Jasper was a starter and had been since halfway through his freshman season. It was extremely rare for a kid in this ‘burg – a haven of all sports but especially football since the team had either gone to, or won, State nine times in the last two decades – to make the varsity team in his freshman year but Jasper did it playing tight end. Now he played tight end offense, linebacker defense, he was being scouted and Layne hoped to all hell someone pulled his boy in on even a partial ride because his grades sure as fuck weren’t going to get him into college.

Tripp had surprised him by following in his brother’s footsteps. He made varsity too, even though he was a freshman. Layne knew his son was good, had seen him play in junior high and before and he’d always shined so bright the other players didn’t exist on the field. But that was always playing with kids his own age, therefore, Layne thought the high school boys would chew him up.

They didn’t. Tripp became everything not Tripp on the football field. Not yet as tall as his brother, but faster, more agile and cold as ice. He was playing wide receiver and when he was on the field his focus was so intense, it was clear the world outside those one hundred yards ceased to exist.

If Tripp bulked out, which he probably would in the next year, he’d have to find a different position. For now, that was where he was which was unfortunate. Coach Adrian Cosgrove’s son was a senior, a wide receiver and not a great one. Tripp hadn’t played much because Cosgrove wanted any scouts there to get a look at his boy. Layne suspected this would be unpopular because whenever Tripp played, it was clear he could run circles around Cosgrove’s kid. The rabid Bulldogs fans who lived and breathed high school football did not care about Cosgrove’s kid, they cared about winning and they would not put up with nepotism for long. Cosgrove further wasn’t liked because, since he moved up from assistant coach to take over for the beloved, long-time head coach three years ago, the ‘dogs hadn’t gone past regionals. He was feeling the heat and nasty rumors about Cosgrove’s temper were spreading. Layne didn’t know if they were true, and neither Jasper nor Tripp shared, which Layne reckoned was another item for a future agenda for breakfast conversation.

Unfortunately, this all became evident in the second quarter when Cosgrove’s son went off the field for a play, he sent Tripp in and then Cosgrove called a passing play. If he wanted his boy to shine, this was an asinine decision because Tripp was damned good but when he wasn’t on the field, their passing game was garbage. Even if another receiver was open, every long pass was thrown to Cosgrove’s son, who hadn’t caught a single toss and had even been intercepted twice. The only passes caught were short shots, nabbed and run by Jasper.

Therefore, when the ball was put in play, Tripp shot forward, got open within seconds and the quarterback, under some pressure, let fly. The ball was thrown high but Tripp jumped at least three feet in the air, arm extended to the maximum, tagged the pass, pulling the fucking thing down with his fingertips. He tucked the ball close, ducked his head, deflected two tackles and ran forty-three yards for a touchdown.

The crowd went berserk, every last one on the purple and white side, including Rocky standing in front of him. With her arms straight in the air, she jumped up and down on her fancy-ass boots, her ponytail swinging wildly right in his face, she was screaming her lungs out without even a freaking hint of the decorum a high school English Literature teacher should display at a school activity.

“That’s it, Tripp!” she shouted as Tripp ran off the field right in front of them, jerking down the straps of his chin guard, he heard her and his eyes went to the fence. “You rock!” she yelled, pointing at him.

Such was his worship of Rocky, for once, Tripp’s intensity slipped, he grinned at her through his faceguard and then he was tagged viciously with a slap upside the helmet that came from the flat of Coach Cosgrove’s hand, causing Tripp’s head to jerk unnaturally toward his shoulder pad, so hard, Tripp’s helmet was ripped clean off his head. Then Cosgrove shoved Tripp’s shoulder pad once, twice, three times and finally Tripp started moving back unable to stand firm under the obvious violence of the blows when Cosgrove went through the fourth, fifth and sixth and then he stopped.

“Head in the game, Layne!” Cosgrove bellowed in a voice that carried.

The crowd, seeing this, had quieted and Rocky went statue-still in front of Layne but Layne didn’t really notice it. His vision had clouded, his body had locked, his fists had clenched and his mouth had gone dry.

“Tanner,” Colt muttered and Layne could feel him close.

When Rocky heard Colt, her body moved, her shoulder brushing his chest as she turned to him but his eyes were locked on his son standing on the sideline. Tripp was looking at his cleats while Cosgrove stood close, his mouth at Tripp’s ear, spittle coming out with the force of his continuing tirade, shouting it an inch from his boy’s ear.

