The Ex Project by Nia Arthurs

Chapter Twenty-One

Duane dodgedthe microphones shoved in his face and tried to see past the crowd of reporters.

Near the bleachers, his mother had Yolanda in her crosshairs. The charming smile crawling on Yolanda’s face made his stomach flutter. Her laughter was his favorite song. But the little mischievous look she gave him from the corner of her eye spelled bad news.

His mother leaned close to Yolanda, her mouth flapping away.

What are you telling her, ma?

Something in his gut screamed that he should not leave his mother alone with the woman he was in love with.

A mike was shoved in his face. “Coach Marden, do you really believe you can create a private football league in Belize?”

His head swerved back to the reporter. “Yes, I believe that anything is possible with hard work and determination.”

“But Belize doesn’t have the infrastructure—”

“It doesn’t matter whether Belize currently has what we need. Good things can come out of a developing country. It just takes a lot of people working together to make it happen.”

He took a step.

Another question got flung at him. “Are you concerned that you’re dissing the current administration by doing things this way?”

“I don’t play politics. If the politicians feel dissed, it’s their own conscience, not any intentions on my part.”

“Minister Nick Azueta is officially in charge of the National Sports Federation. Why did you not go through him to establish your league?”

Duane remained in place, his eyes scanning the crowd for the reporter who asked that question. Didn’t these guys have anything new to report in Belize? Why were they coming so hard at him?

Soft laughter rode on the breeze. It was Yolanda’s voice, spilling sunshine all over his cloudy day and reminding him what he was fighting for.

Her brown eyes collided with his. His tense muscles loosened on impact. A sense of calm swept over him and he faced the reporters. It was time to do damage control and figure out why this interview was going off the rails.

When he invited the press, he’d relied on his name as the first Belizean to go pro. He figured the day’s event would be an easy fluff piece—‘Retired Football Player Starts Local Competition’.

But these weren’t feel-good questions. The journalists were steering in the wrong direction and he didn’t appreciate the connotations.

Duane folded his arms over his chest. “What do you really want to ask?”

“Do you admit to calling the current sports federation a joke?”

Duane stopped cold.

He’d only used that phrase in public once.

And it was to Mr. Azueta.

Was this the politician’s revenge?

He inhaled deeply and let it out through his mouth. Pasting a diplomatic smile on his face, he faced the reporter. The man holding the microphone had light brown skin and black eyes. His stomach bulged out of a grey button-down shirt and he was sweating as badly as Duane was.

Duane stared him directly in the eyes. “When I first returned from the pros, I struggled with my purpose. What was I? Who was I without football? I’d wrapped my identity up in being a pro player but now that the title was stripped away from me, would I come back to Belize a laughing stock? Had I let down an entire nation that pinned their dreams on me?”

Duane’s eyes moved to Yolanda again. She was still with his mother, but their arms were linked and they were staring right back at him.

He wondered if she could hear him. If any part of her scorned him for his grandiose dreams. Somehow, he doubted it.

She dipped her chin. I believe in you.

That gave him strength.

Eyes moving back to the reporters, Duane lowered his voice. “With all these doubts, I limped back home to Belize. I struggled to find a way to get through life without football, but I couldn’t. I missed the sport with my every breath, so I approached the federation to start a program. And do you know what I found?” He arched an eyebrow.

A female reporter shook her head and leaned forward.

“Excuses,” he spat. “There was no money. No grants. No handouts from foreign nations to fix our stadiums. The game I loved was dying because some guy in an office wouldn’t sign a piece of paper and, suddenly, the official hub of football was limping as badly as I was.”

Someone laughed.

Azueta’s cohort didn’t.

“I don’t want to work against the government. All I want is for the sport that changed my life, that made me a disciplined, determined, and hardworking man—to become an official occupation in the country that I love.”

All the reporters started clapping except for Azueta’s cohort who sneered at him.

“Thank you.” Duane cut off all further questions and made his escape.

His mother released Yolanda’s arm and latched onto his when he drew near. “That was a pretty speech, dear.” She nudged him away from Yolanda. “The event is about to start and the referees want to meet with you.”

“But…” He twisted, glancing over his shoulder.

Yolanda gave him that secret smile that made him nervous again.

He whipped back around. “Mom, what did you tell her?”

“Oh, we just had a little mother-to-mother chat. It’s a girl thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Duane had been around his mother long enough to interpret her. ‘You wouldn’t understand’ was code for ‘it’s none of your business so back off’.

Changing the subject, he asked another burning question. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That it was her. I never told you her name or what she looked like.”

