Sidelined Read online

  “That’s what you want? To drive these kids into the ground?”

  “I wanna show them they’re stronger than they think they are. Don’t underestimate them because of your own shortcomings.” She brushed past me to Butcher and pulled him to stand up straight. She grabbed his helmet and leaned in to say something to him, then hit his shoulder pad. He ran back onto the field.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but she knew what she was doing. Still didn’t like her or the fact that I had to answer to her. But she knew what she was doing.

  We had a scrimmage tomorrow and spent the afternoon running every play, making sure they all knew their routes and blocks. But it was pretty clear we had a long way to go.

  Gibb gathered the team together at the end of practice, and they took a knee. “This week has been a good start. And I know I’m askin’ a lot of y’all, but I want you to ask more of yourselves. I want you to be better. To know that you can do better. Because y’all are capable of more than you know. But if you never try to reach that next level, if you never even attempt it, you’re dead in the water.” She stepped in toward the middle of the team, gesturing for them to stand. She raised her voice as the players formed a circle around her. “Play hard. Be better. Douglass on three.” All hands went in toward the middle of the circle. “One, two, three . . .”

  “Douglass!”

  The team broke up their huddle, and I clapped a few of them on the helmet as they passed. Jaylin approached me, walking with a barely noticeable limp.

  “How do you feel without the crutches?”

  “I’m fine.”

  We started off toward the school. “Don’t say you’re fine when you’re not. It’s more important for you to take the time you need to heal.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said.

  “Don’t ‘yeah, yeah’ me.” I lightly knocked his head with my rolled-up playlist.

  He laughed. “Damn, Coach. Okay.”

  We entered the basement of the school and hung a right into the locker room. I held the door open for Jaylin. He wasn’t permitted to put on pads or play until next week, but he went toward the lockers to put his playbook away.

  Gibb’s office door hung open, the sign she was inside, and I was just about to go there myself when I heard a couple of players lagging behind in the hall. I waited to hold the locker room door open for them, but quickly let it close when I caught their conversation.

  “Seriously? You think she’s hot?”

  “Yeah, man, her ass is, like . . .”

  They laughed.

  “I don’t think so,” another one said. “She’s too manly. She’s got huge shoulders. She played ball. Like, who wants to be with a chick who played ball?”

  “Dude, I don’t even know why you’re talking like this. She’s our coach. Did you see what she made Butcher do? What a bitch. If she hears you talking about her ass, she’ll probably make you run for days with a sandbag on your back.”

  I knew that voice. It was Brett Spencer, junior quarterback.

  “What was that about Coach Gibb?” I asked as the three players came to a halt in front of me, surprise coloring their faces that they’d been caught.

  “Nothing,” Spencer said, reaching for the door handle next to me. He was a cocky little shit.

  I blocked his hand and looked to Brian Krajewski. “What about you? You have anything you’d like to say about Coach Gibb?”

  “Nuh-uh.” He shook his head, a follower.

  Luis Weston snickered, and I glowered at him. Out of these three, Brett was the true troublemaker, but his dad was a well-known businessman who owned a couple of chain stores and was a head booster for the school. Brett took after his father in acting like they ruled the world.

  I stepped forward so the three of them couldn’t get around me to go into the locker room. “Keep your pads on, we’re going on a little field trip.” They groaned as I pointed to the doors back outside. “If you want to run your mouths, you better be prepared to run your legs.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Weston said under his breath.

  “Nope. Go. Now.”

  They did, mumbling the whole way back. I pointed toward the bleachers. “Helmets on.”

  All of them rolled their eyes at me, and I was tempted to smack them until they rolled right out of their heads. Instead I said, “You run every bleacher until I say stop.”

  I was actually impressed that we hadn’t had problems with the players being disrespectful until now. But hearing what they’d said made my blood boil. Gibb didn’t deserve to be degraded, no matter what went on between us.

  I folded my arms over my chest and watched as the trio of boneheads began their trek up.

