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1.
The knock at his door comes at half past one.
The only person rude enough to stop by unannounced this late would be Andrew, but Andrew didn’t believe in knocking, so that rules him out. David considers ignoring it, but he never knows with his foxes, so he shuffles wearily to the door to see which of his problem children decided to grace his doorstep at ass o’clock in the morning.
He opens the door expecting both anything and nothing at all, and still manages to be surprised.
On his doorstep, in the middle of the night, stands Kevin Day.
David has been following his career from the moment he stepped into the spotlight, through articles and games and interviews on TV. To see him standing there, feels a little like stepping into the cover of a sports magazine; a little unreal, a little off-kilter.
His first thought is not why , or when , or even how did you get this address ?
At half past one with a not-quite-stranger on his doorstep, the first thought to come to David’s mind is: he has his mother’s eyes .
Vibrant green, long lashes, pointed stare. It’s what strikes him first, like looking back in time to when he was younger and dumber, falling in love with a hurricane in the form of a woman.
It takes him a moment too long to take in the rest of the picture: those familiar green eyes furrowed in pain, rumpled hair plastered to a sweat-soaked brow, and a hand cradled close to his chest like a bird with a broken wing. It’s hard to tell against the Raven black of his shirt, but David is sure he can make out a dark stain across his front where his hand is being held.
He looks so much like her -too much like her- but Kayleigh had been fierce and bright and fearless. Never had he seen her look as afraid as Kevin does.
“Jesus Christ, kid, what the hell is-” he pauses, not sure how to finish that question with a million others swirling around in his head.
Kevin seems to understand well enough as he holds out a bloodied hand for David to see.
“I heard you take in broken things,” he says. There’s an edge to which he spits out the word broken , the way you would say useless or defective. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he finishes quietly, bitterness and fear tightening the end of his sentence into a desperate rasp.
The sight of his hand makes David’s heart plummet to the bottom of his gut. Even through the hasty, blood-soaked wrapping, he can see the mangled ruin of Kevin’s playing hand. It trembles where Kevin holds it up, bone reset but wound still bleeding where it punched through skin, making him wince in pain with every uncontrollable spasm.
“Fucking hell!” David looks around him into the hallway, hoping that maybe this is some kind of prank. “Shit,” he curses, ushering Kevin inside. “Come in. Are you alone? Do you want me to call anyone? Coach Moriyama? Riko?”
David’s not really sure how he’d get hold of Riko’s number if Kevin wanted him to, but he doesn't have very long to think about it as the fractured look on Kevin’s face shatters further into pure terror.
A choked “ No! ” seems to practically rip itself out of his throat as he throws himself back against the opposite wall. The crash sends another jolt into his hand, and he stumbles to his knees with a hissed curse.
Well, shit . “Okay, okay, no calling anyone.” He files that reaction away for later and holds out his hands placatingly, not knowing whether it would be better to step forward or backward. “Kid, can I take you to the hospital? That hand of yours is a mess, and there’s not much I can do about it here.”
Kavin shakes his head frantically. There’s a tremor starting to wrack through his whole body, falling apart completely in David’s doorway. “They’ll find me, they’ll send me back. I need to go back, but I can’t. I can’t .” Horrifyingly, David watches tears begin to well up in the mirror image of Kayleigh’s eyes.
“Alright,” he scrambles, fighting to keep his voice calm. “No calls, no hospitals. Can I at least call a doctor?” Kevin begins to shake his head again, and David speaks up before he can finish. “Just the team doctor. She won’t tell anyone, I promise.” He gestures first at Kevin’s hand, then more broadly at the whole of him. “I want to help you, kid, but I can’t do that on my own. Let me at least make sure you’re not gonna hurt yourself further by leaving your hand like that, and then we can go from there, okay?”
He doesn’t know if he managed to convince him or if Kevin is just too tired to argue, but he eventually steps through the threshold and into the apartment. He eyes the space cautiously, eventually settling gingerly onto the far end of the couch where he has a good view of both the door and the kitchen, where David riffles through his cabinets for a glass of water while he holds the ringing phone against his shoulder and ear.
