Chapter 63

Sean wants to point out he took a damn ball to the head here. Cut him some slack. But that really willland him laps, so he keeps quiet.

Cordero walks Sean to the bench. As Sean sits, the coach blows his whistle, goading the team back into their positions. “You a damn wimp,” Cordero murmurs, but there’s no malice in his voice, nothing mean about what he says. He’s teasing, and this time when he touches the bump on Sean’s head, his hands are gentle. Grabbing a nearby hand towel, he opens the nearest cooler and scoops out a handful of ice. He twists the towel shut, then tamps it in his hand to create a makeshift ice pack. “You know most pro players actually go out their way to hit the ball with their head, right?

“I ain’t pro,” Sean mutters. “If Beckham took a shot like that, he’d be down same as me.”

Cordero points out, “Beckham’d be paying attention during the game, not flexing with a rookie.”