  About fifteen minutes later, Gibb made her way down the hill toward me. “What are you doin’?” Her eyes toggled between me and the boys running. “You tryin’ to run them into the ground?”

  I kept my eyes on them as they made their way back down the steps once again. “I’m pushing them to do better.”

  She stood next to me quietly for a few seconds. I guessed she wanted to know more. “They needed an attitude adjustment,” I said, finally turning to her.

  She smiled up at me. A real smile, not the one she used when she was about to turn into a dragon. But one where her brown eyes—which I’d never noticed before—softened and her lips tipped up enough to show how one of her teeth slightly overlapped the other on the left side. “Don’t we all.” She patted my back twice before walking away. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she threw over her shoulder.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Charlie

  I slid into the booth at the News Room, a cool, upscale restaurant right in the middle of downtown Minneapolis. I hadn’t eaten much today, just a protein shake and a couple pieces of fruit. The scrimmage this morning hadn’t gone as well as I’d wanted it to, and I’d ended up going back over film for a lot longer than I’d planned on, skipping lunch.

  Sonja and I had been trying to meet, but being busy with the team all week, I hadn’t had a chance until now. I also hadn’t been able to see much of anything outside of my hotel room, the school, and Caribou Coffee. Dinner out at a real restaurant sounded great.

  “Hi, are you Charlie?”

  I tipped my head back to see two women, one pale with red hair and big green eyes, the other short with golden-brown skin and black curly hair. She pushed big sunglasses up onto her head. “I’m Sonja.”

  “Yes. Nice to meet you,” I said, moving the menus and utensils around the table as they sat down.

  “I’m excited to meet you,” the redhead said, smiling widely. She moved her long hair to the side and leaned forward. “I’ve heard so much about you. I mean, I haven’t heard so much about you, just that you’re the new Otters coach. And I have to tell you, I think that’s pretty much the coolest thing ever.”

  I looked between the two women, a bit overwhelmed.

  “I’m Piper,” she said.

  “No filter.” Sonja shook her head with a smile. “Pipes lives in the house now, but will be moving out shortly.”

  Piper nodded, and Sonja placed her arms on the table, hands together with her elbows out. The pose showed off her defined, powerful muscles. “Thanks for meeting us here.”

  “Of course,” I said, playing with the hair tie on my wrist. “Thank you.”

  “Jim told me just a little bit about you. You’re from Atlanta?”

  “From just outside, yeah.”

  A gray-haired waitress stopped at our booth and passed out waters. “Are you ready to order?”

  Piper stared at the beer menu, lips pursed, and Sonja shook her head. “I think we’ll need a few more minutes.” When the waitress walked away, Sonja looked at me. “What do you think of Minneapolis?”

  “I haven’t gotten to see a whole lot, but what I have seen is nice.”

  Piper kept her eyes on the beer list as she asked. “What’d you see?”

  “The Mall of America.”

  “You didn�
��t,” Sonja said, balling up the paper from the straw in her water glass.

  “I did.” I shrugged. “The Travel Channel told me to go there, and to try a Juicy Lucy—whatever that is.”

  “It’s a burger, and you should definitely go to Matt’s Bar,” Piper said.

  Sonja shook her head. “No. Five-Eight Club is better for a Juicy Lucy.”

  Piper started to argue, but Sonja cut her off, eyes on me. “Never mind. You live here now. You can skip all the touristy stuff.”

  “It doesn’t feel like I live here yet.”

  “After we eat, we’ll show you around a bit, how about that?”

  I paused, taking in the excitement in their expressions. How odd to immediately take in a practical stranger, an acquaintance of an acquaintance. “No, that’s okay. I’m sure you’re both busy.”

  “I’m not,” Piper said.

  “Me either. I cleared my schedule for tonight.”

  Piper smirked, pointing at her friend while focused on me. “That’s a first. You really shouldn’t pass up the offer.” When I didn’t respond, she persisted. “It’ll be fun. Girls’ night out.”

  I pushed a few stray hairs behind my ears, still hesitant to go out with them. “Really?”

  “Of course,” Sonja said. “What kind of Minnesotans would we be if we didn’t take you out?”