Despite it being the middle of the night, she picks up on the fourth ring.
“Abby,” he says, not wasting time with formalities, “how soon can you get here? It’s important.”
2.
The media fallout is rough. David knew it would be, but it doesn’t make the shitshow any easier to handle.
The school has had to hire extra security, and his damn phone has been ringing off the hook for hours straight. His foxes are having a difficult enough time getting used to having Kevin around, and the constant harassment from reporters isn't easing the transition any.
When he sits down across from Kevin with a loaded look and a weary sigh, the kid takes it in stride.
( In stride, meaning he agrees to an interview even though he’s very clearly trying to hide the way his hands shake under the table.)
David wants to tell him that he doesn't have to. He’d fight off every one of those nagging reporters himself if it would help Kevin feel safe- because the bottom line is that Kevin is one of his foxes now. More than that, he’s Kayleigh’s son.
Kevin is rough around the edges; he’s cranky and quick to anger, he demands everything and more from those around him, and the kid couldn't read a room to save his life. It took only a week of him barking orders from the sidelines for the foxes to snap out of their star-struck acquiescence and start shouting back.
Despite all of this and an alcohol reliance that is quickly becoming concerning, Kevin isn’t a bad kid. David sees that his temper on court comes from a genuine passion for the game and belief that foxes can be better. He sees how much Kevin loves exy, and that he holds himself to those same high standards he holds everyone else to, if not higher. He sees that Kevin is trying to communicate. (Trying being the keyword, but his foxes wouldn’t be foxes if they were perfect. All he asks of them is that they try.)
But as much as he wants to be there for Kevin, he can’t ignore the rest of his team. They’re getting harassed traveling around campus, and the press has been camped outside the stadium for over two weeks. Both the school board and the ERC have been hounding him for a comment, and David knows that they can’t go on like this forever.
He’s tried speaking to the press himself, but the comments and rumors and pressure won’t stop until they hear the words from Kevin himself. David knows this. The team knows this. Kevin knows this best of all.
So he agrees to speak with the press.
They set up the press room at the court and David hands Kevin a bottle of vodka a minute before he steps out. He knows that encouraging this reliance will be problematic in the long run, but Kevin is shaking and struggling to take steady breaths, and David figures that a short-term crutch is better than nothing at all. They can try for a more healthy coping mechanism once this whole mess is over.
Kevin chugs half the bottle like it’s water, and with a steadying breath, steps in front of the crowd.
It’s like a switch being flipped. In the instant between Kevin leaving his side and stepping in front of the cameras, his entire demeanor changes. His shoulders drop back, his chin lifts, and a wide, confident smile carves across his face. If David hadn’t literally watched Kevin shake apart at the thought of stepping in front of the cameras again, he might have believed Kevin wasn't nervous at all.
He doesn't flinch as camera flashes go off, and he waves to the press with an easy-looking confidence. He recites the same story Evermore gave: a terrible tragedy during a skiing trip, two brothers distraught, a choice to carve his own path in a new district. David rolls his eyes at every carefully crafted lie.
The table is then opened for questions, and the shouting begins. Kevin answers as many as he can, answering the questions that sound genuine and swiftly shutting down the rudest ones until one reporter pushes his way to the front.
A microphone gets unceremoniously shoved in his face by a greasy-looking man with a press badge. “Mr. Day,” he starts, “how do you feel about playing for a team that’s not the Ravens? Does it feel like a betrayal, leaving behind the team that raised you and got you where you are today?”
Kavin’s face twitches, but is quickly smoothed over with another plastic smile. “I’m endlessly grateful to the Ravens and everything they’ve done for me, but both the Ravens and I have decided that it would be for the best to go our own ways-”
“But what about the fans?” Kevin’s response is cut off. “The fans have been supporting you and Riko through your entire career, this isn't just a betrayal to Riko, but the fans as well-”
“Excuse me,” Kevin speaks again louder, and the clamor of the room dulls into a low murmur. “But I’m trying to talk. I am willing to answer your questions, but if you keep talking over me, it defeats the point of an interview. Would you like me to continue answering the first part of your question, or respond to your rude accusation about me and my family?”
