Chapter 6
Six
I step out of the team van, nine of my teammates following after me.
I don’t mind community service like this.
It’s soccer-related. I love soccer. And kid-related.
I don’t mind kids. However, we normally keep our service to our community, Tesoro or Reno.
The Red Tails owner always has us doing something to support the public.
While Canyon Falls is less than an hour from Tesoro, it’s also in a completely different state.
“Are you freaking out yet?” I say to Roman. I stare at the tiny soccer net big enough for a toddler just a few yards away from us.
He turns to stare at me. “What? Why?”
“You’re having a kid,” I say. “You’re about to be in charge of another life. A dad.”
“Oh. That.” My friend clears his throat, his eyes locked on that baby net. “Kind of crazy, right? A year ago, I never would have thought—”
“Oh, believe me,” I say. “A year ago, none of us would have guessed you’d be hitched with fatherhood on the way.
” We hold back, letting the other guys go ahead, watching as Callum walks out to the center of this large community field.
There are several small soccer fields set up over the vast area. “Where’s he going?”
“He’s the liaison. I’m sure he’s asking Maggie where she wants us.”
“Maggie?” I say. I don’t think I’ve ever dated a Maggie.
“Yeah.” Roman smirks. “Why the goofy smile?”
“Maggie,” I repeat with a shrug. “Sounds cute.”
“Are you serious?” He shakes his head, but he’s laughing at me. “You really don’t know who I’m talking about?”
I shrug. “Why would I?”
“Maybe because you complained about Maggie for half the drive here.”
My brow furrows and I search the ground, trying to make sense of Roman’s words. “No—I complained about McCrae.” Another bogus call last night, all because that woman has it out for me.
“Yeah.” Another chortle from Roman. “Maggie McCrae.”
“Maggie? It’s Margaret.”
“Except that it’s Maggie. It’s a nickname for Margaret. It’s what she goes by.”
How does Roman know what she goes by? How do any of my friends know that?
I flick my gaze back to Callum. Searching. And there she is. McCrae. I watch as Callum talks to the woman. She smiles at him. He’s laughing at something she’s said. “They aren’t friends, are they?”
“They’re friendly,” Roman says. “None of us can really be friends with an official. You know that. It’s no different than you with that Mr. Clean guy—”
“Mr. What?” I shake my head, clueless as to what he’s talking about. My English is good—more like great. But every now and then, I still miss little things. For instance, Maggie and Margaret. I didn’t know they were the same. And now, Mr. Clean—I’m not catching on to what Roman is saying.
“You know.” Roman snaps, thinking. “Jared or Jacob or—”
“Jason Arnell?”
He points in my direction. “That’s his name. You’re always friendly with that guy. He’s an official.”
“I’m not friendly. I’m nice. We have history. He likes Brazil. He likes my jokes. He—”
“Yeah. Those are all synonyms for friendly.”
My lip curls. “But she’s a—”
“A woman?” Roman says, one brow raised.
“A walking whistle. She’s decided I’m enemy number one—for no good reason and—”
“I think you decided that.”
“You know she does everything she can to make my life hard. You know that.” I grit my teeth, watching as Callum jogs back to us.
But Roman doesn’t jump to agree with me.
“Hey guys,” Cal says, and we all gather round.
“Sacramento’s here, too. We’ve got twenty Little League teams and twenty total pros.
So, one pro per team. Maggie said for us to pick any team and to do some mentoring.
Mostly, they’re just really excited to have us here.
So, if there’s time, let the kids ask questions, sign a ball or notebook, whatever they brought.
She’s talking with the volunteer coaches now; they’ll disperse to their assigned fields in a minute, and then we can pair up. Kids should be here any minute.”
I tighten my jaw and peer past the guys to the Little League coaches listening to Maggie. Just like Callum said they would, they separate, each one walking to a different mini soccer field.
When McCrae makes her way to her own field and opens up a bag of soccer balls, I take off.
A week ago, that woman asked me to stay far from her the next time I saw her.
And yesterday, she fouled me for something that could have easily been overlooked.
If she’s going to make my life hard, I’m going to repay the favor.
I’ll mentor her team, and maybe they’ll find out how corrupt their coach is. Maybe they’ll revolt on her.