  Piper nodded in mock seriousness. “They kick you out of the state if you aren’t nice enough. First thing I learned when I moved here.”

  The two of them made me laugh, their easy friendship obvious. It would be nice to make some girlfriends here since I’d had to leave my friends in Georgia. Not that I had a ton—apparently my resting bitch face turned people off.

  “So, the stereotype is true then, huh? Y’all really are nice up here—well, most of you.”

  “Most? Who wasn’t nice to you?” Sonja asked, drumming her neon-orange nails on the table.

  I was about to answer, but the waitress showed back up, and we paused our conversation to order. Sonja got a salad with the dressing on the side, while Piper ordered the cheese board and some kind of pasta, along with a fancy beer.

  “I like your style,” Piper said to me, laughing, when I ordered a steak and a red wine. “It’s nice to dine with someone who doesn’t eat like a rabbit.”

  Sonja didn’t seem fazed by her comment. Whatever she ate, it was paying off. She could’ve been on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

  Once our menus were collected and the waitress was gone, Sonja tilted her head at me. “Who wasn’t nice to you?”

  I looked above to the metalwork and newspaper photos that decorated the wall. “I’m not afraid of someone being rude to me, if that’s what you think.”

  “I wouldn’t think that at all,” Sonja said.

  “I’m sure you put up with a lot of crap all day long,” Piper added. “We both know how that can be.”

  “And we’re being a little dishonest,” Sonja admitted with a tiny frown. “We do know a little bit more about you than you know about us.”

  I looked between the two women in front of me. Sonja seemed a little shy, while Piper was about to burst.

  “Connor. We know Connor,” she let out in a tumble of words. “He’s best friends with my boyfriend, Blake, so we know each other really well. We all hang out all the time, including our other friend, Bear, who’s also Connor’s friend. Bear, Thomas Behr, the hockey player, anyway—”

  “Anyway,” Sonja said, cutting her off with an exasperated laugh, “what Piper is saying is that we heard a lot about you. But not from Jim.”

  “From McGuire?”

  Their silence was my answer.

  “What did he say?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “Which isn’t unlike Connor,” Piper added. “But you could probably imagine what he did tell us.”

  I huffed. “That I couldn’t possibly be good at coaching football, and that I only got the job because of my famous daddy. That I stole the job from him. And that I don’t know the school or the kids or that Sam Long pukes before every game, even if it’s just a scrimmage, because of nerves—I found that one out the hard way.”

  Sonja’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “He’s told you a lot more than he’s told us.”

  “I told him a lot too. To basically shut the fuck up and do his job or get out.”

  They both grinned, but I cringed. “I’m sorry. My gram always told me my mouth would get me in trouble one day. Mostly it just scares people off.”

  “I’m not offended,” Sonja said with a flick of her wrist.

  Piper gestured to herself. “I’ve been known to throw around an f-bomb or two. I mean, it’s a verb, noun, and adjective. There is no better curse word in the English language.”

  I laughed, truly relaxing for the first time in what felt like months.

  We talked for a long time, through dinner, another drink, and the dessert Piper and I split. Sonja told me about some of the highs and lows of being a female boxer and her upcoming bout in Chicago. She had her eye on the next Summer Olympics, and I was truly amazed at a woman who could literally get knocked down and back up for a living.

  Piper was a craft beer brewer and in the midst of expanding her business. She showed me pictures of her gorgeous boyfriend and regaled me with all kinds of stories of how they met, how he taught her how to swim—or really, doggy-paddle, as Sonja said—and how he had most recently bought her a Golden Girls T-shirt, which she sported now. Clearly, she was head over heels in love.

  I didn’t know what that was like.

  Not since Dustin Jacobs broke my heart junior year of high school. He was a soccer player with long, shaggy hair that flew out by his ears when he’d run down the field. We’d sat next to each other in math class, and I was so in love with him I’d hung on his every word and had let him cheat off me on all the tests. One day I’d finally gotten up the courage to tell him how I felt, and he’d said, “You’re cool. I don’t want to ruin our friendship. You’re like one of the guys, you know. One of my best friends.”

