Page 82 of Old Fashioned
“First of all, I didn’t agree to Paige playing football. I’m still her father, in case you forgot.”
“Randy,” I said as calmly as I could when he gripped me tighter. Every cell in my body was slipping into survival mode, and I used every ounce of strength I had to remain calm.
But before I could ask him to release me, Randy pulled me in closer, eyes dark and narrowed.
“Are you fucking Jordan Becker?”
His words were a slap to the face, but I didn’t flinch.
“Randy,” I said calmly again, glancing around to make sure no one was watching us. Everyone seemed to be distracted by the win, but my heart ricocheted within my ribcage regardless. I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “Let go of me.”
He blew out an angry breath through his nose, his grip tightening even more on my wrist as I winced. That seemed to wake him, and he blinked, like he’d been in a fog. His eyes caught somewhere behind me, and he released me immediately, smoothing his hands over his uniform — which he didn’t need to be wearing, but I knew he did because he needed that power, always.
Randy’s eyes caught at the same point behind me before he found my gaze again. “We’ll talk later,” he said, and then he turned and left without even saying goodbye to his daughter.
And I let out a shaky breath that I covered with both of my hands, squeezing my eyes shut and releasing two tears down my hot cheeks. I tried so hard not to let them fall, but my body was acting of its own accord, the relief and anxiety crashing into me all at once like a tsunami.
I didn’t have time to get it together before Paige was at my side, and then I heard Jordan, too.
“Sydney?” he asked, touching my elbow, and I nearly broke at the contact — so gentle and calming and sure.
So unlike Randy’s.
“Are you okay?”
I swiped the tears from my face, not looking at him as I reached for Paige’s hand. I knew if I saw concern on his face, if I saw care in his eyes, I would break completely.
“I’m fine,” I said as calmly as I could. “I’ll see you at school on Monday. Come on, Paigey.”
I put on my best smile for her, steering her toward the locker room. I needed to get my stuff. And then I needed to get the hell out of here.
I’d driven separately from the team for the two-hour road trip so that I could take Paige home with me after the game, and I was thankful for that fact as I packed up my athletic bag and slung it over one shoulder, listening to Paige go on excitedly about what she’d talked to Jordan about. She was still going as we made our way across the parking lot reserved for the players and coaches and their families, and when we climbed into the car, she buckled up with a giant smile.
“I’m so happy for you, Mama. You’re an amazing trainer. You know that?”
I smiled as best I could, heart still racing. “Well, coming from you, that’s a high honor. Thank you, sweetie.”
“One day, I’m going to be a player on that field,” she whispered, looking out the window. “Just wait and see.”
I was still trying to hold it together as she smiled, finally quiet as I started up the car. But as soon as I backed out of the parking space, she was on again.
“We should have Jordan over tomorrow to celebrate. Oh! Mama!” Her mouth popped open, eyes wide as she looked at me in the rearview mirror from where she sat in the back seat. “We could make him a cake!”
I covered my mouth as another wave of emotion surfaced, threatening to take me under. But I inhaled a hot breath, holding it together as best I could and smiling back at Paige before I took my eyes to the front. “Maybe, sweetheart. I’m sure he wants to celebrate with his own family tomorrow.”
“Well, we could invite them, too,” she offered. “They had us over for Thanksgiving, after all. Or, if not tomorrow, then Sunday. Whenever works for him. But wehaveto celebrate. We won the State Championship!”
I reached back and squeezed her knee in lieu of an answer, then I plugged in my phone and turned on her favorite country song, blasting it so loudly she couldn’t hear the first sob that choked through my façade.
Jordan
It was late as hell, but the two-hour bus drive back to Stratford was anything but sleepy or quiet.
The energy wafting between the players was palpable as they relived every moment of the game, sang our fight song loud and proud, and passed the trophy around to take pictures and rub it for good luck going into the next season. They were already posting all over social media, making phone calls to their girlfriends or their families they had to leave behind at the stadium, and to the ones who hadn’t been at the game at all. And of course, I heard talkbragging about what the sports articles were already saying about the game in the online blogs.
I half-listened to their merriment, half-zoned out in the front seat, with my eyes losing focus on the yellow dots peppering the two-lane highway that led into our town.
Thankfully, none of the other coaches pestered me — likely because they knew after talking to reporters that I was absolutely spent — so I had silence amidst the chaos for the entire ride home.
