Forever Promised (6 page)

“Oh fuck,” Deacon said quietly, pulling his attention back to the soccer field and the puzzled little kids running around on it. “That’s it. That’s the line. Hold me back.”

And then he abruptly strode onto the field and grabbed Parry Angel as she ran up to him.

“Hey, what are you doing?” yelled the coach. Allan Ness was one of those guys who’d been brawny in high school and was running toward a bit of “extra” muscle now. Collin remembered him from high school, actually—he’d been a few years older, in Crick’s class. He’d been one of the benchwarmers on the football team, and one of the kids most likely to rub it in to the kids who weren’t on the team that he was way more special by virtue of his mighty man muscles and his personality sphincter.

“Did you really just tell them to elbow the other little kids on the field?” Deacon asked as Parry Angel looked at the coach with a scowl.

Collin had heard the guy do it, and he
still
couldn’t believe that’s what he’d heard.

“That’s the way to get the little losers to win!” the guy said with one of those stupid “these bozos are missing the point!” expressions that made Collin want to slap him, because a punch had too much class.

“Yeah. Well, my kid’s not playing on a team that does that,” Deacon said decisively. “Parry, darlin’, ready to go get ice cream?” Parry smiled in relief, and Deacon put her down. “Go get your water bottle, darling. We’re out of here.” Collin had watched her little round face get scrunchier and scrunchier as practice had progressed, and he hadn’t blamed her. The coach had been screaming and shrill, and Parry wasn’t the only kid running around in the spotty grass looking confused. Yeah, sure, the kids got to U12 and they could play a little rough—rubbing was racing, right? But at Parry’s age? Under eight? No. You didn’t tell little kids to beat up on each other. Collin’s mother would have yanked him off the field too.

So when the coach sneered, “Yeah, Deacon Winters, the whole town’ll know which kid’s being raised by faggots, won’t they?” Collin was shocked enough to let his mouth hang open, but Deacon, apparently, was a little more levelheaded.

He smiled easily, tipped his hat, and said, “You come to my land and say that to me when we’re not in front of a bunch of children who shouldn’t hear that word, and you see who’s weak and who’s just stupid.”

He went to turn around and take Parry Angel’s hand, and the coach tried to blindside him.

But Coach Ness really
had
gotten out of shape since high school, and Deacon spent his entire life breaking horses. For a man who’d had a heart attack before he was thirty, Deacon was in some fantastic physical condition.

He ducked instinctively and returned with a sharp and effective punch to the nose. He scooped Parry into his arms and strode off the field as the coach’s knees buckled. Collin trotted in Deacon’s wake, smirking as Parry said, “But
Deacon
, you’re not supposed to hit people!”

Deacon grunted. Given what Collin knew about some of Deacon’s history, the grunt carried a whole lot he hoped Parry Angel might never learn. “You don’t get to hit first, Angel, but self-defense is perfectly acceptable—even to your mother, I’m sure.”

Collin snickered and looked behind them to see what sort of chaos rode Deacon’s jet trail. Ness was sputtering blood and struggling to sit up, calling to Deacon that he couldn’t do that, and the other parents were grabbing their
own
children by the hands and… uh-oh. Wait a minute.

“Hey, Deacon!” Collin called, running to keep up. “Deacon, they’re trying to get your attention!”

Deacon’s full mouth lifted in the corner with incredulity. “Well so does a torch and pitchfork mob, Collin, but you don’t see me stopping for one of
those
, do you?”

“No, seriously! Deacon, they’ve got their kids with them—I don’t think it’s like that!”

Deacon eyeballed him suspiciously and then turned around to look. Sure enough, the parents—lots of women in tank tops and walking shorts and men in cargo shorts and T-shirts, all between Deacon and Collin’s age—were gathering their children and their fold-up chairs and blankets and dragging them inelegantly toward Deacon as he walked off the practice field toward the car. A few of them were waving and calling his name.

Deacon’s eyes opened wide and if Collin didn’t know better, he’d say Deacon Winters, the family patriarch and center of any storm weathered at The Pulpit, was terrified.

The first woman of the group drew near, panting and out of breath. “Wait… up… a… sec…,” she breathed and then looked behind her. Her son was galloping up quickly, and her older son was running toward them in a flurry of schoolbooks and dropped papers, because apparently he’d been doing his homework while his little brother was practicing. “Jason!” she screamed. “You dropped your math!” and the kid turned around like a capering puppy and hustled back to fetch it.

