Page 10 of Hometown Halftime

His laugh follows me outside, and I ignore the way my pulse picks up.

We work together to haul everything out to the field just as the first cluster of girls arrives. They’re loud, talking over each other, bags bouncing off their hips. My nerves suddenly return.

“Coach M!” A tall girl with a ponytail waves. “Where do we put our stuff?”

“Sideline,” I call back. “We’re not doing drills today—just introductions and gear. I have name tags and a marker, grab one and put it on, please.”

They all drop their bags and walk toward Riley and me. They start passing around the marker to write their names as more girls trickle in, some in pairs and others in trios. Knox told me some of them are members of the girls’ soccer team, a couple are on the basketball team, there’s one band kid whose arms look stronger than mine, and we have the school’s track star, Tara, who sprints straight across the field to a dead stop in front of me.

“I don’t know the rules yet,” she says breathlessly. “But I want to run people down.”

“That’s the spirit,” I say.

Riley snorts behind me. I ignore him because I’m not looking at the glasses again.

The girls gather in a semicircle. Some look excited while others look terrified. One is already elbowing another because teenagers are incapable of standing next to each other without physical contact.

“Alright,” I say, hands on my hips. “Welcome to day one of Cedar Falls High School girls’ rugby. I’m Coach Malone. This is your assistant coach, Coach Weston.”

Riley gives a small, confident wave. A few girls whisper, which is expected. He’s young, and—I’ll deny this to my dying day—cute.

I press on. “Today is about introductions and information. We’ll go over some stuff for the season. More importantly, I want to hear your names, why you’re here, and whether you’ve ever tackled someone on purpose.”

Hands shoot up into the sky around me.

A firecracker with red braids steps forward, pointing to her name tag. “My name is Brooke, I played basketball, and I once tackled my cousin because he stole my bike.”

“Excellent,” I say. “Next.”

The girls go one by one, shouting their answers.

“I wanted to play football, but my mom wouldn’t let me.”

“I saw a clip online of women tackling each other, and it looked fun.”

“I’m here because Paige said she’d join if I did, because she’s too scared to do it alone.”

“Not true,” Paige says, stepping forward. “I’m here because I like new things. And because Brooke is co-dependent.”

Brooke blows her a kiss and Paige pretends to swat it away.

Tara announces she wants to be “the person who does the big hits.” A girl named Megan asks if she can bedazzle her jersey. Another player quietly informs me she’s never played a sport before but wants to start.

Every single one of them makes me grin. This ragtag group of energetic young women will be perfect.

When it’s time to hand out gear, Riley helps distribute their kits. He’s calm and patient, explaining sizes, answering questions, speaking to them with confidence. He kneels to help one freshman adjust her cleats, and she preens at the attention.

The glasses slide down his nose, and I pretend not to stare.

“Coach Malone,” he says quietly when the group disperses to try on gear. “You okay?”

“Yes.” My voice cracks. “I’m great. Why?”

He tilts his head. “You’re gripping that clipboard hard enough to crush it.”

I look down. My hand is white knuckled around the edge.

Fantastic.