Authors: Karen Kingsbury
“Are you kidding?” Ricky looked at his brothers behind him
and then at his dad. “Seriously, dad? Matt Keagan is coming for dinner?”
“Yes.” Their dad laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s like any other guy.”
“Yeah, except he’s one of the most famous rookies in the NFL.” Even BJ was impressed. He was a freshman this year and not as into football as the others. He’d rather play basketball or soccer any day. But he clearly thought Matt Keagan was a big deal.
Bailey stayed quiet, listening to her brothers talk over each other about the day ahead. Connor hoped Matt might want to throw the football around, especially since he’d be the starting quarterback for Clear Creek again this year. He was six-foot-three now, and still a little thin, but he had grown to love football almost as much as singing and performing. Shawn just wanted an autograph from the football star, and Ricky planned to ask him to move in with them.
“You know … because he probably wants a family like ours where he can feel safe.” Ricky’s tone couldn’t have been any more earnest. “That way he can be part of our family during the week, and still play for the Colts.”
“He has like ten million dollars, buddy.” Justin always put Ricky in his place. This time with a tender sort of fondness, but still he knew which buttons to push. “I’m pretty sure he has his own family.”
“Yeah, but even ten million dollars can’t buy a family like ours.” Ricky stuck his chest out. “Isn’t that right, Dad?”
Touché,
Bailey thought. She smiled to herself. Her younger brother was so much like her in some ways. He was full of life and always glad for any time their family was together. It made her sad to think that one by one they would leave until only Ricky was left. He’d be a very lonely only child someday for sure.
Not until they were out of the car at the football field did her
mom walk alongside her and give her a look. “So … what do you think?”
“About what?” She acted nonplussed and, truthfully, she was. Matt was a celebrity as big as Brandon Paul in his own right. It didn’t matter if it was football or films that made them famous; they drew a crowd wherever they went. It just wasn’t a lifestyle Bailey was up for, and despite the fact that her father claimed Matt Keagan was interested in her, she was pretty sure he didn’t know she existed.
“Come on.” Her mom smiled, willing to play along. “You know.”
“Matt?” Bailey gave a look she knew was noncommittal. “It’ll be fun for the boys, I guess. I mean, of course. They can tell everyone at school they had dinner with Matt Keagan.”
“Bailey …” Her mom had the sandwich bag and a few bottles of water. She shifted it onto her other shoulder as they neared the stadium. “What do
you
think about it?”
“Truthfully?” She lifted her face, letting the warm spring breeze brush against her cheeks. “I think Dad loves me very much. He’s worried about me ever since the Cody thing … and this is his way to get my attention on something else.”
Her mom angled her head, thoughtful. “Pretty close.” She nodded, her eyes straight ahead at the team getting set up on the field. The other team—the one from across town in Bloomington — was already there in formation doing their warm-ups. “Any father would want to introduce their daughter to a guy like Matt Keagan.”
“True.” Bailey wasn’t bothered. She understood what her dad was doing, and that his intentions were good. “But let’s be real, Mom. He’s a nationally known role model, and I’m the daughter of one of the assistant coaches.”
“You’re more than that, Bailey.” Her mom was quick to come to her defense. “You’re a talented young woman with a heart for God as pure as Matt’s. The two of you are very similar, actually.”
“Except I can leave my house without cameramen following me.”
Her mom laughed. “I guess that’s true. Of course,” she waved her thumb toward the west, “if you lived in Hollywood you’d have paparazzi everywhere you went. Especially in a few weeks when your movie comes out.”
“I don’t know about that. Anyway, I doubt Matt Keagan even knows I’m alive.” They walked through the stadium gates and into the familiar stands, the ones she’d sat in when she watched Cody play for her dad so many years back, before her father returned to the NFL and the position with the Indianapolis Colts. The field where Cody had returned after his time in Iraq, and where he’d coached her brothers for the last two years. A lifetime of memories surrounded her as she took her seat. She didn’t care who was coming for dinner. She cared about this.
