“Come on, ref,” Wraith yelled. “That was a foul.”
“Sorry, coach. Can’t use that language on the field,” the referee said.
Waylay opened her mouth again. Thankfully Chloe had the foresight to slap a hand over the gaping chasm of four-letter words. Waylay fought against her.
“This is her third yellow card in three games. I can’t get her to stop.”
Knox stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Everyone looked in our direction including Waylay.
“Way,” he said, crooking his finger. “Get over here.”
Chloe released her, and Waylay, gaze on her feet, cheeks red, marched over to the line.
Knox released me and hooked Waylay by the back of the neck.
“I get it, kid. I do. But you can’t say that shit on the field or in school.”
“Why not? You say it. My mom says it.”
“We’re adults and we don’t have a bunch of other adults breathin’ down our necks, telling us what not to do.”
“So what am I supposed to do? I got tripped! I could have scored.”
“You say it as loud as you want to in your head. You let it come out of your eyes, your pores, every exhale, but you do not say it on the field again. You’re fuckin’ better than that, Way. You’ve got a temper, but there’s a hell of a lot more power in controlling it than letting it fly. Use it, or it’ll use you. You get me?”
She nodded solemnly. “I think so. When can I swear?”
“When you and me are watching football.”
Waylay’s gaze slid to my face, gauging my reaction.
“Don’t you worry about your aunt. She’s proud as hell of you. But you’re only holding yourself back when you blow up like that. So let’s give her something else to be proud about. Yeah?”
She sighed. Then nodded again. “Yeah. Okay. But I get to swear when we watch football?”
“Damn right you do,” Knox said, ruffling her hair.
“And when I’m not in school anymore?”
“You can swear as much as you fucking want after you’re out of college. Maybe grad school too, if you want a PhD or some shit.”
The corner of her mouth lifted.
“That’s better,” he said. “Now, get your ass out there and put the ball in the back of the net so we can get ice cream after.”
“But it’s morning,” she said, again looking at me as if I were some anti-swearing, anti-ice cream monster.
“No better time for ice cream than after a big win,” he assured her.
She grinned up at him. “Okay. Thanks, Knox. Sorry, Aunt Naomi.”
“You’re forgiven,” I assured her. “I’m already proud of you. Now, go be awesome.”
So it wasn’t my best advice to impart. But I was feeling rather swoon-like as Knox stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Wraith. My father, then Nash, joined him. Together they created a wall of testosterone, ready to protect and guide their girls.
“Just when you think he can’t get any hotter,” my mom said, sidling up next to me.
“Are you talking about Knox or Dad?” I asked.