9. Viggo
VIGGO
Dex didn’t bother disguising his amusement as he veered right at the fork in the road.
“Hey, this is gonna be fun…and easy. The kids are great. They’re at the cool age where they’re actually interested in learning something.
Some of them are super competitive. Sometimes too competitive, but I can relate.
I was like that as a kid.” He tossed a casual glance my way. “How about you?”
“I don’t remember,” I grumbled.
“You’re mad. Don’t be. I’m sorry. I’m overthinking and I know it.
I’m just…nervous. I want everything to be perfect.
I don’t know Freya well, and it’s frustrating.
Add the local rumor mill and a dose of the usual family BS, and I feel like I’m off my game.
I don’t mean to drag you into my dysfunction, but you’re sort of in it already.
And I think that to a degree, you’re okay with that… for the baby’s sake.”
“Hmph.”
Dexter smiled warmly. “I’ll take that as a yes. C’mon. Tell me something about yourself. Are you competitive?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Were you a good student?”
“What difference does it make?” I snapped.
“This is called polite conversation, Viggo. Just answer the question.”
“I was okay,” I replied. He didn’t prod for more information, and the silence bothered me. “You?”
“Yeah. My parents expected us to be high achievers. Well…my mom did, anyway.”
We’d arrived at our destination before he could think of more ways to make me uncomfortable. Thank God.
I observed the kids and parents pulling equipment from their vehicles or skipping toward the field as if this were the highlight of their weekend. This was one of those times that I realized I’d accidentally settled in a town that had more in common with a Hallmark romance than reality.
I’d come to Wood Hollow for a job, and I’d stayed for the quiet. I hadn’t counted on it being a wholesome enclave with feel-good family sweetness and conscientious neighbors. Nice qualities for sure, but I generally kept to myself.
Till now.
I left the bag of uneaten donuts on the console and met Dexter at the rear of his truck just as an athletic man with wavy blond hair approached.
“You’re late,” he chided, holding out a fist to Dexter for a bro greeting. “You usually beat me here by at least fifteen minutes.”
Dexter bumped his fist. “Bite me. Troy, this is Viggo. Troy’s an old friend who also happens to be the high school football coach. And Viggo is a new…friend. He’s helping us with practice today.”
Surprise flitted across Troy’s face, but if he was annoyed by my presence, he hid it well. “Nice to meet you. I don’t know what this guy’s told you, but it’s all lies.”
I shook Troy’s hand. “He told me nothing. I didn’t know I’d be here until…five minutes ago.”
“That’s very Dex.” He snorted.
I nodded as I sized Troy up. He was Dexter’s height and build, but coloring wise, they were opposites. Troy had fairer skin, blond hair, blue eyes, a long nose, and sharp cheekbones. He was good-looking for sure, but nowhere near as handsome as Dexter. No one was.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too. And thanks for coming. We could always use the help. Although, you’re not exactly dressed for running.” Troy pointed at my jeans. “Maybe you could do some passing drills.”
“Uh…okay.”
Troy grabbed one of the equipment bags from Dexter’s trunk and hiked it over his shoulder. “Let’s get out there, boys. Our public awaits.”
Dexter closed the SUV’s hatch and gave a lopsided smile. “You good?”
“No, I’m terrible, and this will probably be a disaster,” I mumbled.
“Nah, it’ll be fun.” He bumped my elbow playfully.
Look, I hadn’t been living under a rock. I knew that football was a big deal in Wood Hollow. I also knew that Dexter had single-handedly organized flag football leagues in the Four Forest area for youths, teens, adults, and seniors that were very popular.
My coworkers regularly exchanged smack talk during lunch breaks, bragging about their big win the previous weekend or moping about a heart-wrenching loss.
They got especially heated over any loss to Pinecrest, who everyone collectively agreed cheated by hiring professional trainers instead of parent and teacher volunteers like everyone else.
They didn’t mind that Elmwood had professional hockey players coaching their kids, but hockey prowess hadn’t made them more competitive in flag football. Or so I’d heard. I’d stayed out of it.
Beau and Lyle had invited me to join them a few times, but I’d passed. I wasn’t big on crowds, and my days of participating in team sports were long gone.
So what the fuck was I doing?
I felt self-conscious. I didn’t belong here, and it couldn’t have been more obvious.
As Troy had noted, I wasn’t dressed for the occasion.
I looked like a lost lumberjack who’d somehow stumbled out of the forest and into the middle of their practice.