Her brothers’ scrimmage.
T
HE GAME WENT QUICKLY, AND THOUGH BOTH TEAMS PLAYED
evenly, Clear Creek managed to pull out the win in the end. Connor was amazing, throwing for more than two hundred yards, and sending touchdown passes into the waiting hands of Shawn and Justin at different times. BJ played linebacker and sacked the quarterback from Bloomington three times before the clock ran out.
“All in all, a very good game for Clear Creek,” her dad proclaimed on the ride home. “And a great game for the Flanigan boys!”
Bailey was anxious as they headed home, and several times she asked herself why. She wasn’t interested in Matt. Like she’d told her mother, he couldn’t possibly have asked about her. But somewhere along the afternoon of thinking about him and wondering about this night, she’d begun to care. Even just a little. She helped her mom make an enchilada casserole for dinner, a recipe Ashley Baxter had given them a few years ago.
The house smelled like melted cheese and spices when the doorbell rang at six sharp.
Of course he’s on time,
Bailey thought to herself. She wiped down the counter one last time and hurried up to her room. A little powder wouldn’t hurt. Besides, her brothers had been peeking out the window, waiting for the chance to greet him for the past half hour.
Laughter and happy voices filled the house as Matt came in. Bailey couldn’t make out who was saying what, but she could sense the excitement from upstairs in her bathroom. She ran her
makeup brush over her cheeks and forehead. Not that she wanted to impress him, but she didn’t need a shiny face — no matter who was coming for dinner.
She started to leave, and stopped herself. Without giving her actions much thought, she grabbed her favorite bottle of perfume and spritzed some behind each ear and on her wrists. One last look at herself and again she hesitated. She wore dark jeans and a long-sleeved red scoop-neck T-shirt. Her chestnut-colored hair fell in long waves, and the combination made her eyes stand out. Yes, this look would do.
Downstairs, she joined in the mix without a lot of fanfare. The guys were in the TV room looking at film from the scrimmage that afternoon. Bailey would’ve had to go out of her way to find them, so instead she went straight at the bottom of the stairs and found her mother’s water pitchers in the pantry. Again, Ricky was the loudest in the room. “See that! Connor’s got an arm, don’t you think so, Matt?”
He laughed, and the sound was instantly recognizable from his TV interviews. A fluttering sensation filled her heart, and she felt more nervous than she had in a long time.
Get a grip, Bailey … this is ridiculous.
“Bailey!” Her dad’s voice rose above the others just as she had almost filled the second pitcher.
“Just a minute.”
Be calm … come on, this is any other Saturday night. Any other dinner with a football player.
She set the pitchers on the counter next to the cooling casserole and dried her hands on her jeans as she walked into the family room, the place where the boys were gathered in front of the TV. “Sorry, just helping out.”
Her dad gave her a bewildered look, like she maybe should’ve been a little more excited about meeting their guest. “Honey, I’d like you to meet one of our players, Matt Keagan.” He turned to Matt, seated beside him on the sofa. “Matt, this is our daughter, Bailey.”
She turned her eyes to him, and at almost the exact instant she knew two things for sure. First, Matt’s presence, his personality, and gentle spirit were more magnified in person than on any TV spot or football game Bailey might’ve seen him in. And second, he knew who she was. No question about it. His eyes fixed on hers as he stood and shook her hand. “Bailey,” he nodded. “Nice to meet you.” He paused. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Thanks,” she released his hand, but the feel of his fingers against hers lingered. “I’ve … heard a lot about you, too.”
Matt never took his eyes from hers. “You’re a junior at Indiana, is that right?”
“Matt … we still have a few more plays.” Ricky was quick to try to get the conversation back on track.
“Actually, it’s time to eat.” Bailey’s mom entered the room. She had already met Matt when he first arrived, because Bailey had heard her voice among the mix. Now she seemed as comfortable as if they’d all known Matt forever.
