She was also just as talented.
We spent every hour of sunlight in Sydney’s backyard with a football, breaking only to eat lunch and to run in for bathroom breaks. From the moment we stepped foot on the grass and Paige showed me how she learned to line up her fingers on the laces of the ball and throw a perfect spiral, I knew I hadn’t been wrong in my assumptions about her.
Football was ingrained in that little girl. It was already a part of who she was, and I knew without a doubt it would be a part of who she’d become, too.
Regardless of that belief, I didn’t go easy on her.
We ran drills just like the ones I knew she’d run in football camp. I pushed her to her limits, testing her in everything from agility and speed to stamina and strength. When I asked what her top three desired playing positions were, she answered with quarterback, wide receiver, and kicker.
Three very different positions with very different sets of challenges.
Still, I gave her a crash introduction course in each, running throwing drills and catching drills and making her kick over and over until she started to complain that her foot was sore.
Sydney worked in her garden, did yoga on the porch, read over her notes in her training binder on our players, and read a thriller I recognized from Logan’s bookshelf — all while keeping a close eye on us. When the sun began to make its descent, casting Paige’s brown curls in a golden light, Sydney finally called it.
“Alright, you two,” she said, standing as she slipped a bookmark between the pages of her book to hold her place. “I think that’s enough for today.”
I expected Paige to whine and beg for more time, but she put her hands on her knees, panting for a long moment before she stood and smiled at me victoriously.
“How’d I do, Coach?” she asked, squinting against the setting sun.
I ruffled her hair, the roots of it damp with sweat. “Killed it.”
“Can we do this again?” she asked with wide eyes.
I glanced at Sydney, who worried her lip a little before nodding.
“Of course,” I answered Paige, holding out my hand for a high five. “But you better work on these drills by yourself, too. Don’t wait for me to get you going.”
“I will! I promise!”
Sydney joined us from the porch, resting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Alright, Paigey. Go get washed up for dinner.”
“Are you staying for dinner, too?” Paige asked me, folding her hands together. “Oh! And maybe to watch the Vols game, too?”
“Paige…” Sydney warned.
“Oh, Mama, please,” Paige said again, turning her begging eyes to her mother.
Sydney pulled on one of Paige’s curls, letting it bounce back into place before she spoke. “Jordan has been with us all day, sweetie. I’m sure he wants to get home.”
“I don’t mind.”
The words came out too quickly, too honestly, and Sydney’s eyes locked on mine as Paige tugged on her overalls.
“See? He wants to. Pleeeeeeease.” She folded her hands together again and bounced, eyes hopeful and bottom lip protruded.
Sydney watched me for a moment longer, a question in her eyes I couldn’t decipher before she addressed her daughter again with a sigh. “You’re too cute for your own good.”
“Yes!” Paige said, knowing without an affirmative answer that she’d won. She bounded off into the house without another look. “I’ll shower fast and put the game on!”
She was gone before I could answer, and I chuckled, sliding my hands into my pockets. “I’m sorry about that,” I said to Sydney, a little embarrassed. “I should have pulled you aside to ask you if you wanted company before I agreed like that.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said just as quickly as I had, and I smiled at the sight of a blush on her cheeks. “I don’t get the chance to cook for guests very often. I like it.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
For a long while, we stood there, toe to toe, in her backyard as the sun lit up the sky with vibrant pinks and violets, her eyes on mine and mine watching her, in return.
“Need some help in the kitchen?” I finally offered.
At that, she gave a short laugh out of her nose. “I’d love that,” she said, but one brow quirked high as she let her eyes roam down the length of me. “But you need a shower first, too.”
“What? Am I a little sweaty?” I asked, inching toward her.
Sydney’s smile flattened, her eyes wide before they narrowed in warning. “Jordan… don’t you dare.”
“Oh, come on,” I teased, reaching out for her before she could escape. She squeaked and writhed in my grasp as I crushed her in a hug. “See? I’m perfectly dry!”
“Ewww,” she dragged out, swatting at me in laughter until I let her go. She shook her head, shoving me toward the door. “Shower. Now. Before I change my mind and kick you out.”