Parents and kids aimed curious glances at me, but ultimately, they liked Dexter too much to push back on the odd addition to his coaching staff.
Then again, he’d given a pretty speech that made it seem as if my presence wasn’t a half-assed impromptu decision but rather a well-conceived idea to include the most important folks in the community…loggers.
“Hey, guys, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. He’s new to flag football, but like all of us, he’s a big football fan. He knows defense, and I know he can teach us a lot. Plus—and this is a huge plus—he happens to have a very important job in the community.”
“I do?” I worked with a few parents in the crowd who no doubt wondered what was going on. My face and neck felt warm with embarrassment. I stared straight ahead, wishing I’d never gotten into his SUV.
Dexter was oblivious. “He’s a logger and a craftsman. That means he can take a chunk of wood and make it into anything.”
That was true, but… “Hurry it up,” I whisper-hissed.
“Please help me welcome Viggo!” Dexter shoved a clipboard under his arm and clapped.
“Yo, that’s Big V!” a scruffy logger in a John Deere ball cap yelled.
Troy brightened. “Big V. I like that!”
And yes, now everyone was chanting, “Big V, Big V, Big V…”
With a stoic expression in place, I pivoted slightly to glare at Dexter. He pursed his lips in amusement, then blew a whistle, signaling the beginning of practice.
I was given the task of throwing the ball—first to help the kids warm up and later, as timed with a specific play Dexter called.
He would shout out a number and point in a random direction, wordlessly indicating where I should throw the football.
My initial attempts were a bit wild. My aim was good, but I had too much firepower.
The kids scrambled to catch balls I launched into the stratosphere, laughing like loons as though they assumed I was being funny.
“Do that again! I got this one,” a kid named Rhys called, waving his arm like a windmill.
I growled, which made them all laugh.
Dexter snickered and handed over another ball. “They like you.”
“Hmph. I don’t think they’re learning anything,” I grumbled, lining my thumbs at the laces.
“They’re having fun. That’s what counts.” He patted my shoulder and jogged to the opposite end of the field to help Troy with a sprinting exercise.
I stared after him, fixating on his perfect ass for a moment before realizing I was surrounded by a gaggle of twelve-year-olds.
“Do you really know how to make anything out of wood? Like…could you carve a canoe?”
“Yes,” I replied matter-of-factly.
“What about a house? Could you make a whole house?” Rhys squinted, his brown curls falling into his eyes.
“Yes.”
“How? Wouldn’t that take forever?” a kid with floppy blond hair asked.
“I would require helpers, but it could be done.” I pulled my elbow back and launched another ball into the air.
The kids gasped as the football disappeared from view for a beat.
“That’s so cool! Teach us how to do that!”
I frowned, unsure if I was supposed to pass along poor techniques or admit that I didn’t remember enough of the fundamentals to correct my mistakes. But…I gave it a try.
“Let’s try to do it the right way. Use your whole body. Your feet, your legs, and your arm.”
The blond kid nodded vigorously. “That’s what Silas says! He’s my stepdad. Do you know him? He used to play professional football.”
I studied the boy. “You’re Chase. Cooper’s son.”
A.k.a. my boss’s kid.
“My dad is the police chief,” Rhys piped in.
Great. I clearly hadn’t thought this through.
Chase grinned. “My dad can make stuff out of wood too, but I don’t think he could make a boat. I’ll ask him.”
I gave a thumbs-up and gestured to the four kids hanging around me—Chase, Rhys, Elliot, and a girl named Ariana. “You should pass to each other.”
Ariana raised her hand. She was petite with brown skin and long, dark, braided hair. “Don’t we need to learn defense if you’re the defense coach?”
I scratched my nape. “Screen, block, tackle.”
Ariana raised her hand again. “We can’t tackle.”
“I wish we could,” Chase lamented.
“Me too,” the other boys chimed in.
I considered googling flag football defense but decided it was a bad look—even with preteens. I’d have to wing it.
“I know you can’t tackle. You pull flags, intercept passes, and do what it takes to stop the other team from scoring.”
“We know that already,” Ariana said.
“Okay, okay. Let’s try intercepting. Take turns throwing to me and the rest of you try to take it away.”
“So…you want us to play take away…from each other or from you?”
“He can’t run. He has jeans on.”
“And boots.”
I furrowed my brow and glanced down at my feet. “I can run.”
And that was how I found myself wearing flags attached to a Velcro belt that barely fit around my waist while dodging grabby hands. There was no finesse, no real teaching moments. I simply had no other ideas.