The reporter stays silent, and Kevin continues with a swift nod.
“As I was explaining, while Riko and I are both saddened at having to be separated, we’ve agreed that this is ultimately what’s best for both of us and our teams. With this injury, I can no longer play to Evermore’s standards. If I had decided to stay on the team as a player, I would have brought the whole team down, which would be against everything the Ravens stand for. If I had stayed on as an assistant coach, I would be sacrificing my own goals. I will continue with the Foxes as an assistant coach until my hand heals, where I hope to be back on the court again. No…” He stops, then corrects himself, “Not hope. I will play again, and I hope that my fans will continue to support me as I take this new journey in my career and in my life.”
He smiles and stands up, signalling an end to the questions.
Kayleigh would be proud of him, David thinks. She had the same knack with reporters, unapologetically taking up space, dominating interviews with a charisma and confidence that make it impossible to look away. God knows how many times she spoke right over reporters (or even Tetsuji) if she felt compelled to speak, never afraid to say exactly what was on her mind.
He silently thanks the universe that her son has a bit more discretion in front of cameras. Her commitment to saying exactly what she believed, no matter who she was talking to, caused a stir or two in the creation of a new global sports phenomenon.
Kevin walks over to him, and the second the door closes behind them, the kid crumples in on himself with a shudder that seems to shake him apart at the seams.
“You okay, kid?” He tries, “You did good out there.”
“Can we go to Abby’s?” Kevin’s voice has gone hoarse again, and David can tell another panic attack is swiftly closing in. He wraps an awkward arm around Kevin’s trembling shoulders, not knowing how much it's helping but needing to try anyway.
He nods, holding Kevin a little tighter when his breath hitches. “Sure, I’ll tell her to start dinner too. I think Penn State is playing tonight. We can catch the game while we eat.”
Kevin nods, so David corrals him into the car and hopes against all odds that the rest of the year will be easier than this.
3.
David has learned a few things in his years coaching the Palmetto State Foxes: Like never to leave the equipment out because his kids will use them as weapons in an argument, or to always keep his ringer on because you never know when you’re going to get a call.
He’s learned tricks for dealing with specific players, too. It took him a month to realize that if he keeps a bowl of candy on his desk at all times, Andrew is less likely to get bored and go searching for the alcohol he keeps hidden away in his office.
(Less likely being still very often, but this way he only has to replace his stash every month instead of every two weeks.)
He rotates it out depending on what he feels like eating and what Andrew seems to like the most. This week, it’s salted caramels. Somewhat for nostalgia’s sake, and somewhat because he’s hoping Andrew will eat enough to glue his mouth shut for an hour or two and give David a second of peace.
One can only dream.
When his two biggest headaches wander in after practice, Andrew grabs a huge handful and makes himself comfortable in the corner, and Kevin sits himself down in the chair opposite his desk and starts ranting about training, proper diets, and the lack of general cohesion and motivation on his team. It’s something David’s heard a million times before, so he only half listens as he reviews some paperwork for an upcoming game.
He notices, somewhat belatedly, that Kevin has stopped speaking, and he follows the kid’s gaze to the bowl of salted caramels on his desk.
He has a rebuttal to a lecture on sugar intake on the tip of his tongue, but Kevin surprises him instead.
“Can I have one?” he asks, surprisingly tentative considering his usual attitude.
David pushes the bowl his way. “Go for it.”
Kevin does, with an almost wistful look on his face as he delicately picks one up out of the bowl and turns it around in his hand.
“My mom liked these,” he says quietly. David pauses where he’s signing, looking up to see what Kevin’s doing. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her to him, and even though it’s something he already knew, it stings a little in his throat to hear that from someone who loved her too. “She’d keep them in her bag for an after-practice treat. She’d give me one after every practice, and two if I learned something new. I haven’t had any since…” Kevin goes quiet and pops the candy into his mouth.
