Page 29 of Cross Check Daddies
What a small world!
“This is Jackson,” Brooke says once she catches her breath. “My son.”
I nod, still half-crouched, resting my elbows on my knees. “Hey, Jackson.”
He stares up at me, then glances at Buddy, who has decided to sit on my sneaker like it’s his ottoman.
“Thanks,” Brooke adds, softer this time. “For carrying him. And Buddy. I panicked.”
“You were fast,” I say, straightening up. “Didn’t know you had that kind of speed in slippers.”
She grins despite herself, and it hits me low, quick, and uninvited. There’s something about that smile when she’s not trying. All natural and radiant with a sheen of adrenaline. She’s too young, too complicated, too connected to my team. Still, I look anyway.
A security guard walks over to tell us what I already suspected. Just a drill. False alarm. No smoke. No danger. Jackson’s face drops in disappointment, like he was expecting explosions or at least a fireman with a big hose. I shake my head.
“Well,” I say, stretching my neck side to side. “Glad it was nothing.”
“Yeah. Same.” Brooke brushes her palm down Jackson’s hair. “Thanks again. For everything.”
I nod and start to turn. I’ve got a run to finish and a schedule to keep. She’s got bedtime routines and video game empires to build.
“Hey,” she calls after me. “When are you getting your photo taken?”
I stop and frown. “Photo?”
“For your avatar.”
“My what?”
She’s grinning now like she knows exactly how this conversation is going to go. “In the game. You’re part of the team, right? The kids are gonna want to play as the grumpy coach.”
“I don’t need to be in the game.”
“You’re in the game.”
“I didn’t sign off on that.”
“You did, actually. Buried in the paperwork. Trust me.”
I exhale slowly, turning halfway. “After the next game.”
“Can you do it sooner?”
“I’ve got a full week.”
“You’re not that busy.”
I level a look at her. “You’re mouthy.”
She tilts her head, not backing down. “You’re grumpy. Like a tired Gandalf.”
That gets a sharp, unexpected laugh out of me. I shake my head and glance at Jackson, who’s watching the back-and-forth like it’s a tennis match.
“Bye, Brooke,” I say finally.
“Bye, Coach.”
Jackson waves and then runs ahead, Buddy plodding along beside him.
