The Long Game (Long Game, #1)

“Oh. Oh.” Adalyn jumped back, breaking the contact. My skin felt cold where her fingers had been. She huffed. “Well, she must be a very territorial cat if she’s feeling that way over nothing.” She looked everywhere but at me. “After all, you would love nothing more than seeing me pack my things, leave town, and never look back, right?” I winced, and she shook her head. “This is just temporary. I’ll leave and we’re… working together only because we must. I forced your hand.”

I frowned. I had not expected her to say that. To bring up words I had seemed to make myself forget.

“Anyway.” She walked around me, taking step after step down. “I’ll see you in an hour. When we leave for the, uh, game.” She made it all the way down. “Just horny—Honk! The horn. Or text. When you’re ready and I’ll come out. I guess that’s the one perk of getting saddled with me here, right?”

She broke into a jog and I stood there, watching her get back to her cabin.

Only when her door had closed behind her did I say, “Right.”

Because she was right about this being just temporary and me wanting to see her go.

Right?





CHAPTER TWENTY



Cameron


The girls left the middle of the Rockstone field and made their way toward the guest bench with red cheeks and ponies, pigtails, bunnies, and whatnot sticking in all directions.

I assessed them in silence, one by one, not surprised by the way they were dragging their feet or how they plopped on the ground around me and Adalyn.

“This sucks,” Juniper muttered, taking her frustration out on the grass under her outstretched legs. “We suck. We suck monkey butt. We suck so bad, we probably suck worse than monkey butt.”

Nodding heads created a wave of agreement, and I had to clap my hands to capture their attention before the conversation veered too deep into muddy terrain. “You don’t suck,” I assured the team in a firm tone. “You played a good game. You battled, hard. And left all you had on the grass.”

“But we lost,” Chelsea countered, tugging furiously at the remainder of her braid. Her tutu—which I now considered a lost battle—hung sideways. “We didn’t even score. We’ve only scored once in two games. And it didn’t even count.”

I decided not to comment on the own goal. “You didn’t lose. Nil-nil is not a loss.”

Chelsea threw her hand up, resting it against her forehead as she sighed. “It’s just as tragic as a loss, Coach Cam.”

“We’re losers,” Juniper muttered.

“And we worked so hard this week,” Chelsea added, encouraged by the other kid. “I haven’t missed soccer practice, not even once. Not even for ballet class. I feel like I haven’t danced in aaaages. I told my mom I could do both things, but I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I should pick just the one thing and focus on it.”

“I haven’t been spending time with Brandy, either,” María grumbled from her spot on the grass. “Or Tilly. Or Carmen. And Sebastian is still missing.”

A somber mutter started picking up speed and volume. Every kid relating their own overdramatic version of their sacrifices for the game.

I brought my fingers to my mouth and whistled.

All mouths snapped closed.

“So you feel like you lost,” I said stepping forward. “So you worked hard for a whole week, got here today, tried your hardest, and got beat.” All heads were looking at me now, eyes wide and sparkly with a sentiment that, had I been smarter, I would have interpreted as my cue to shut up. But it bothered me seeing them like this. “Well, news flash, girlies. Life is not a walk in the park. Life is hard. Sometimes you win and oftentimes you lose. But this is only the outcome of one game. You fall and then you stand up and chase after the… little league cup.”

I sensed Adalyn shuffle closer. “There’s no cup,” she whispered loudly. “The prize is a trip to the Jungle Rapids Family Fun Park.”

“I love the Jungle Rapids,” Juniper grumbled.

“So you fall and then stand up and chase after the… trip to the Jungle Rapids,” I continued. “Tripping only toughens you. It’s moments like these that harden you. And believe me, you have a minimum of three more games ahead of you, so toughen up.”

María sniffed loudly. “But—” Another sniff. “I… I don’t want to be hard. Or tough. I want to be soft.” Her head turned toward Adalyn. “Miss Adalyn, tell Coach Carwash that girls can be both.”

My gaze jumped from the girl to the woman by my side, who was now glaring at me.

“It’s a figure of speech,” I explained. But it didn’t seem to make a difference with either of them, because María sniffed again, and Adalyn went from pissed to… sad. I shook my head. “Girls can be soft and hard, yes, all at the same time. I also wanted to win today, all right? I wanted you to beat those kids and wipe the floor with them. But you didn’t.” I heard a sob, and my eyes widened. “That’s another figure of speech. Listen—”

“Coach.” Adalyn’s hand fell on my arm, and I could feel how cold it was through the fabric of my jacket. “I don’t think this is helping.”

“Adalyn.” I stepped toward her, as if my body had a mind of its own. She was freezing. “Darling—”

“I’m fine,” she said, but she had to be lying. She was shivering in that stupid trench coat she had insisted was enough. “But the girls are not. They’re sad, and I know you mean well, but you’re not making it better.”

In confirmation, a few more sobs broke out in the group.

“I’m not good with motivational stuff,” I muttered.

“I see that,” Adalyn answered. She lowered her voice. “They are crying, though. And I don’t know what to do with crying children, Cameron.”

A throat was cleared behind us.

I turned to find Tony planted on my other side. He’d been hanging out in the stands after being asked by Adalyn to drive the girls to Rockstone in a minibus she’d arranged for.

“Can I…” He hesitated, scratching that mass of brown shaggy hair atop his head. “Can I suggest something? Hmm, sir?” His cheeks reddened. “Ma’am?”

“Please,” we said at the same time.

“Sno-cones.”

“Sno-cones?” I repeated.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “It’s like ice cream but… without the cream? Sorry, I’m sure you know what they are. I saw a coffee stand outside when I was parking the van. It’s a little cold, but I know for a fact they will go crazy over them. The stand had a sign—”

“Yes,” I rushed out. “Ice-lollies, of course. Ice cream.” Some of the kids looked in our direction, still weeping but definitely interested. “How fast can you fetch them?”

“Huh, fast?”

I pulled out my wallet and slapped more than enough cash in his hand. “Grab me something hot, too, all right?” I checked the time. It was past noon. “Not coffee. Tea, cocoa, or whatever else they have. The largest size. And keep the change.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said, looking down. His eyes widened. “Whoa. This is… thank you, sir.”

“Just Cam,” I told him. “Now go.”

Tony shot off running, disappearing through the crowd of Rockstone parents and locals gathered around the field.

My wrist was squeezed.

With the commotion, I’d missed how Adalyn’s hand had shifted to my sleeve and was holding on to it. “I hope the sno-cones work.”

“I hope so, too,” she said with a little tug at my jacket. Without thought or reason, I brought her hand between mine. Then, quickly snatched her other one and trapped both between my palms. Her words were wobbly when she spoke next, “You really suck at speeches.”

I looked up at her, expecting to see a complaint in her face. But there wasn’t any frown. Her nose was red, her eyes glassy, and her lips shaped in a pout that told me she was relieved by the way my hands were rubbing hers, warming them up.

“Maybe that’s the one thing I don’t know how to do,” I admitted. I brought our hands to my chest. And when she gave me one of those tiny smiles, I had to stop myself from pulling her into me. “I can’t believe I told them to toughen up.”

“No wonder they cried,” she said in a serious voice. “For a second, I thought even you were going to cry. It was terrible, really.”

I stared at her. At her lips, now twitching. Bending upward. I couldn’t believe she was teasing me. With a goddamn smile.

I pulled at her arms, gently but firmly enough to make her stumble toward me. Our hands were sandwiched by our chests.

“It was worth it.”

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