Page 23 of Old Fashioned
Jordan nodded, and then he said, “We may be embarrassed, but what are we going to do on Friday?”
“We’re going to win, anyway,” a few more players chimed in.
The energy started as a buzz, a soft flap of bee wings, and with every new question Jordan threw at them, it grew into a thunderous roar.
“We may be beat down!”
“We’re going to win, anyway!”
Jordan stood, circling the room as his voice rose. “We may have a thousand eyes on us, waiting for us to fail!”
“We’re going to win, anyway!”
“We may have an opponent ready to gobble us up and spit us out and show us we ain’t shit!”
“We’re going to win, anyway!”
Jordan started beating a rhythm on his chest, and the boys joined in, until it was a room of bodily percussion and a hum of energy so strong I felt it in my core.
“Tomorrow, we turn it around. Tomorrow, we get back to work.” Jordan pointed his quarterback and team captain directly in the chest. “Tomorrow, we fight.”
A roar of cheers, every player on their feet, and then in a circle where they chanted something I couldn’t quite make out. When they threw their hands up in the air, Coach called practice, and every single player walked out of that locker room a completely different kid than when they had walked in.
I couldn’t hide my appreciation.
“Sydney,” Jordan said as he walked past me with his eyes on his clipboard. “A word in my office?”
He’d posed it as a question, but I knew it wasn’t a request at all. There was something deep and demanding in that voice, in the way he said my name. I followed him without a verbal response.
My heart raced more with every step, neck heating as I prepared all my defenses for the lashing I was sure I was about to receive. If he tried to blame that loss on me again, I had a full list of errors to throw back at him.
Mostly thanks to my daughter.
When I stepped into his office, Jordan closed the door behind us, leaving his eyes on his clipboard as he motioned for me to take a seat in the chair in front of his desk.
I swallowed, doing as he asked, and once he was seated on the other side, he abandoned his clipboard on the desk and folded his hands together, his raging eyes somehow peaceful when they found me.
“I owe you an apology.”
The breath I’d been holding blew out in a sharp exhale, my defenses easing, heart calming. Jordan watched me with a wrinkle between his brows, his jaw set.
I didn’t say a word.
“I don’t get riled up over much,” he started. “If you ask anyone in my family, anyone on this team, they’d tell you that. I am generally calm, but when it comes to football, I’ll admit that I tend to lose my good senses.”
Still, I stayed quiet.
“You did nothing wrong on Friday night.”
I couldn’t help but scoff at that, becauseobviously.
Jordan smirked. “I know you already know that, but I couldn’t see clearly until later that night. All Icouldsee in that moment was our loss, and I felt the pressure of the entire town’s weight on my shoulders, and I am ashamed to say I crumbled beneath it.”
My own shoulders softened at that, and I opened my mouth to speak but he beat me to it.
“I’m sorry for blowing up on you, for questioning your decision and trying to assert authority in a space where I hold none. This is your area of specialty, and that’s why we hired you. If I ever question your decisions again, feel free to kick my ass, and I know you probably could.”
I laughed out loud at that, relaxing.
