Second Time Around

Chapter Six

Football practice seemed to last forever and by the time it was over, Tony had already flung his clipboard into the bleachers twice, chewed out his quarterback three times, an outside linebacker at least four times, and silently vowed to hand in his resignation in the morning. This team was a disaster. An utter, fucking disaster.

"Did any one of you bother to read the damn playbooks?" he asked, after two wide receivers crashed into each other mid-field, with neither of them even catching the football.

"Sorry, Coach. I thought I was supposed to slant right." Troy Berkeley said, yanking off his helmet.

"No. You were supposed to go left. Abrams, you were supposed to go right." Tony's throat hurt from yelling, so he lowered his voice by gritting his teeth. "Go hit the showers and tonight, study that damn playbook. Got it?"

"Yes, Coach," they replied in unison, joining the rest of the team as they jogged off the field.

Tony sank onto one of the benches on the sidelines and leaned back, closing his eyes. Some days, retirement looked pretty damn good.

"They're rough, huh?" Steve Cassel sank onto the bench beside him, tapping his clipboard against his thigh.

"Rough? Rough would be an improvement." Tony opened his eyes, but didn't lift his head. It was nearly six and the sky was streaked withe midnight blue and coral. "These kids are going to get killed on Friday night. Killed. I hate to see them start off oh-and-two. Their morale gets crushed too early and we'll never get the ship righted."

"I'll work with Abrams and Berkeley on the slants, teach them their left from their other left. Maxwell looks good, comfortable in and out of the pocket."

"Yeah, but that won't do us a damn bit of good if our receivers can't catch a damn football." Tony reached up and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, I've got to get home. I promised my daughter lasagna for dinner. With any luck, I'll actually have it ready tonight."

"You're cooking?"

Tony lifted his head. "Yeah. I do that, you know. Amy said she'd have the pasta ready, so I just have to put it together and throw it in the oven."

Cassel shook his head. "If the opposing coaches could see you, they'd never fear you, Mr. Mom."

Tony grinned. "I love my girls. Dee sprained her ankle and can't play for a few weeks. This is to cheer her up a little."

"Let me guess, black raspberry ice cream as well." Cassel tapped Tony's knee with his clipboard. "Go. I'll see everyone gets out of here. Give the girls my best."

"You know it and I will." Tony pushed up from the bench. "I'll see you tomorrow, Steve."

He left the practice field and crossed to his SUV. Fall crept into the night air, so he switched on the heat and shifted into drive to rock out of the parking lot. At Fairview, he made a left and stopped first to pick up the promised black raspberry ice cream, then headed home.

Home was a spacious dark gray Colonial on Longhill Road. He pulled to a stop at the two-car garage, but didn't bother opening the bay. He usually parked in the driveway, alongside Amy's Honda Civic. The car was a birthday present from him and her mother, and she took great care of it.

Every light in the house blazed bright and when he stepped into the front hallway, the wonderful aroma of bubbling sauce and browned ground beef greeted him. Music came from the kitchen and Amy and Deidre were laughing like lunatics about something.

He smiled as he kicked off his shoes just inside the front door. Nothing made him smile like the sound of his daughters getting along. Going from four to three had taken some adjusting, but they managed and in the three years since he and their mother divorced, they'd become a tight-knit family of three.