I’ve got a clear path to McCrae when I hear Callum. “Oh, brother.” He jogs up beside me, tugging on my elbow. “Maybe I should take this team. Eh?”
“I’ve got it,” I tell him with a smile.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Be nice, Lucca,” he says as I step onto McCrae’s field.
There are soccer fields lined out all over this massive grassy area, each of various sizes, but this one—McCrae’s —is tiny. “Why are your nets so small? Is this some sort of punishment for children who won’t follow your rules?”
“What?” McCrae says, peering up from her clipboard. “No. This is—” Her eyes land on me and I grin.
She grimaces, and my heart leaps with joy. Yep, I made the right choice.
“Lucca Cruz. What are you doing here?”
“You invited us. That’s what Callum said.”
“No,” she huffs and shakes her head. “I mean, why are you on my field? There are nineteen other fields to choose from. You landed on mine? No.”
“Yes,” I say, my brows bouncing, my smile growing. “Now, about these nets?”
“It’s not a punishment, you imbecile. My players are five years old. We use the smallest field and the smallest nets for the smallest people.”
“So, it’s discrimination?”
Her jaw clenches. “This isn’t going to work. You need to find another team, another field, another coach.” She stomps the few steps over to me, grabs my upper arm, and attempts to walk me to the edge of the field.
But I’m not going anywhere.
I ignore the buzz of energy under her touch and say, “Maggie.” I am as calm as Tesoro Lake in the summertime.
“I’m staying here. I’m mentoring this team.
You said pick any team. I pick this one.
” It’s fun being the calm one. Usually, I’m crashing out while she’s staring ahead, no emotion, not even bothering to acknowledge me.
She doesn’t have all the power today, though.
I peer down at the woman—hair pulled back, nothing but a brush of mascara on.
There’s a sprinkling of freckles over her nose and cheeks that I’ve never noticed before.
It's a traitorous thought. Sure, this woman is beautiful even without the makeup she’d applied for her “blind date,” but that isn’t going to stop me from tormenting her.
She tilts her head, a frown on her face, and a waft of honey and pear drift into my senses. Vovó used to feed me fresh pears drizzled in honey. It was my favorite. I’m not sure I like McCrae bringing that sweet memory to my mind. It doesn’t serve my mission at all.
I swallow, my brow furrowing. Her pretty face I can ignore, but her scent is invading my nostrils, refusing to be dismissed.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I manage to get out.
McCrae drops her hand from my arm and peers around the green; all the other coaches have their mentors.
“I suppose you could make a fuss. I suppose you could try and trade me, but I’m not willing, and everyone seems pretty pleased where they’re at.”
“You think that’ll stop me? Callum will trade with you. He isn’t a bull-headed idiot.”
“He’s married,” I say, annoyed with this friendship she and Whitaker seem to have. “Did you know that? You don’t have a shot there. He’s crazy about her.”
McCrae stares at me, her eyes blinking incessantly, like she’s got something inside them. “Are you the dumbest man to ever walk the planet? Not every relationship is about attraction.”
I lift one brow—because who is she kidding?
“Or sex. Or desire.” Her voice rises with her claim, making me think it all the more false.
“Hello.” A young boy stands at the net on our left, watching us, with an older woman beside him.
McCrae’s frustrated wrinkles smooth out as her head whips around to them. “Wyatt. Hey, sweetie.” She lets out a long breath. Her gaze lifts to the woman with the kid. “Hi, Mom. Thanks for bringing him.”
“No problem. You were extra busy today.” The older woman’s eyes drift to me.
“Is everything okay?”
McCrae swallows, and her words are stiff when she says, “Yes. Fine. Mom, Wyatt, this is Lucca Cruz from the Reno-Tesoro Red Tails.” Her jaw tightens. “He’s one of the professional mentors today.”
“Whoa!” the kid says. “Lucca. Cruz. Number three! Defender. Grandpa and I love you!”
McCrae presses her lips together. She doesn’t care for this kid’s admiration. I, on the other hand, love it. I couldn’t have planned it more perfectly.
“And even though she frowns,” he says, pointing at McCrae, “when she says it, she must like you, too, because she always says, ‘It’s Pretty Boy Cruz’ or ‘There goes Saint Lucca.’” The boy jumps, pumping one fist in the air. “How’d we get so lucky?” he says, beaming up at Maggie.