Since she died. Since the Nest.
A profound sadness seems to settle over him. Not for the first time, David wonders: Who is the son of exy without his mother?
A raven with a clipped wing? A fox burrowed underground for cover? A scared little boy who lost his only family too soon?
The whole world mourned a sports legend when Kayleigh passed, but only Kevin mourned for his mother. David’s never heard him talk about her before, but he can tell that he still mourns her.
He can see Andrew eying Kevin steadily from his corner, and after a moment, he steps outside.
David doesn't know what to say, so he reaches for a candy, too.
Kayleigh had a list of all her favorite things: sex, sports, and salted caramels, she used to say. He never got to hear her updated list after she moved away, but he knows that her son would have been at the top of it.
“She would throw them at me sometimes,” David offers. “She kept a stash in her bag back when I knew her, too. She would lob them at my head when I fumbled a pass too many times.”
At that tidbit, Kevin’s face gets caught somewhere between awe and tears. “...I’ve never heard that before.”
David laughs, and it sounds rough even to his own ears. “I think I was particularly dense when I first picked up the sport. It didn't help that she liked to change the rules on me all the time, saying it was her right ‘cause she invented the sport.”
Kevin looks down at the bowl. “Me too. She’d let me win, and then pretend to get mad and change the rules.”
They sit in that silence for a minute or two, taking a moment to remember her.
David will never know her like Kevin did, or mourn her the same way Kevin does, but he hopes having someone who remembers her brings him some comfort. A reminder that he does not have to carry the memory of her alone.
Eventually, Kevin gets up and clears his throat. “I’ll write up my notes on today’s practice and leave them in your office tonight. See you tomorrow.”
He starts to get up, but David stops him with a wave of his hand. “Take some with you,” he says, “you’ll be doing Andrew a favor by keeping him from eating all of them.”
It’s a flimsy excuse, but Kevin still takes a handful on his way out.
4.
The team is crowded around the TV with their usual level of noise and assholery, with a little more noise coming from Nicky and Aaron, who are arguing about some video game bullshit Wymack couldn’t be paid to understand; and a little more assholery from Kevin, who’s trying to get everyone to quiet down in time for the pre-game interview.
USC is playing the Nevada Bighorns tonight. Everyone in the room knows how this game will end, but it’s good to watch how a big three school plays, even against a lesser opponent like Nevada.
That, and a USC game is about the only thing that can get Kevin to agree to ending practice a little early, so long as the team is paying attention and taking notes on good plays and potential weaknesses to exploit in the USC line.
David knows damn well that not a single fox besides Kevin will be taking notes, but he keeps that to himself and leaves the future tantrum for Andrew to deal with.
He gives up on snapping at his teammates and fixes his whole attention on the screen when Jeremy Knox, USC’s new captain, steps up to the microphone. It’s the typical Trojan spiel about sportsmanship and unerring positivity, but Kevin stays transfixed as if the sun itself shone out of Knox’s ass. It’s pretty funny, and Kevin is too distracted to hear how the rest of the team teases him for it, so it’s a win all around the board.
The rest of the team slowly gets pulled in as the game starts, because the Trojans are good, and his kids do love exy. (With the exception of a certain short menace.)
The Trojans are impressive as always- they have a solid defensive line with Dermott at their back, and Knox leads a powerful offence. The kid is impressive, and he hears a few whoops and cheers from the foxes as he weaves around a Nevada backliner and aims a shot that sails right between the goalkeeper’s legs. Thompson and Alvarez both clap him on the helmet as he passes, but the camera catches the way his smile twists into a mask of polite neutrality as he nearly runs right into his backliner mark.
Adam Bennett of the Nevada Bighorns is new to the Nevada starting line this year. Tall and broad-shouldered, he relies more on his size to stop strikers than any real skill. He’s big enough to make it work, though, so Nevada put him on the line. He’s also quick to anger, which is why David suspects it took him this long to make the line in the first place. Bennett towers over Knox in a way that is probably meant to be intimidating, which is waved away with a sunny smile and a few words that only seem to piss Bennett off more.