“You pay attention to me and what’s happening on that field! I don’t care if the Virgin Mary appears and is shouting at you, you keep your effin’ head in the game!”

“Lay off, Coach!”

Layne heard it and knew it came from Gabby but he didn’t move a muscle.

“Layne,” Rocky whispered and he felt her hands on his abs.

“Hear me!” Cosgrove roared.

“Hear you, Coach,” Layne heard Tripp reply.

“Good, bench,” Cosgrove jerked a hand at the bench and Tripp didn’t hesitate to take a seat. He bent to snatch up his helmet, head bowed, his eyes still to his cleats, he turned his back on the bleachers as fast as he could and sat his ass down.

“Layne, sweetheart,” Rocky whispered and he looked down at her to see her head turned toward Tripp. She must have felt his gaze because it quickly moved back to him.

He stared in her eyes and he tried to find a reason not to jump the fence and rip Coach Cosgrove’s head off.

“Layne, dude, you good?” Morrie was close too and he put a hand to Layne’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t touch me now,” Layne said quietly and Morrie’s hand disappeared instantly from his shoulder.

“Morrie asked if you’re good, Tanner,” Colt said softly.

“Yep,” Layne lied.

His friends stayed close and so did Rocky, Rocky doing it by moving to his side, wrapping her arms around him and putting her head to his shoulder.

This felt good, it felt very good. But it didn’t strip a single layer off the thick wall of fury fencing him in and he stayed still, not moving a muscle until halftime when Rocky got his attention by pressing into him.

He looked down at her only after he lost sight of both of his boys after they entered the locker room.

“You want a soda?” she asked quietly.

“Nope,” he answered.

“Coffee?”

“No.”

“Cocoa?”

“No.”

 “You okay?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Oh boy,” she whispered then he felt her body jolt against his, her arms moved from around him and she stepped away.

He saw her looking around him and he heard Silvestri mutter, “Oh fuck,” when he turned around and saw Gabby, Stew trailing, bearing down on him.

“You gonna quit snugglin’ with your girlfriend long enough to do something about that,” she jabbed a finger at the field, “Tanner?” she leaned into him antagonistically, “hunh?”

“Not now, Gabby,” Layne murmured.

“Tripp’s so damned excited that his Dad’s bangin’ High and Mighty Raquel Astley, he doesn’t have his fuckin’ head in the game!” she screeched.

Before Layne could say a word or find a reason why he shouldn’t rip the head off his kids’ Mom, Rocky spoke.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, “I shouldn’t have –”

“No you shouldn’t!” Gabby shrieked.

“I’m thinkin’ you need to calm down, woman,” Joe Callahan suggested in a way that sounded more like a warning.

“It’s okay, it was my fault,” Rocky stated.

“Damn straight it was,” Gabby snapped.

“No, it wasn’t,” Layne said, his voice sounding like a rumble and his eyes cut to Gabby. “I’ll deal with Cosgrove.”

“Oh yeah? How?” Gabby shot back.

“Don’t worry about it and don’t,” he hesitated searching for control, “ever,” he hesitated again, losing the control he found and searching for it again, “speak to or about Rocky that way again. Do you hear me?”

“You have got to be jokin’!” Gabby shouted. “She’s outta her husband’s house a month and you’re in her pants!”

Layne took a step toward her, Gabby took a step back, Stew, he noted with disgust, took two fucking steps back leaving Gabby shifting in the wind and both Colt and Cal came up to his sides.

“Your situation is precarious, Gabby,” he informed her, his voice low, he was aware they had an audience and that audience was listening. “Do not push me. Understand?”

“Go to hell, Tanner!” she snapped.

He turned away from her and walked back to Rocky. Then he slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. He felt the tension ebb out of the boys around him and he knew Gabby and Stew had retreated and only then did he tip his head down to see she was staring at the top of the fence and biting her lip.

“Sweetcheeks,” he called quietly and watched her head tilt back. When he caught her eyes he noted, “One ex down, one to go, we’re halfway there.”

She stared at him for a second.

Then she gave him the dimple.

* * *

There were a fair amount of people milling about after the game and Layne knew why.