the boy piped up, launching himself at Terry in a way that surprised her. “Soccer!”
Terry looked just as surprised at the sudden physical attention, but stood, holding her son in one arm with little effort. “Great,” he said, looking at her. “I’ll bring him back once I’ve worn him out, Mariah,” he said caressing the syllables of her name like a lover.
Like her lover.
Oh dear Lord. This cannot be happening.
She nodded, still incapable of speech. The two of them left, Cole running his mouth a mile a minute about the pool, his new friend Henry, how he liked to play the piano, did Terry like to play the piano?
She slumped against the desk. Kieran turned to face her, hands tucked in his jeans pockets, a smile on his face.
“I’ve known Terry O’Leary since we were crawling around in church nursery school together,” he said. “He’s a good guy. If a little misdirected lately. He had a bit of a tough run once he got to college.”
She sucked in a breath. “It’s not…what you think,” she ended, lamely.
“Oh, I don’t think anything,” Kieran said, grabbing a balloon that floated between them. “I’m just letting you know that Terry could be a very good, or a very bad thing for you. But I’m sure you would be a great thing for him. I’ll let you decide. In the meantime, tell my admin what you need to get set up. All the sheet music and whatnot are in there.” He waved in the direction of the choir room. “You’ve got a bunch of new stuff here.” He gestured at two boxes from the office supply store. “I’m so glad to have you here, Mariah,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice croaky.
He shot her a jaunty salute then headed down the hall, calling out to someone else and leaving her to her roiling, tumultuous thoughts.
Chapter Eleven
“So help me,” Terry muttered under his breath as he glared down at his phone screen—his distressingly blank phone screen. “What is it with her?” He trained his gaze back out on the field. “Hey, Jackson, what did I tell you about marking up?” He refocused on his job, letting his aggravation with Mariah’s ongoing refusal to see him slide for the moment. “Stop, stop, stop, already,” he barked, before he remembered he had a whistle, which he blew. Loudly.
The field full of teenaged boys stopped, many of them gassed, hand on hips, wringing with sweat. With a snort of disgust, he called them in close, then demonstrated the defensive move yet again the—marking a player. Making sure that offensive player did not get past you to score a goal.
Basic stuff.
But Kieran hadn’t been kidding about the abysmal state of the soccer program at Lucasville High. He’d had to go way back to basics with this crew, many of whom were off-season football or basketball players looking for an outlet or an excuse to stay fit.
When he’d figured that out, he’d made them run, and run…and run some more. There was no more overall fit an athlete than a soccer player—at least one who takes the sport seriously. Running was what soccer players did, for forty-five minutes a half with no breaks unless someone got hurt.
The first week of pre-season non-stop running he’d lost four kids—lazy fuckers to his mind, so no great loss. At least three sets of parents had questioned his methods. He’d deferred them to their principal, who’d assured them that Terry was highly qualified to coach and would demand nothing of their sons that the boys couldn’t handle.
Surprisingly, the team hadn’t sucked. They’d even won a few games—half of them, now that the season was almost over. But at times, he missed the strict discipline of the Operators, their single minded focus on being in the best shape, with the sharpest set of skills whether they were in languages, computers, marksmanship, hand-to-hand. Babysitting this pack of kids at times felt like the world’s biggest comedown.
The fact that Mariah Bailey had been blowing him off for a solid
Terry looked just as surprised at the sudden physical attention, but stood, holding her son in one arm with little effort. “Great,” he said, looking at her. “I’ll bring him back once I’ve worn him out, Mariah,” he said caressing the syllables of her name like a lover.
Like her lover.
Oh dear Lord. This cannot be happening.
She nodded, still incapable of speech. The two of them left, Cole running his mouth a mile a minute about the pool, his new friend Henry, how he liked to play the piano, did Terry like to play the piano?
She slumped against the desk. Kieran turned to face her, hands tucked in his jeans pockets, a smile on his face.
“I’ve known Terry O’Leary since we were crawling around in church nursery school together,” he said. “He’s a good guy. If a little misdirected lately. He had a bit of a tough run once he got to college.”
She sucked in a breath. “It’s not…what you think,” she ended, lamely.
“Oh, I don’t think anything,” Kieran said, grabbing a balloon that floated between them. “I’m just letting you know that Terry could be a very good, or a very bad thing for you. But I’m sure you would be a great thing for him. I’ll let you decide. In the meantime, tell my admin what you need to get set up. All the sheet music and whatnot are in there.” He waved in the direction of the choir room. “You’ve got a bunch of new stuff here.” He gestured at two boxes from the office supply store. “I’m so glad to have you here, Mariah,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice croaky.
He shot her a jaunty salute then headed down the hall, calling out to someone else and leaving her to her roiling, tumultuous thoughts.
Chapter Eleven
“So help me,” Terry muttered under his breath as he glared down at his phone screen—his distressingly blank phone screen. “What is it with her?” He trained his gaze back out on the field. “Hey, Jackson, what did I tell you about marking up?” He refocused on his job, letting his aggravation with Mariah’s ongoing refusal to see him slide for the moment. “Stop, stop, stop, already,” he barked, before he remembered he had a whistle, which he blew. Loudly.
The field full of teenaged boys stopped, many of them gassed, hand on hips, wringing with sweat. With a snort of disgust, he called them in close, then demonstrated the defensive move yet again the—marking a player. Making sure that offensive player did not get past you to score a goal.
Basic stuff.
But Kieran hadn’t been kidding about the abysmal state of the soccer program at Lucasville High. He’d had to go way back to basics with this crew, many of whom were off-season football or basketball players looking for an outlet or an excuse to stay fit.
When he’d figured that out, he’d made them run, and run…and run some more. There was no more overall fit an athlete than a soccer player—at least one who takes the sport seriously. Running was what soccer players did, for forty-five minutes a half with no breaks unless someone got hurt.
The first week of pre-season non-stop running he’d lost four kids—lazy fuckers to his mind, so no great loss. At least three sets of parents had questioned his methods. He’d deferred them to their principal, who’d assured them that Terry was highly qualified to coach and would demand nothing of their sons that the boys couldn’t handle.
Surprisingly, the team hadn’t sucked. They’d even won a few games—half of them, now that the season was almost over. But at times, he missed the strict discipline of the Operators, their single minded focus on being in the best shape, with the sharpest set of skills whether they were in languages, computers, marksmanship, hand-to-hand. Babysitting this pack of kids at times felt like the world’s biggest comedown.
The fact that Mariah Bailey had been blowing him off for a solid
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