When the game starts again, Bennett moves with a single-minded purpose. He seems to be focused more on pushing Knox around than helping his team at all, and his plays get increasingly aggressive the more the striker avoids his checks and clumsy attempts at trips.
Unfortunately, Knox's luck only lasts so long, and in the back half of the second quarter, Bennett catches him against the wall. Knox is just coming off a clean pass to Alvarez, and doesn't have the time to adjust to avoid the mass of pissed-off backliner hurtling towards him at full speed.
The team watches him hit the wall with a clatter of armor against plexiglass with a shared wince. Kevin practically leaps out of his seat to get closer to the dinky longe TV, as if getting close enough could magically increase its shitty, pixelated resolution to show him more of what’s happening on that California court.
Bennett gets red-carded, and the team nurse rushes onto the court to help Knox to the bleachers. He seems to be fine aside from a small limp, but Kevin remains tense until the final quarter.
Fifteen minutes until the end of the game, USC calls a timeout and swaps out one of their sub strikers for Knox, who walks back onto the court with a confident smile and a wave to the stands.
USC is ahead, and it seems to David like sending Knox back out is more for the sake of reassuring fans than any need to have him on court to score. Regardless, he jumps seamlessly back into play and scores the final point on Nevada, bringing the final score to 13-5, USC’s favor.
A loud whoop of approval runs through his foxes, and for the first time ever, Kevin turns to his team with a wide grin on his lips.
It’s not just the infrequency of that smile that makes his heart ache, but the familiarity of it too. Kevin looks so much like his mother already, but with a smile, he becomes her spitting image.
From the wicked gleam of triumph in his eye to the crooked tilt of his lips, the sight is so painfully nostalgic he has to turn away and wait for the stab of grief in his chest to recede.
He hears the echo of her voice, years away and muffled through the static of the telephone, telling him, “ I’m going to take my boy to meet you one day. He’s just like his mama, so you’re going to love him. ”
He likes to imagine sometimes that Kayleigh is looking down on them from above. Checking in occasionally on her son and the man who loved her more than she probably ever knew.
He wonders if she knows he’s sorry. If she knows he wishes her son smiled like his mama more often.
“Oh my god, is Kevin actually smiling right now?!”
He’s dragged out of his thoughts by Nicky, who’s taken to poking at Kevin’s face in mock wonder. Kevin’s smile slips into a more familiar scowl, and he bats Nicky’s hands away impatiently.
“Maybe I would smile more often if you all stopped playing like squabbling children. It’s been months, and none of you can consistently work together because of your petty disputes. Maybe if more of you came to night practice, we might be able to-”
A collective groan reverberates through the room, and David leaves them to their petty arguing with a fond but tired shake of his head.
5.
“This one.”
Kevin holds out a file from the stack. It’s the only file from the stack that he hasn’t turned up his nose at in the last three hours they’ve been sorting through them.
David takes it and flips it open.
Neil Josten. Starting striker for the Millport Dingoes. Only one year of playing experience, and a team that was kicked out of the running two games before the finals. With only one year of playing, the file is thin, probably the thinnest in the entire stack. There’s a note at the bottom from Coach Hernandez, something about absentee parents and sleeping in the locker room.
He raises a brow. “There’s practically nothing on this kid, the school board is never going to accept it.”
Kevin rolls his eyes in that way that makes everyone in a ten-foot radius want to strangle him just a little bit. “We’re desperate for a striker sub, and it’s too late in the season for the board to be picky with us.”
David bites back the comment that the only reason this has taken them three hours to get through is precisely because Kevin is ridiculously picky about who he will or will not accept onto the team.
“His stats aren’t very good,” he tries instead.
“I don’t care about his stats,” Kevin says, shoving a pile of rejected candidates’ files to the floor to slide a disk across the table. It has Neil Josten scribbled across the case in red Sharpie. “This is the only thing worthwhile in that entire file. He has potential. I could make him worthy of Court.”
