Reese had played with the girl at her father’s Christmas party. This much closer to her, Reese could make out the same sadness around the eyes her father always carried. The same tender, tentative smile, like neither of them were sure when or if they should find anything funny. That countenance made the girl seem older, far wiser than what her looks gave away about her.
“Keola, I’m so happy to see you again.” She glanced at Pukui, smiling at him when he moved his chin up, as though giving Reese silent permission to try and relax his daughter. “You think I could have a hug?” It took several seconds of Keola looking up at her father, waiting for permission, before she moved, leaning into Reese’s hug.
They had been told the details of the accident just before the wildcard practice which Ricks confided Pukui wasn’t likely to make. Keola had been with her mother early afternoon two weeks before. It had rained all day. The roads were slick, and the driver of another car, drunk from post-Christmas celebrating, crossed the center line and plowed into the driver’s side of Keola’s car. Her mother had died instantly, and she’d been uprooted, coming to live with her father in New Orleans, a world away from the life she knew on the big island.
“If you’re up to it,” Reese said, pulling the girl back to smile at her. “You could practice with my Minis; maybe you could play a little during the tournament.”
She looked between Reese and her father, smile widening when he nodded down at her. “Okay,” she told Reese, dropping Pukui’s hand. “Where do I go?”
It turned out that Keola Pukui had her father’s talent. She’d dressed out for the first of the playoff games, trouncing the offense much like her father did every week, though she wasn’t as big as the boys they played, she was fierce and, Reese admitted to herself, a little scary.
“She’s working through her anger,” Pukui admitted, stepping next to Reese as her Minis lined up a new drive against Hanson’s team. “My sister came back with me…to help…” He nodded at the field, gaze on his daughter. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”
It was an honest admission, one that Reese had no answer to. Maybe he felt comfortable around her because she was a woman. Maybe he confided in her because she’d been kind to his daughter. Whatever his reasoning, Reese didn’t comment. If he wanted to speak, she’d listen.
“None of us do when something new gets thrown at us,” she told him when he went quiet. “I guess you just have to figure out what works best.”
Pukui looked down at her, the same non-expression on his relaxed mouth. She didn’t know what he saw when he looked down at her, but she seemed to have said the right thing.
“You didn’t know shit about playing pro ball before you got here,” he observed. She nodded, and they both shouted when the tall blonde quarterback on the Minis got sacked by one of Hanson’s defenders.
“Hey!” Reese shouted, pointing at her downed player. “This is touch, remember?”
From the other side of the makeshift field, Hanson shrugged. Laughing at Reese as she directed the ref to the kids on the field.
“Suck it up, Noble!” Hanson shouted, smile obnoxious and wide. “You should have taught them about how bad it hurts getting taken down or, ya know, how to make a good sandwich.” Reese fumed, knowing that Hanson would have never tried this shit against Ryder’s team. He hadn’t done anything remotely similar when Reese and Ryder worked their teams together during practice.
But now it was tournament play. Now there was no co-coaching.
Karma is just, if not swift, and though Hanson was making an ass of himself as he crowed on about females and sport, the man continued in spite of dark looks being thrown his way. Until the third and second-to-last game of the tournament. The Minis were playing Hanson’s Raiders for a shot at the final against Ryder’s team, The NOLA Ryders. He kept running his mouth, despite the cool warnings he got from Ryder and Wilson and the furious, threatening looks the parents leveled at him.
Around the end of the fourth quarter in the game, Hanson started in on the Minis, shouting for them to fix their hair or stop for selfies. The tension in the crowd was thick and the louder Hanson got, the closer his teammates came to circle him. He didn’t notice