drilling, someone else’s voice cuts into our conversation.
‘Rodney Wilson. Didn’t realize you had help this summer!’
Jordan and I both turn to our right. From across the field, Benny looks so shocked I swear I can see the whites of his eyes from here.
‘Declan Harris.’ I beam, trying not to let it turn into a grimace. ‘Why in the – ’ I glance back at the kids – ‘world are you in Whittaker?’
‘Come on.’ He gives me the kind of megawatt grin that must have been curated by a cosmetic dentist as he swaggers up to us. ‘You hired a Major League lax player to coach and you thought I wouldn’t come see?’
My jaw threatens to go slack. He really knows how to get you where it hurts. I am literally standing right here.
Then he turns his flashbulb smile to Jordan. ‘Rhode Island Reapers, huh?’
Jordan looks him up and down, unimpressed, with a stink eye I’m immediately grateful for. ‘Yeah.’
Declan, for the record, tends to be pretty impressive in any room he enters.
He is shredded, six feet tall, and has perfect features, an as-yet-unbroken nose, and basically golden hair.
He played college lax at Cal State, and looks the part.
However, one thing I silently gloat about having on him is my pro status, something Declan never quite made it to.
This is probably why the sting of defeat feels extra potent every time we lose to him in the Cross Camp – because we definitely shouldn’t be losing to him.
‘Maybe that’ll finally help you.’ He claps an unwelcome hand on my shoulder, and then bursts out laughing extraordinarily loudly. ‘Help you lose again! That is funny.’
‘Do you see me laughing?’ I deadpan.
Declan’s amusement morphs into a seething glare in a millisecond. Yep, that’s Declan. Your typical two-faced snake. ‘Get your kids ready to eat it in a few weeks, Rodney. You’ll need to prepare them for the tears.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Jordan looks like she’s about to slug the guy, but she just throws her hands up in exasperation instead. ‘They’re kids. Grow a pair. The gate – ’ she points to the exit – ‘is that way. Please.’
Despite her piercing stare, Declan just rips out another synthetic smile and slaps a card in Jordan’s raised hand. ‘My business card. You know, in case you decide you want to be on the right side of this game before it goes down.’
‘You’re on my wrong freaking side right now, chucklehead.’ She holds up the card and tears it in half with a click of her tongue. ‘I’m not goin’ anywhere.’
‘She’s got bite,’ Declan chortles, nodding my way.
‘Watch out.’ Then, to Jordan, ‘You realize Rod here breeds a losing team, don’t you?
A team that’ll be down a couple thousand in funding at the end of this whole situation?
If they keep losing, this is a sinking ship, and you’re going down with it. ’
Jordan rolls her eyes. ‘God. You must have been a theatre kid in high school. Don’t let the gate hit you on the way out, Declan.’
I give him a sassy little wave as he leaves through said gate, still sneering at us as he enters the parking lot. I cut my eyes Jordan’s way. ‘That was a whole different Jordan, I think.’
‘I’m not always sunshine and rainbows.’ Her eyes narrow at Declan’s retreating back. ‘Not when it comes to full glasses of rusty nails like that guy.’
‘Dang.’ My eyebrows rise in … shock? I think of my first impression of Jordan this summer – pink tie-dye, bright-eyed, armed with a chai tumbler. This is quite the antithesis.
‘Yeah.’ She shakes her head, dismissive. ‘He reminds me of someone. But it doesn’t matter. Did he mean that, the sinking ship bit? I mean, Benny told me it’s an indirect determinant of funding, right. But it’s not that bad, is it?’
Ah. Here’s my ‘I’m not okay.’ I have to find a training lacrosse ball, lying near the bleachers, and grab it just so I have something to squeeze extra tight. Admitting to our money issues isn’t exactly something I’m raring to do. ‘It’s … semi-that bad. We’re definitely not doing well.’
‘How not-well are we doing?’
‘Uh.’ I’m white-knuckling this ball now. ‘Not-well enough that this Cross Camp could be the last nail in the coffin.’
Wide-eyed, Jordan just nods. She props a hand up on her hip. ‘Oh. So Declan isn’t just a theatre kid.’
‘Nah, he is. He did do theatre in high school.’
‘Fair. Fair, but his threat was …’ Jordan scratches her cheek absentmindedly, glancing at the kids with furrowed eyebrows. ‘It had some merit.’
That statement rings out in my mind as we wrap up the day’s drills and pack up to head home.
Declan’s sudden drop-in has certainly shaken all three of us coaches.
It’s objectively awful, because our primary goal is always for the kids to have fun.
When money and competition wiggle their way into things, that goal becomes a lot blurrier, no matter what we do about it.
‘Loosen up.’ Jordan stabs me in the ribs with the end of her pro game stick post-clean-up. She waves towards the empty field. ‘Let’s play catch. C’mon.’
We spread out on the field once the kids have gone and all the equipment is put away. My own game stick has seen days of all kinds. Just like the last time I’d played with Jordan, the Peppa Pig stickers make me chuckle. I never took them off. It’s a happy reminder of what – or who – I play for.
Speaking of happy reminders. ‘Who’d Declan remind you of?’ I ask offhandedly as I make the first pass, and it lands squarely in the head of Jordan’s stick.
She very obviously shifts in her spot across from me. When she passes the ball back, it has a little extra whip to it. ‘Dad.’
‘Oh.’ I swallow hard. So definitely a can of worms that I’m not sure it’s my place to open. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say instead, which I realize could come off as misplaced. Shit. How do I whack myself with the butt of my stick as soon as possible?
‘It’s not your fault.’ She catches my pass, pursing her lips. ‘We can agree some people just suck.’
‘That we can.’ I get ready to send back the ball she’s returned to me. ‘It’s not your fault, you know. The shitty people.’
Her lips are still pursed, as if suppressing something, some emotion, when she nods. ‘I know. It’s just … hard. Convincing yourself.’
I know that a little too well. There was a point, and there still are times like this, where I think I am one of those people who suck.
That I think I am a subpar father because I spiralled out when Charlotte left, and then because I let her back into Tali’s life, which clearly didn’t go down well. The convincing is pretty tough.
With that kindling between us, I take a beat or two to think.
There’s something – one thing – that used to bring me back from the spiral.
I’ve been hard-pressed to share it with anyone.
Call it gatekeeping, but I’d rather my happy place not become a TikTok hotspot.
Now, though, I feel like maybe, it’s worth sharing with Jordan.
Who knows what this is between us? Who knows if she’ll remember any of this in ten years?
Lately, I’ve started to realize she’s worth the risk. At least, I want her to be.
‘You know what …’ I sound like I’m absolutely nerding out, trying to ask the cutest girl in class to the dance. I shake away the nerves. Come on, bro. ‘I could kinda use a break. I know this place, I guess – it’s kind of nice. It’s where I go when I’m all in my head. Kinda detangles things.’
‘Detangles,’ Jordan repeats incredulously, but a tiny smile flickers across her face. ‘Can I trust you not to kidnap me or something? Or worse, get on one knee?’
I hope I’m not turning as red as I feel. This woman knows way too well how to find the chinks in my armour and dig, hard. I clear my throat. ‘None of the above. I promise.’
‘Sorry.’ She purses her lips, but then she nods, and a way-too-dramatic breath leaves my lungs. ‘I’ll take it. Thank you.’
Not at all, I want to say. Thank you.