David feels his eyebrow rising at “I don’t care about his stats” . Kevin loves statistics. His play style is shaped around probabilities and precise angles. He is trained to move and react according to whichever decision is most likely to win him a goal.
David thinks about it some more and raises his brow a little higher on principle.
Kevin just rolls his eyes. “Watch it. You’ll see.”
The video isn’t of very good quality, obviously taken on a home camera where the recorder was trying to be stealthy about it. The video picks up right as who he assumes is Neil Josten steps onto the court. He’s unassuming on video; short, a little on the scrawny side.
Then the whistle blows, and the kid takes off like a shot.
He’s fast. Certainly faster than anyone on the Fox lineup, maybe faster than anyone currently playing in division one collegiate exy. He whistles low and impressed under his breath, and David doesn't need to turn to know there’s a triumphant gleam in Kevin’s eyes.
The kid lacks strength, and his passes lack precision, but he has the potential. He’s rough around the edges, but to become this decent in only a year of playing has to say something about either his grit or his capacity to learn.
There's something else too- something about the way he throws himself into every swing and hurtles himself at full tilt down the court.
“You see it too, don’t you?” Kevin asks, breaking the contemplative silence.
David nods, watching as Neil Josten tracks the ball with an almost manic look in his eyes.
“He plays like he has nothing to lose.” Kevin pauses the disk, catching Neil mid-fall as an opposing backliner crashes into him. “He loves exy, I can see it. I don’t care if he’s rough, we need him on the lineup.”
David sighs. “Even if the board agrees to this, he might not want to join. It’s late to be taking on new recruits.”
“Then we’ll just have to convince him.”
“He might still say no.”
Kevin scoffs. “No is not an option. I’ll go and convince him myself if I have to.”
Stubborn, like Kayleigh. Crossing the line into bullheadedness too often for his own good.
He wonders how many arguments she dragged on out of sheer refusal to back down, even when she knew she was wrong. It was always hard to tell with her; she was persuasive and liked to be right. She could probably convince someone the sky was green if she really set her mind to it.
It’s a very Kayleigh thing to do; run into your obstacles headfirst until they crumble under the sheer prowess of your tenacity.
David sees the arrogance in it, but he sees the relentless hope, too.
Kevin has that look in his eyes again, the one that says this is not a fight David will win today. (Or at least, not without countless hours of pointless arguing.) He looks at Kevin, looks back at the screen, then turns back to his newest problem child with a sigh that feels pulled from the depths of his soul.
“If you can convince the board to let us sign a no-name newbie,” he holds up his hand to stop an interjection from Kevin, “and only if you can convince them, I will fly you and your guard dog down with me to Arizona and talk with your striker. But I can’t do anything about it if he says no.”
It’s not quite a smile, but the look on Kevin’s face is triumphant, bordering on pleased.
“You will. Do something about it, I mean. Because if I’m right about him, joining our team is probably the best shot he has. Mark my words, coach, he will be Court.”
David ignores the truth in that statement and kicks the brat out of his office so he can finish his work in peace.
+1
David can tell from the second he steps out of his office that practice has gone to shit again. He stepped away for one minute to grab his clipboard, and now he can hear indistinct yelling through the thick plexiglass of the court and the heavy doors that separate the court from the locker room and offices.
He gives himself a moment before going out, trying to collect himself and praying for patience. It’s futile, he knows, but it doesn't hurt to try. With one final breath, he pushes the doors open hard enough to slam.
“Does anyone wanna tell me what the fuck are all of you yelling about now?”
A quick survey of the court shows that no one has thrown any punches - yet. He looks for Seth first, but he’s over by Allison on the sidelines, watching. Andrew is next, but he’s keeping his hands to himself this time. He’s got them crossed across his chest defiantly, racket on the ground, and looking bored out of his mind. He doesn't have to search much longer for Kevin, who’s standing close to Andrew and looks seconds from throwing a punch himself.
He catches Dan’s eye through the plexi and she just shrugs and shakes her head. Same old argument then.
He unlocks the door and catches the tail end of it.
“-can’t you just try? You know that you’re better, you know that you can be better? So why do you insist on always wasting our fucking time?!”