“Whew!” she said, smoothing her hair back. “I thought you were just going to take off!”

“Well, uhm, yeah,” Deacon said, looking to Collin as though being sought out in a crowd was completely bizarre.

Collin shrugged back. Well, you couldn’t always pick your social situation, could you?

“That was the plan. What can I do for you….”

“I’m Megan, Tyler’s mother,” she said. She smiled at him, warm and genuine. She was a tall woman, taller than Deacon, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and posture that didn’t give an inch, although she had a few to spare. “And I can’t believe we let that situation go on for so long. Parry’s mother—Benny? Is that right?—anyway, she’s been distracted a little. I’m not sure she saw how bad it was. But, uhm, anyway. So, do you want to coach?”

Deacon’s jaw dropped, and Collin looked at him, curious. It couldn’t have been
that
out of the realm of possibility, could it?

But then Collin vaguely remembered the gossip that had circulated through his mom’s diner when Deacon had come out during a trial for assaulting an officer, and thought that maybe, well, for Deacon, it was like a slingshot into the sun.

“I beg your pardon?” He still had his eyes wide open, like a possum in the headlights, and Collin almost smacked him to ask him what was wrong.

“Yes,” Megan said as Collin blinked and looked at Deacon again. “You’re very good with her. We all saw you practicing while we were waiting for Coach Douchecanoe”—Collin choked on a smirk—“to get here. I’m already team mom—I’ve got no problem helping you with all the administrative stuff. We just need someone on the field who can deal with other people’s kids and not want to use them for highway piñatas.”

She was so earnest, with big blue eyes and a sort of long-faced prettiness, that when she said things like that, Collin just wanted to fall to the ground and kick his heels in the dust laughing. He couldn’t
wait
to tell Jeff about this woman. Jeffy would probably come out to watch the games just to talk to her, because Jeff liked people who could crack him the fuck up.

“I’ll be assistant coach,” he said quickly. Martin was going back down south for his final year in high school, and, well, Collin and Jeff missed him already. Collin had discovered he
liked
kids, liked his sisters’ kids, liked the kids at The Pulpit, liked the kids at Promise House—just generally liked spending time with young people. Jeffy wasn’t half-bad at it either. They were neither of them looking to adopt, but still…. “I still play rec-league soccer,” Collin said, and Deacon nodded because the guys had been out to a few of his games (much to his embarrassment—Jeffy’s pom-poms were adorable and
overkill at the same time). “I’d love to help out!” He smiled brightly, and he half expected Deacon to scowl back.

He was unprepared for the look of half-panicked naked gratitude.

“Thanks,” Deacon mumbled. “’Preciate it. So, how do we get rid of Coach Douchecanoe for good?” he asked Megan, and she grimaced.

“Leave that to me. My husband’s on the board—he coaches Jason’s team. I kept telling him that this guy was nucking futz—now they’ll
have
to listen!” She grinned happily then. “So, did I hear you tell Parry that you’re taking her for ice cream? Because Tyler and Jason would
love
some! And we could talk about details, and—where are you going?”

Deacon opened his mouth and closed it, and Collin had to admit, he was admiring the big guy’s discomfiture. Collin wouldn’t have expected him to be so utterly undone by a soccer mom and her—Collin did a rough count—six compatriots in mutiny.

“My mother’s diner,” Collin said decisively. “Mom’s treat, as long as it’s small. Right over there by the—”

“The garage!” Megan practically sang. “You don’t know me, because my husband brings the minivan in, but he
loves
you guys. I didn’t know that was your mother running Natalie’s
.
That’s awesome! Hey, do you think she could sponsor, because if we could get a sponsor, I wouldn’t have to make the banner by hand, and that would be a
ma
zing, because
nobody
makes you get an art degree before you start popping the little goobers out, and suddenly you’re responsible for making eight felt fire bunnies, whatever that is—whose kid thought up fire bunnies?” she asked the lady next to her, and the woman—who was much wider than Megan and not as tall—grimaced.

“Mine. Sorry ’bout that, Meggie. I have no idea where she got it.”