As the dinner got underway, Bailey couldn’t deny that she felt the same. Matt was maybe the same height as Connor, but a lot more filled out. Probably in the shape of his life, based on the way her dad and his coaching staff ran practices with the Colts. On top of that he had hazel eyes and a light tan face. No wonder Nike was using him as one of its spokespersons this year.
But his looks weren’t what drew Bailey to him again and again throughout the night. It was the easy way he had about him, the kindness and gentleness. She remembered a verse from Galatians that her parents had woven into their family life while they were growing up:
The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, thoughtfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Watching Matt, Bailey couldn’t get over it. He was like a walking billboard for every single fruit. He couldn’t be perfect, of course, but right now it was hard to see a chink in his armor.
When they were done eating, they had blueberries and
whipped cream for dessert, and after that they played a round of Catch Phrase. Bailey did okay in the game, mostly because she wasn’t seated right next to Matt. She wasn’t sure how she would look into those eyes and try to say or act out anything. Throughout the night she kept wishing he’d make eye contact with her across the room. But he never did.
By the end of the night, Bailey wasn’t sure what she felt. He had come for dinner, but that didn’t mean he was interested in her. After their introductions he barely seemed to notice her. She needed time alone to process all that had happened in the last few hours, and to remind herself that he probably didn’t mean anything personal by his avoidance. Matt was not only a celebrity, he was insanely busy. On top of his football schedule, he did volunteer work for ministries throughout Indianapolis, and he had weekly meetings with the companies he was endorsing products for. He might as well work three full-time jobs.
Somehow as he was leaving, she wound up walking him to the door. Bailey was pretty sure it was no coincidence their dad had given every boy a chore just as it was time for Matt to go. Whatever had happened, suddenly it was just the two of them headed down the hallway to the foyer. When they reached the front door, Bailey felt suddenly self-conscious. They hadn’t had a single conversation apart from the group all night. What could she possibly say now, considering she didn’t know him?
He turned and slipped his hands in his jeans pockets. “I had fun tonight.” His grin warmed her heart. “Your family’s amazing.”
“Thanks.” She allowed a light laugh. “Ricky was going to ask you to move in. So you’d have a family in Indiana.”
“He asked.” Matt raised one eyebrow. “I might have to think about it.”
This time they both laughed and Matt opened the door. “Well, thanks for coming … it was nice meeting you.”
“Hey,” Matt angled his head, his eyes more serious. “I’m sort of seeing a girl in Indianapolis. She’s a law student at IU.”
Bailey felt her heart sink, and she could almost see the blood rushing to her cheeks. Of course he was seeing someone. Why had she thought even for a moment that this was about her? She smiled, working hard to save face. “That’s great. It’s a good law school.”
“Yeah,” he hesitated, the silence between them slightly awkward. “Anyway, if things don’t work out … I’d love to get to know you better.”
Bailey nodded, and crossed her arms in front of her. “Sure … I’ll be here.” She smiled and waved once as Matt headed for the door. “See you later.”
He said something about how nice it had been meeting her, but Bailey wasn’t really listening. She wondered how different her thoughts and actions through the night might’ve been if she’d known he had a girlfriend.
“Ughh,” she muttered out loud as she headed back down the hallway to the kitchen. “Nightmare.”
Her family was waiting for her, but she smoothly evaded any questions and feigned a sudden need to check her clothes in the dryer upstairs. One thing was sure: Matt Keagan wasn’t the guy God had for her. She flopped on her bed. Maybe there was no guy for her. Either way, as she heard Matt Keagan drive off she was haunted by a single thought.
Maybe she should’ve spent the day in Indianapolis.
C
ODY WASN’T SURE HOW MUCH MORE OF
C
OACH
O
LIVER HE
could take. He had tried working with him every day this spring, but it was the last Monday before April and Cody wondered if his presence wasn’t doing more harm than good with the football team. He slipped the navy Lyle sweat jacket over his T-shirt and stepped into the silky sweats. A donor with the booster club had sprung for new warm-ups for the team.
