It was a mess. And in the middle of it all, there were the girls.
The giggling came to an abrupt stop.
Making an effort to settle my breathing, I asked as calmly as I could, “Is anyone hurt?”
They all shook their heads.
“No bruises? No bleeding? Nothing? Everyone’s whole?”
They all nodded.
Only then, I let myself relax.
The girl with the short, auburn hair, Juniper Higgins, as per the roster I had memorized, stepped forward. She hugged her middle. “Miss Adalyn, I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“Juni!” one of them complained. “Snitches get stitches.”
Juniper flushed. “It’s the truth. I told you we would get in trouble. And now Miss Adalyn is looking furious.”
“I’m not furious,” I said. Not at them. I was angry at myself.
Someone whispered, “But she always looks like that.” That seemed to get a grumble of agreement, bringing a different kind of heat to my cheeks. “Didn’t you see the video?”
Something in my stomach soured.
“She’s not the monster she seems on that video!” a muffled voice countered, dragging my eyes to a corner and finding María with a yellow cone locked over her head.
“Oh God. How did that even happen?” I walked to her and tried to extricate the thing off her shoulders, but it wouldn’t come off. Shoot. “It’s not coming out.” I groaned. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” María answered. “See? Would a monster try to help me?”
“Butt-kisser” was murmured.
“Okay,” I said. “Rule number one: no name-calling in the team, okay?” I took the reluctant group grumble as a yes and continued my attempt to free María from the cone. “And I’m not angry. Or furious. I was…” I pulled at the thing but it remained stuck. “Worried.”
Unlike they believed, I wasn’t a monster. I might not be good with kids, but I’d never forgive myself if something happened to them because of my own irresponsibility.
The same kid whispered, “That’s what all grown-ups say, but we get in trouble no matter what.” She turned her head toward Juniper and said more loudly, “You’re so getting stitches.”
“Rule number two,” I dictated with a hand in the air. “No one is getting stitches.”
Except maybe me. This was all my fault.
In my haste to take control of things, I’d clearly miscalculated and misjudged the situation. The fact that these were kids wouldn’t make my job here easier or my workload beneath what I was used to back in Miami.
It’d probably be the opposite.
And now I had a kid stuck in a cone and a supply-room pandemonium.
Giving up on María for an instant, I braced my hands on my hips. If I wanted to make a success story, like my father had put it, out of this I didn’t just need someone to look after them during practice. I needed a coach. Someone who would make a difference. Someone—
A group gasp startled me back into reality.
Then, a deep voice that drawled words in an accent I was growing very familiar with said, “What in God’s name happened here?”
I whirled my head, hoping to find Cameron’s eyes wide and full of horror as he took in the state of the shed. But they weren’t. He was looking straight at me.
And to both of our surprise, I answered, “Oh, hi, Coach.”
CHAPTER NINE
Adalyn
“Coach,” the man sputtered like the word was poisonous.
I didn’t blame him.
Even I didn’t like the idea. But that was life. Sometimes you needed to put your big girl panties on and suck it up. Or in this case, work with the exasperating retired pro soccer player you had mistakenly fired and who happened to live next door.
Cameron Caldani held my gaze as he clutched two take-out cups from Josie’s Joint. I wondered if he really was that much of a coffee drinker or if he was carrying that second beverage for somebody else. Perhaps for someone in the family he looked after, as he’d said.
My eyes flickered down, noticing he’d changed since our encounter this morning. Now, a green fleece covered his chest, and instead of sweats, a pair of trekking pants with more pockets and zippers than any normal person could possibly ever use stretched over his powerful thighs. He was also wearing boots. Outdoorsy, Gore-Tex boots. Yikes.
“What’s up with cone-girl?” Cameron asked, snatching my attention away from his attire.
“I’m María!” she complained. “And rule number one is no name-calling.” A muffled huff left her before she added, “Mr. Camomile.”