Chapter 4
FOUR
The field lights at Beaumont High burn white against a black October sky.
I can see my breath. The bleachers are half full, which is less than the old days, when this town packed every seat and stood three deep along the fence.
That was before soccer skyrocketed as a sport, and before the school added volleyball.
Now, there are more options when before you either played football or you didn’t.
The metal bleacher is cold through my jeans, and I’ve got my hands in my jacket pockets, shoulders pulled up against the wind that’s been cutting across the field all night. Josie spreads a blanket across my lap and puts her arm through mine.
“I didn’t think it would be this cold,” she says as she clasps her gloved hands together.
“We should pay to have boxes put in.”
“We can’t fix everything, Liam.”
She’s right. We can’t. We can try but at some point, the town needs to figure their shit out and stop overspending on repairing the same stretch of road year after year. Maybe it’s time to fire the company they hire each time, who clearly can’t do the job correctly.
I watch the sideline. Nick paces. He has a headset on, but it sits too high on his ears. He’s not listening to his coach in the box. Noah is though. He stands next to my frenemy, with his hands on his knees, and then he stands tall, only to cross his arms.
Nick and my son—they coach together now—while I sit on the bleacher freezing my ass off. They move in sync. It’s their own formation and something they created long before I returned to Beaumont. Nick calls the play. Noah leans in, says something, and points at the defensive backfield. Nick nods.
In front of us are the cheerleaders. Paige is there, with her ponytail swinging and voice carrying. During a play, the squad faces the field, encouraging the offense or defense to do their job. When the ball’s dead, they turn and face us and do their job of getting the crowd into the game.
She waves at us and of course we wave back.
I haven’t had a chance to talk to Josie about Paige working at Ralph’s yet.
Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about her waiting tables.
I know it’s a rite of passage for most teens, but Paige has a job, and she knows I’ll give her money.
Hell, she already has her own credit card.
Still, I get that she wants her independence. Lord knows I did when I was her age. I couldn’t get far enough away from Sterling and my mother. I didn’t have to work when I was in high school, but that was so Sterling could control me.
The whistle pulls me from those thoughts.
Mack takes center and calls his cadence. The ball’s snapped.
He drops back five steps, quick and precise, his eyes already reading the secondary before his back foot plants.
That was me back in the day, and then Noah.
Nick will take credit for teaching Noah the five step drop, but I like to think it was in his genes.
Mack’s a different story. He’s a beast at quarterback, and I like to think that’s because of my son.
Mack finds his receiver on the slant. The ball comes out fast, tight, a rope that hits the receiver in stride at the thirty . . .
. . . Mason.
Visions hit me of when I was this age. Along with Mason and Josie. Katelyn too. This was our life every Friday night in the fall. Me throwing to Mason. Josie their heads are close.
Mack nods and then nods again, and then he puts his helmet back on.
“Don’t turn one mistake into two,” I yell but doubt Mack hears me.
On the next series, Noah sends in the play. Mack runs it to perfection. Play-action, three-step drop, hits the tight end crossing the middle for twenty-two yards. Noah doesn’t pump his fist this time. He just turns to Nick and taps the clipboard twice.
Paige’s squad runs a routine during the timeout. She’s in the front row, arms sharp, voice cutting through the cold. She’s good at this. Paige is good at most things she decides to care about. It’s getting her to care that’s the challenge. She’s strong willed and carries so much on her shoulders.
The fourth quarter is ugly. Both teams are grinding it out with short runs and incomplete passes.
Beaumont holds a six-point lead with two minutes left, and Mack takes a knee to run it out.
The bleachers empty slow. Fans stand, stretch, pull their jackets tighter.
I stay in my seat and watch the field clear.
After the game, I stand at the railing, waiting for Noah to come over.
I haven’t seen him since I got back. After he talks to Mack, he jogs up the stairs and then gives me a tight hug.
I hold him longer than he does me. I need an extra moment for all of this to settle in.
He’s no longer the boy I watched play or the man who guided his professional team to a title.
He’s a dad, a coach in his own right, but he’s still the ten-year-old I met at the sports museum, who said he knew me because he saw me kissing his mom.
“Nice win,” I say when I release him.
“Tough one, but a win’s a win. We expected you to come by when you got home.”
He’s right. I should’ve stopped by. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You’re not an interruption, Dad. I want you to spend as much time as possible with the kids. They’re growing so fast.”
I nod and look down at my boots, which apparently are very fascinating. Noah claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll be over.”
Noah laughs. “Or we’ll be over. Just know the doors always open.” He goes to his mom and hugs her tight, then runs off toward the locker room.
I inhale deeply and stare off into the darkness. Finding the middle ground—the point where my life makes sense—is going to be hard. I want to be present as Liam the husband, father, and grandfather, but also as the rock star. It’s been my identity for so long I don’t know how to be me without it.
Nick catches my eye. I decide to walk down to the field, to show Mack and Noah that Nick and I can coexist.
“Nice game,” I say.
Nick shows me Mack’s stats on his clipboard. “He’s better than both of us were.”
“He’s better than you were. Let’s not get carried away.” I was outstanding. Nick was okay.
Nick almost smiles.
I beam.
Peyton’s Wagoneer pulls into the driveway two mornings later. I watch from the kitchen window as Noah gets out, opens the rear door, and Juniper emerges. He props her on one hip, then leans back in for another. Maverick.
Where’s Jace?