Knowing I should, I walk out to the mound to give them some privacy. The distance doesn’t matter much, because my dad can be heard clear as day.
“Do you even want to be out here?”
His hand claps against his thigh, a gesture he makes when he’s truly frustrated.
“This is a team, not Zack Jennings play time!”
He turns to walk away but pivots almost immediately, pointing.
“Uncoachable. Disrespectful. Not the kind of athlete I want on my team!”
The quiet before the storm is thick, palpable, and we all taste it. Zack shuffles back a few steps, angry laughter bubbling from his chest as he glances to his side and stares in Cannon’s direction. There will be regret, probably on his part, and he will think he can repair the damage he’s about to do, but he can’t. My father is basically the Mr. Darcy of coaches, his opinion of someone gets set in stone pretty quickly.
Zack unvelcros his batting glove, making a show of it, his tongue pushed so hard into the crook of his cheek that I can see the lump it forms from several feet away. He leans over and spits on the ground between where he and my father stand, and before it hits the dirt, my father shouts, “Get off my field!”
My dad points to the parking lot, and his stare at Zack is hard. He rarely looks people directly in the eyes, but there’s no mistaking the point he makes right now. It’ll take a miracle for Zack to set foot on this field tomorrow, and I have never seen such a miracle happen in all my years of watching my dad coach.
It takes Zack a good fifteen minutes to pack up and lug his gear out to the lot, making a show of everything in front of the rest of us while we all do our best to play as if my father didn’t just lose his shit. To add insult, Zack peels out from the lot, fishtailing the back end of his car enough to send burnt-rubber-smoke into the air. The squeal was his ultimate F-U to my dad.
That miracle he’ll need just keeps getting farther and farther away.
Despite the sudden and very present tension felt on every square inch of the field and dugouts, we all manage to get through another hour of games until my dad calls the rest of practice and makes the next day’s workouts optional.
I linger, not packing up until everyone has cleared the field. I have to wait for my dad to finish talking with the other coaches anyhow, but I also want to talk with Cannon. He’s been abandoned here.
“Do you all live far?” I have a vague idea where their house is, but I’ve never been.
“Far enough,” he says, punching out a laugh. He lifts his bag up over his shoulder and breathes out heavily through his nose, his tired gaze landing on mine.
“You can’t walk home,” I say.
“I’ll be fine—”
I don’t let him bother with the lie and march over to my dad, calling him out of the circle of coaches and doing my best not to eavesdrop. I hear enough to clue me in on things perhaps getting a little messy after today. Drama tends to do that, especially in high school sports.
“Cannon’s stuck here now,” I explain.
My father’s eyes flit from me to where Cannon stands beyond my shoulder. His shoulders slump and he glances back to the coaches waiting on him to finish their talk.
“I can’t give players rides. You know that,” my dad says. I understand. Especially now that he made such a public stand against Zack’s attitude. I also know enough to get why Zack’s father makes this messy.
“I’ll take him home. I’ll be back before you’re done.” I lean my head to the side and droop my eyes just enough to prey on his weak spot. I am just a player out here, but in all other aspects, I truly am daddy’s little girl.
He sighs and drops his hands in his pockets, looking off to the side before bringing the keys out and holding them out for me to take. Before I can grab them, he clutches them in his palm.
“Come right back. And this has nothing to do with practice. This is a friend driving a friend home.” He’s very literal, and given everything we’ve gone through in the past, I understand why.
“Got it.” I nod.
I take the keys and march back to Cannon. “Come on,” I say as I pass him, urging him to join me.
“Thanks,” he finally says when we’re halfway across the field. “Think he’ll be long? Should we just drop our stuff in the van then come back?”
“My dad can’t drive you, so I’ve gotta take you then come right back to get him,” I explain.
He scrunches his face as I hit the button that automatically pops open the back.
“That’s kinda weird. Nobody really cares,” he says.
I drop my bag inside and turn to face him as he shifts his to rest next to mine. Our eyes meet and I do my best to portray exactly how serious this is.
“Everybody cares. They always do, but only bring it up when they need to,” I say.
His brow knits as I close the back hatch, and I leave him there puzzled until I get inside and he joins me.
“My dad follows rules and regulations to a T. He documents everything, and he gets witness statements. Everyone in that circle out there talking today is going to be asked to write down their account of what happened. My dad doesn’t mess around.” And it’s all because of me.
Cannon gives me general directions as I pull out of the lot, and the first few minutes of the drive are