  And then the next week, I’d found out he had hooked up with Jana Teke, the pretty cheerleading captain, at Ryan Taylor’s party. It was the first time I’d realized what it meant to be “one of the guys.” That I fit in, but only in a very specific role, and only until they didn’t want me anymore.

  “So, what’s it really like being a female football coach?” Piper asked, tipping her beer glass on its edge.

  “It’s great,” I said, my usual answer, but they didn’t fall for it. Both of them stared at me, waiting.

  “Most people don’t have a problem with me coachin’ football, not with my skills or how I work. In my opinion, they have a problem with everythin’ else. My looks, my sexuality, whether I’m too weak or too tough. Too masculine or too feminine. I don’t fit into the right boxes for certain people, and it makes them nervous.”

  Sonja and Piper smiled ruefully as if they understood.

  “One time I had an alumnus from the college tell me I shouldn’t coach because I was a distraction.” Hearing the words in my head even years later didn’t take the sting out of them. “As if I was just a body, you know? Like all my years on the field, all my work meant nothin’ because I have boobs.”

  Piper clucked her tongue. “I hear that.”

  I went on, happy to get all this off my chest to women who knew where I was coming from. “When I was a kid, I tried to blend in as much as possible. I had short hair and wore real baggy clothes, but eventually I realized I shouldn’t have to act or look any different than I wanted to. I wasn’t the problem. They were.”

  “Got that right,” Sonja said, gesturing to the waitress for another water with lemon.

  “But to answer your question, sometimes it’s very isolating being a woman and a football coach. I’m surrounded by a lot of people, but I stick out like a sore thumb. And relationships are even worse. A man who is confident enough in himself to not be intimidated by what I do is difficult to find.”r />
  “Maybe you’ll find him here.” Piper smiled.

  I huffed. “Yeah, right. Besides, I’m not here for that. I’m here for football, for the field, the sounds, the smell of sweat and dirt.”

  Piper’s nose wrinkled. “I have an aversion to dirt and sweat.”

  Sonja laughed and pointed her thumb between the two of them. “We’ve got an opposites-attract kind of thing going on.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “So, when can you move in?” Piper asked, sitting on the edge of her seat.

  Sonja backhanded Piper’s arm.

  “Ow. What?”

  “You don’t get to decide. You’re moving out in, like, two weeks.”

  Piper rolled her eyes.

  Sonja grinned, and leaned toward me. “So, when can you move in?”

  “Is tonight too soon?”

  We all laughed. And I knew that I wanted these women on my team.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Connor

  Like a lot of kids, I’d dreamed of the NFL. I’d wanted the money and the fame and my name on ESPN. I had wanted to be the player everyone drafted on their fantasy football teams. In my high school and college years, I naïvely thought it was possible for me. I thought if I wanted it bad enough, I’d get it.

  I didn’t account for my actual talent, which wasn’t anywhere near the elite level I arrogantly thought I was at. With time and maturity, I could admit I was never meant for that life.

  And that was okay. I was a simple guy, and I made myself happy with teaching and coaching. It suited me. I enjoyed teaching history, even if the kids constantly asked to listen to that Broadway musical on a loop. I’d learned a long time ago to pick my battles with students, and the Hamilton soundtrack was one I’d lost.

  I actually looked forward to the first day of school. It wasn’t all that different from the first day of practice, filled with skills assessments and team-building. I had my own routine that started with introducing myself and the year of academics, and ended with handing out American history textbooks. Before I knew it, fifth period rolled around, and with it, lunch duty.

  I gave a couple of fist bumps to a few players as I passed them toward the back of the cafeteria. There were two sets of doors, in the front and the back, and for some unlucky reason I got stuck with lunch duty every year, so I’d come to think of the back doors as my usual post. I tucked my hands in my pockets and leaned against the wall, scanning the long rectangular room. Lunch was always uproarious, but after a while it sort of settled to a loud white noise.