Page 118 of Hometown Halftime

Kinsey waits until every girl is listening before she speaks.

“I know this hurts,” she says. “And that’s a good thing. It should. The hurt means you cared enough to want it.”

The girls stay quiet.

I clear my throat. “She’s right. We clean up the mistakes, we learn from them, starting Monday.”

Kinsey tips her chin to the team. “Megan, I need you on playlist duty. Give us your best rage songs with as many swear words as you can find.”

The girls snicker as Megan gives a salute and says, “You got it, Coach!”

The girls head toward the bus a few minutes later, as Kinsey and I zip up our bags and double check that no one forgot anything.

Kinsey hoists her bag on her shoulder. “Are you going to talk to him?”

I glance toward the parking lot, where Dad stands near his truck, his hands in his jacket pockets like he’s waiting for something.

My jaw tightens.

“Yeah,” I say.

Kinsey doesn’t follow me, and I’m grateful for that. She just touches my arm once as I pass, a brief press of her fingers.

Dad straightens when he sees me coming. The wind cuts across the parking lot, carrying noise from the buses and parents loading chairs into trunks. I stop a few feet from him, tension coursing through me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He exhales. “Wanted to see you coach.”

I laugh, sharp and humorless. “Why?”

His brows pull together. “Because you’re my son.”

“Nope, stop right there. What about Emma, Jackson, and Lucy? I know you’ve called, but when was the last time you’ve seen them?” I say, trying to keep my voice down.

I see the hurt flash across his face. “Your mother and I will work that out.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He shuffles from side to side. “I understand you’re angry with me, but I hope we can eventually move past all this.”

I drag a hand through my hair, concentrating on my breathing because the last thing I need is half the team watching me lose it in a parking lot.

“I can’t do this right now,” I say. “The team just lost, and we need to get them home.”

Dad nods once, slow and stiff. “Okay.”

I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.

“Riley.”

My shoulders tense.

“You looked good out there,” he says.

I close my eyes for a moment to keep my composure before I look back at him.

“Dad, don’t come to any more of the games. When I’m ready to see you or talk to you, I’ll let you know.”