But that was the only sign of anything new Cody had seen since he started.
The locker room was empty except for DeMetri Smith. The kid had been hanging back, and Cody had a feeling he wanted to sneak in a quick conversation before training got underway. When his last teammate had left the building, DeMetri walked up, his steps hesitant. “Coach?”
“Yeah, buddy.” Cody took the baseball cap from his locker and positioned it on his head as he turned to the player. “Everything okay?”
DeMetri hung his head and for a long time he didn’t say anything. When he looked up, Cody saw more anger in the kid’s eyes than he had ever seen before. “I’m tired of Coach Oliver.” He clenched his jaw and gave a firm shake of his head. “We all are.” His hands were clenched, and he tossed them,
frustrated. “Can’t you see it? We ain’t never gonna be nothing with him in charge.”
The right thing was to take Dennis Oliver’s side, defend him, and stay united as a coaching staff. But Cody felt exactly the same
way. He folded his arms in front of him and waited until he had the right words. “You still praying for this team, Smitty?”
DeMetri exhaled hard through his nose. “Yes, sir. Not sure what good it’s doing.”
“Well,” he patted the player on the back. “I’ve never seen a time when praying to God didn’t work one way or another. God’s in this situation — same as He is whenever His people are involved.” Cody led the way out to the practice field and DeMetri fell in beside him. “Now we only have to wait and see what God’s going to do.” They stopped at the door of the locker room. “You understand, Smitty?”
“Yes, sir.” The kid didn’t look any more convinced than before. As he jogged out to the field, his shoulders were more slumped than usual. But what Cody had said was true. God was in this. He knew because DeMetri wasn’t the only one from the Lyle football team praying for a breakthrough. Cody was praying too.
He checked his clipboard, reviewing in a hurry the drills for the day. It was still spring ball — only ninety minutes of training and conditioning. The real work didn’t begin until mid-summer. But by then if players weren’t in shape, they never would be. So every day they spent on the field now would result in wins and losses come fall. Cody knew that much from experience.
“Coleman! What are you doing?” Coach Oliver’s face was purple. He waved his hand wildly at Cody. “Get out here! What sort of example is that if my coaches can’t be on time!”
The man was always angry—worse than before. Cody jogged out to the field and thought about DeMetri’s concerns. He could hardly tell the kid he was thinking about leaving himself. As long as he stayed, he had to believe a few of the guys were remaining in the program only because of him, and right now he wasn’t sure he’d recommend that for anyone. Least of all kids like DeMetri, who cared so deeply.
Cody pulled up beside the coach. “Sorry. I had a few students stay late. This was the soonest I could get here.”
“No excuses, Coleman.” He snarled every word. Something about the man looked different, like maybe he was more pale than usual. His eyes were a little off too. “I won’t tolerate that from my players, and I certainly won’t tolerate it from you.”
“Yes, sir.” Cody wouldn’t have responded any other way. He had been raised to be polite — by the Flanigan family and then by his sergeants in the Army. But Coach Oliver always pushed too far, too hard. He ordered the guys to get in a line. “We’re doing forties till someone throws up,” he shouted. He lifted his whistle to his lips and blew. “Go!”
The team took off as fast as they could toward the forty-yard line. They no sooner stopped and regrouped than Oliver was blowing his whistle again. The man seemed a little more slumped over than usual, but it didn’t change his approach with the kids. “Go!”
Cody shifted in the damp grass beside the man. “Coach—”
“Not now!” He waited barely a few seconds this time after most of the guys reached the goal line. “Again!”
Cody felt sick. “Coach, about this … running till someone throws up.” He struggled for a few seconds. He was begging for another diatribe from the man, but he didn’t care. Someone had to stand up for the players. “They can maybe do this six, seven times, but then they need a real break. These are sprints, sir, not jogs. No one can sustain that sort of—”
“Stop!” He seethed the word straight at Cody, inches from his face. “If I want your opinion on how to run this practice, I’ll ask you.” He hunched over a little more, and for a brief moment he clutched his stomach. Under his breath he rattled off a string of cuss words. “You might have to finish this practice.” He snarled at himself. “Dratted stomach.”