“Yeah, well, if we could get a sponsor, we could have the damned thing made up and then….”

Collin wasn’t sure how the woman did it. Apparently she had a day job and a phone tree and an inexhaustible supply of energy and a mouth that wouldn’t quit. It didn’t matter how she did it, though—it was done. By the time his mom (who was thrilled, go figure!) had dished up small sundaes for the kids and slightly larger sundaes for the
very
appreciative grownups, they had it nailed. Collin and Megan had talked uniforms, banners, team pictures, sponsorship, and favors (gift bags from his mom—he had no idea she even
had
such things!), and he and Deacon had a tentative schedule and an
amazing
to-do list of classes, rules, meeting places, practices, regulations, first-aid requirements, and games that they had to memorize.

It wasn’t until all the parents and kids had cleared out of the diner and Deacon had thrown away all of the ice cream containers that Collin looked at the stack of papers Megan had given him and thunked his head softly on the Formica table.

“Oh. My. God. Why are we doing this again?”

Deacon gave Parry Angel a clean washrag and told her to wipe down all of the tables, which she did with enthusiasm. “But hurry, Angel. I know you like helping, but it’s seven thirty on a school night. I think Uncle Crick was making beans tonight, so you’re going to want to get home and have dinner now that you’ve had dessert.”

“Beans!”

Collin had tasted Crick’s baked beans—the girl was right to be excited.

“I said, why are we doing this again?” Collin didn’t really need an answer, but living with Jeff made him realize he too had a hidden drama queen who sometimes needed her dues.

Deacon just curled his lip in disgust. “I have no idea why we’re doing this,” he said, and it sounded like he meant it. “I don’t even know why you were
there
! Remember, you showed up on the field and were going to tell me why before Coach Dou—uhm, Ness opened his giant fu—uh, nky trap?”

Collin smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Oh yeah! Okay, I forgot to tell you that Jeffy and Crick were going to dissect, uhm, debrief, uhm, dish about the honeymoon, and then Crick said that, oh crap!”

Deacon’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he glowered at Collin.

“He said we weren’t supposed to go for ice cream after practice, didn’t he?” Deacon asked grimly, and Collin smiled with all his teeth.

“Here, Angel,” he said, taking the cloth from Parry’s unresisting hands. “Let Uncle Collin clean this up super quick for us so we don’t make Crick any more pis—uhm, irritated than he already is.”

Parry looked at him with those big bluebell eyes. “That’s a good idea,” she said solemnly. “Uncle Crick gets pissed off when people get home late for dinner.”

Collin stared at her for a minute, and Deacon shut his eyes, apparently just as the phone picked up.

“Yeah,” Deacon said, like Crick could read his mind. “We’re coming. No, Collin didn’t relay the message—he was too busy signing us up for coaching duty. Why? Because that other guy was a douchecanoe. Yeah, I don’t care if she hears me, you already taught her ‘pissed off’, douchecanoe is an improvement. Where’d I get that? The team mom. You don’t have a corner on the swearing market, Carrick James, and neither does your sister. Yeah, we’re coming home. Dinner? Well, sort of. Does ice cream count? No, I’m not being facetious, it was an honest question, dammit!” He listened for a moment and let out a grumpy sigh. “Okay, so beans for them and rabbit pellets for me. I understand. I’m being punished.”

Crick let out an indignant squawk on the other end of the line and Deacon just chuckled and hung up the phone.

Collin shook his head. “Wow, Deacon, you can be a real asshole sometimes!”

Deacon flushed and shrugged. “It’s cute listening to him get all riled up. Sometimes he needs to remember he was a hell-raiser too. It’s good for him.”

Collin grinned widely and eyeballed the distance over the counter before aiming and shooting to pop the rag into the hamper by the sink.

“Thanks, Mom!” he called. She’d already gone back to the little accounting room to count up the drawer and the safe while they’d been finishing up their ice cream.

“You’re welcome, sweetie!” she called. “Tell me how much I need to donate so they get their banner and their party, ’kay?”

“We’re going in halvesies!” he told her and then ushered Deacon and Parry out of there before his mother could protest. He was actually tickled by the idea they’d both be in the team photo. After his severely misspent youth, it seemed like the height of legitimacy to end up on the wall in a picture with a bunch of little kids he could teach his bad habits to.