Andrew’s answering grin is sharp and unfriendly. “Kevin, Kevin, Kevin… You really think you’d learn by now. But, then again, they always say you can never teach an old dog new tricks.” In one swift move, he picks up his racket and one of the balls lying by his feet. “Hey, try this trick! Fetch.”
With a powerful swing, he sends the ball hurtling down the court with a loud crack . It misses Kevin by an inch, and he steps forward with an angry hiss before thinking better of it and getting back out of stabbing range.
“You’re wasting your potential.”
Andrew just shrugs, dropping his racket again and sending a wave back over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. He smiles at David as he passes, gnashing his teeth a little when David rolls his eyes at him.
“That’s enough for today,” he calls to his Foxes. “Come back tomorrow with a less shitty attitude or I’m singing all of you up for a marathon!”
A collective groan goes through the group, but they all start gathering their things and picking up the equipment.
From the corner of his eye, he watches Kevin, still fuming by the goal. Aaron and Nicky come to collect him, and he overhears Aaron’s words as they pass him.
“Just give up on him, he’s never going to care about anything.”
Kevin hisses furiously in response. “I don’t care . He can give up on himself all he likes, but I will not give up on him. He will be Court.”
David doesn't have to look at them to know how hard Aaron just rolled his eyes, or that Nicky probably just grimaced in that way he does when he’s trying to be hopeful and is ultimately doing a very bad job of it.
There’s more shuffling and more complaining, then finally, the door closes on the last Fox and blessed silence descends on the Foxhole Court. He takes it all in for a moment; the smell of sweat and floor polish, the buzzing of the stadium lights, the solid feel of the ground under his feet. He must stand there for a while, because he hears Abby’s footsteps as she comes to collect him too.
“Kevin was still angry when they left,” she says, “but no one was hurt.”
He sighs. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that one.”
Abby laughs that soft laugh of hers. It’s disarming, and he feels himself relaxing as she moves to stand next to him. “He’s a lot like you, you know.”
He whips his head around to face her. The look on his face just prompts her to laugh again.
“Don’t look at me like that, he’s like you in all the ways that matter.”
“And what way is that?” He grumbles, a little offended at being compared to that dramatic asshole.
He expects her to say something about them both being grumpy or not being morning people, but she just smiles and says, “He sees the potential in people the rest of the world has given up on. Anyone else would have given up on this team, but not him. Not you.”
David doesn't really know what to say to that. He guesses it’s true; they have different methods, but they both want what’s best for this team. Now that he thinks about it, it’s really not a stretch to see where they might be similar.
It stirs up an old ache, one that he thought he buried years ago, and re-buried again the night Kevin first showed up on his doorstep.
He knows it’s pointless - debunked wishful thinking - but he can’t help himself sometimes from lingering on the kid’s face. The slope of his nose, the shape of his brow, the tan of his skin that would have stood out against Kayleigh’s pale complexion.
Is it so outrageous to believe that maybe Kevin could be his?
He shuts down that thought quickly. It’s not fair to him, and it’s not fair to Kevin.
Kayleigh told him outright that Kevin isn’t his, and he’s in no place to be doubting her word now, so many years later. He tells himself it’s all coincidence because he has to.
He wonders if Kevin’s father knows about him, about the man he’s grown up to be, despite everything. Would he be proud? Ignoring the fame, ignoring the success, would he be proud of Kevin?
He feels that too-familiar surge of protectiveness and a much more concerning wave of jealousy rise up. He shoves it furiously back down where it won’t threaten the shaky stability he’s trying to foster with his team. It doesn't matter.
He’s proud of Kevin. He doesn't need to be the kid’s father to know that.
He squeezes Abby’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. I need the rest to put up with them again tomorrow.”
“You wouldn't do it if you didn’t love them.”
David runs a hand through his hair. “No, I do it because I’ve got a screw loose too. C’mon, let’s move. I want to be far away from here when the brat comes in for his night practices.”
Abby laughs, and David silently concedes to himself that both can be true.