Whatever was wrong with the man, Cody could only hope
it would take him off the field. He waved off the players and motioned for them to come closer. “Hurry up! You look like a bunch of third-grade girls. Not a man among you, and I mean that. You’re worthless. Worse than that.” He stopped to grab a quick breath. Whatever was wrong with his stomach it was getting worse. He looked like he wouldn’t make it another five minutes without needing a restroom.
Cody stared at the muddy grass, helpless to save the kids. When he glanced up, he took in the looks on the faces of the players. They were losers in record and losers on the field. If Coach Oliver had his way, they would be losers in life. Because every word he said was like a dagger to the confidence of the young men standing before them. Kids who had grown up in a small town, guys who weren’t sure how they were supposed to compete in the business world or how to make a living or raise a family. Whatever hope they might’ve brought to the experience of Lyle football, whatever confidence, Oliver wouldn’t be content until it was dead and buried.
“No one has to ask what sort of football players you are,” he snarled at them. “The kind that make a coach wanna quit, that’s what kind. You’re losers!” He panted harder than before. “If you don’t start putting a little effort into every run, every drill … then you’re going to stay losers.” He was shouting now. “Do you hear me?”
The guys clustered together, and collectively they appeared a foot shorter than when practice began. DeMetri met Cody’s eyes, but then he looked away. Cody felt terrible. He had just told him that God was in this, that something was going to happen to show an answer to the kid’s prayers. But here they were, Coach Oliver decimating them once again.
Before Cody could utter a silent, desperate prayer for help, Coach Oliver clutched his stomach once more. Whatever was hurting him, he hated himself for the weakness. But the situation
was too much even for a surly old man like Coach Oliver. He paused, struggling to stand straight. “Coach Coleman is going to finish up.” He glared at Cody. “Make good use of your time, Coach. Opening day is right around the corner.”
More like six months from now, but Cody didn’t dare say so. He was grateful just to see the man leave. In the weeks since Cody started teaching and coaching at Lyle, he’d never seen Coach Oliver leave a practice. For sure the man must’ve been very sick. Probably the flu, which would account for his purple complexion. The man probably had a fever, but even still he was out here barking at his players.
All twenty-nine young men who had come out for spring training watched along with Cody as Coach Oliver hobbled off the field and to the locker room. Cody could almost feel the sense of relief that went up among the guys as the door shut behind the man. Cody felt a sudden sense of relief. This was what he’d been praying for, right? Not that Coach Oliver would get sick, but that he would leave or take a day off. Anything so that Cody could have time with the players, time to let them know that he was very different from the coach they were used to.
Cody turned to the guys and studied them. Some gave off a look of angry indifference, and others of them looked frustrated. Most were discouraged … even defeated. DeMetri was among those. Cody drew a long breath. “Which of you would like to pray for Coach Oliver?” On a number of occasions Cody had been told that prayer was allowed at Lyle. No form of government could stop the local school from doing what they had always done. In this case, he had very little to lose by praying publicly. And since he couldn’t say anything nice about the coach, this was the only transition he knew.
At first, none of the guys stepped forward. But then — as though there was a mountain on his shoulders — DeMetri raised his hand. “I’ll pray.” Some of the guys looked at him almost with
disgust, like he was a traitor for lifting to their holy God a man like Dennis Oliver. But DeMetri seemed to draw his strength from Cody, from the peace and strength Cody hoped he exuded. None of the guys wore helmets or hats, so there was nothing for DeMetri to do but hang his head. “Dear God, we ask … that you be with Coach Oliver. Whatever’s going on with him, we ask that you make things right. In Christ’s name, amen.”
