Page 16 of Play For Me

“You tell us if he does,” Wyatt says, looking every bit as menacing as Will.

If he does, I’ll take care of it myself. And me kneeing him in the balls will be the least of his worries. But I don’t tell my brothers that.

A muffled shout draws our attention back to the grill. Uncle Lennon has Dad in a headlock while Uncle Reed and Uncle Daltrey laugh. I barely bat an eye—they’re always like this.

“They’re children,” Wyatt says fondly.

“Maybe one of you should go over there and be the adult,” I say. “Make sure they don’t burn the food while they’re acting like kindergarteners.”

“It would be good to feed my kids sometime in the near future,” Will says, standing.

“Pretty sure Theo has already eaten his weight in Doritos.” I point to where my nephew is happily sticking half his arm into the chip bowl on the buffet, his face and hands covered in bright orange powder.

“I took my eyes off him for two seconds,” Will mutters, already striding across the patio, while Wyatt and I laugh.

After lunch,I take Theo out back to kick around the soccer ball. My parents had a mini field installed years ago, since all three of my brothers played through high school. My mom played, too. According to my brothers, she could have played atthe college level if she hadn’t gotten married and had Wyatt at such a young age.

Theo’s idea of soccer mainly consists of me chasing him around the field and occasionally kicking the ball while Wyatt’s dog George runs circles around us, barking excitedly. Eventually Eva, Will’s wife, comes to wrangle him into taking a nap. The kid must have worn himself out, because he actually agrees, instead of throwing the full-blown tantrum that usually occurs at nap time.

“You wanna run some actual drills?” Will asks once Eva has taken the baby inside.

I grin up at him. “How about we play some one-on-one?”

He groans. “I don’t really feel like getting my ass kicked today, Ceece.”

“Aw, come on,” I urge, already dribbling the ball around him. “You can keep up.”

He makes a face, but turns back to the patio. “Mom!” He shouts. “Wyatt! Come play.”

“What about me?” Dad calls back.

“You stay right where you are, old man,” Wyatt says, handing the baby off to Dad as he stands to join us. “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

Dad grumbles but I know he’s happier holding a baby than playing soccer. Cash Ransome’s version of athleticism is jumping around a stage with his guitar.

We split into teams—Wyatt and Mom versus me and Will. The boys, particularly Will, are big, and they’ve always played a physical game, never going easy on me just because I’m a girl. Especially not after I started getting faster than them. Mom and I have the advantage in footwork so the teams are pretty evenly matched.

“Need to work on that cross,” I chide Wyatt as he tries and fails to block my shot.

“You’re so damn annoying,” he pants, and I laugh before passing the ball across to Will.

I can’t wipe the grin off my face as I dart around Wyatt to move down the field. This is my happy place. A soccer field. My parents’ back yard. My brothers. The rest of the family scattered around on the patio and in the pool.

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Nowhere else where I feel more like myself.

Predictably, the boys get tired first. They try to cover with the excuse that they need to help their wives with the kids, but no one is buying it. Mom stays out with me, helping me run a few drills.

“Come here,” she says after a while, pulling me down to the grass. I collapse beside her, breathing hard, and don’t object when she takes my foot and lifts my left leg. She pushes back, helping me stretch, her eyes on my face for any sign of discomfort.

“My knee is fine, Mom,” I say softly. “Really.”

“Hmm,” is her only response.

I struggle to keep my defensiveness in check. “Did I look like I was favoring it?”

“No,” she admits, now pushing my leg in gentle circles. “How’s practice been feeling?”

She’s careful to keep her tone even, but I can read the concern from a mile away.