A few of the guys added their voices to the amen, and then they were silent again, sizing up Cody, wondering if he was going to snap at them the same way Coach Oliver had. Cody looked at his stopwatch. “I’d say we’ve done enough sprints.” He set his clipboard down. Today’s drills were going to be his alone. “Let’s pair up.”
For the next hour the guys went through a series of warmups and strength-training exercises, all in pairs and small groups. The drills were intended to build unity and fun among the players. By the end of the practice the guys looked like a different team. They stood straight, and the weariness in their expressions had been replaced by laughter and an easiness Cody hadn’t seen in them before. And something else — with each successive drill their effort increased until he barely recognized them. These were players he could work with, guys who could win games.
Cody studied them. He couldn’t say they looked exactly confident, but then … that would take time.
“Okay, men,” Cody looked each of them in the eyes. “Good work today. You should be proud of yourselves.” He motioned to them to come closer. “Let’s huddle up.”
There was a chant Jim Flanigan liked to use with his kids when they worked out as a family in the backyard. Jim would bring the guys in close, have them put their fists high in the center, and then he’d shout out, “Whose way?”
And in response the Flanigan boys would yell back, “His way.”
“Whose way?”
“His way!”
Again, it wasn’t something often heard in public schools, but Lyle was different. Cody figured the kids needed it so badly he had no choice. It was time for drastic measures. Besides, the community was deeply faithful, and pretty much everyone at the school believed in Jesus. Cody had learned that working in the classroom, and now he could see it was true with the players, too. He saw it in the way they prayed together earlier, the way they respected Cody for asking them to pray.
Now, as the guys gathered close, Cody put his arms around the shoulders of the guys nearest him — one of whom was DeMetri Smith. “Huddle up … that’s right, come on.” In all the days he’d been working with Coach Oliver for these spring sessions, he’d never once seen the man lead them in a group huddle like this. How could he possibly expect to have a winning team when the guys didn’t have even a hint of team unity? Cody gritted his teeth. He’d change that. If nothing else came from his time in charge today, it would be that much. They would be a team, and they would be God’s team.
When they were as close as they could get, when the entire group formed a single nucleus, Cody let the passion ring in his voice. “Okay, listen up.” He didn’t have to ask twice. The guys had clearly never been through a practice like this. Not in two years anyway. “Whatever happens with Coach Oliver, whatever he might tell you from this day forward, we’re a team. You are all very capable, very strong young men, and you have it in you to be winners. You know why?” His voice rang with a sincerity that reminded him of Jim Flanigan, the way Jim would talk to him when he needed to be convinced of his worth. “You’re winners not because of your record, but because of whose you are. You are God’s men, and because of that this year will be different. I promise you that.”
“Amen.” DeMetri’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was a start, a show
of enthusiasm. A few other players added their voices to the mix, and then the guys quieted, allowing Cody to continue.
“Let’s do this, let’s dedicate this season to God — no matter what happens after today.” He could only imagine the way he might be fired for doing this somewhere else. But not here. Not with the heritage of Lyle, Indiana. “Father, God, we come to you broken. Shaken from the past in a lot of ways. But we come to you, Lord … we dedicate this coming season to you.” Something in his tone was more on fire, more filled with energy for Christ than Cody had ever been before. “Every young man here is a winner, Father, they are winners because they are yours. And so we ask that you would bring about a miracle for the Lyle football team. Show us that you are here among us, Father, and make these boys believe they are winners. And God, please … let them know … I couldn’t be more proud of them. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
This time the team let up a loud amen, almost in unison. The improvement in morale was so great Cody felt chills along his arms, and he wondered if he was the only one. “Okay, bring it in.” He raised his fist to the center of the huddle and the guys did the same thing. This was something that didn’t have to be taught, even if Coach Oliver had never led the guys in a display of team bonding like this. It was time for the chant. “I’ll ask you a question — ‘Whose way?’ and you … you all will respond, ‘His way!’” He drew a quick breath. “Whose way?”
“His way!” Only DeMetri’s voice rose above the others.
“Again, men. Louder.” Cody paused. “Whose way?”