His mother’s cheerful laughter rang through the field. “Duane, my sweet boy, you’re reserved about everything else, but you can’t hide it when you love something.” She patted his arm. “It was that way with football. Once you fell for it, you wanted to play it, talk about it, and practice all the time.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“Says the little boy who worked after school at the newspaper office to afford the expensive gear he wanted?”

“That was…” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“The word you’re looking for is obsession.”

He cringed.

“But it’s not a bad thing. You tend to focus on and commit to the things you love.” She stopped walking and craned her neck to look up at him. “I hope Yolanda knows what a good man she’s got.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you said something you shouldn’t?” He narrowed his eyes.

She gave him a cryptic grin.

Duane wanted to interrogate his mother more, but the refs called him to clarify their schedules. After he’d finished with them, the food sellers wanted to speak to him. He ran from one end of the field to another.

The sun slammed him relentlessly and all the details began to jumble in his mind. Despite having his brothers, his parents, and a host of support from his old football buddies, too many things were going wrong at the last minute. Duane felt like his head was about to combust.

At that moment, a small touch on his hand made the chaos stop.

Duane glanced down and saw Yolanda standing beside him. It was over a hundred degrees and yet there was not a bead of sweat on her face. Her eyes sparkled and her plump lips curved up in an encouraging smile.

She wore a cotton T-shirt, shorts and sneakers. Normal. Yet, she looked like a tall glass of ice water and he could use a whole lot of that right now.

Duane pulled his fingers into fists to keep from hugging her.

“Do you need something?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle. No matter what it was or how much time it took away from him, Duane planned to do it. Immediately.

“Give this to me.” She pried away the clipboard where he’d been scribbling the logistics, food, and jersey issues. “You focus on your team.”

His eyes widened.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She spoke with her gaze on the list. Lifting one page, she scanned it and mumbled, “I’ve been organizing galas and helping my sister host her art gallery showings since forever.” Dropping the page back and giving him a decisive nod, she said, “This is child’s play.”

Overcome with gratitude and relief, Duane glanced around, ensured no one was looking in their little corner of the field and swooped down. He captured Yolanda’s honey lips, suckling her mouth deeply until she stumbled backward. The clipboard slipped from her hand and landed at his feet.

He wanted to keep kissing her but forced himself to step back.

Silence swept over them both.

Yolanda’s hands remained in the air and her lips remained parted.

Concerned, Duane asked, “You okay?”

She looked up at him, a dark finger pressed against her lip. “Okay…”

“Your makeup smudged.” He swiped under her lip to erase the pink smear on her chin.

“Okay…”

He laughed and took off his hat. Setting it on her head, he tapped the bill. “It’s going to get hotter today. Did you wear sunscreen?”

“Okay…”

He flashed another broad grin.

“Duane!” His brother, Gio, waved from across the field.

“I have to go.”

“Right.” She shook her head and ducked to pick up the clipboard. When she straightened again, her expression had shifted to a determined one. “I got this. Go take care of business.”

While he ran to Gio, he heard Yolanda barking orders at his team. “Is there a problem with the apparel booths? Point me to the boxes and let’s figure this out together.”

He grinned to himself. Duane felt ten times lighter sharing the burden with her because he knew she could carry it.

Was this what a partnership felt like? He’d always been the type to have everyone’s back, but Yolanda now had his. Damn. He needed to marry that woman as soon as possible.

“Duane, we have a problem.”

Feeling unstoppable all of a sudden, Duane nodded confidently. “We’ll handle it. What’s up?”

“Several players aren’t here yet and the first game is about to begin.”

Duane’s smile dropped. “We’re starting on time.”

“You know Belizeans are always late. Can’t we…”

“No. If we want to be professional, there are rules we have to follow. I gave everyone sufficient warning to be here on time.”

“Fine.” Gio sighed, his eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight. “On the flip side, all the players for the last game have sent their confirmation, except for…”

“Who?”

Gio lifted his clipboard. “Devon… no last name.”

“Devon?”

“That name means something to you?”

It meant something to Theo.

Duane checked his watch. The first game was about to begin. “Keep me updated, Gio.”

Emmanuel, his middle brother, raced toward them. “Duane, the refs are ready.”

“Thanks.”

Duane gathered his ‘baby team’. The five to six-year-old players were vibrating with excitement but, because of their age and stamina, the game did not last very long.

Duane celebrated when his team ‘won’ their first match. Although getting one ball into the goal because the opposing team’s goalie had been distracted by a butterfly wasn’t the best strategy, it worked.

After taking pictures, he hustled the team off to their parents.

Theo’s match was up next.

Duane approached the little boy who was sitting on a bench away from his teammates and staring at his shoes.

“Hey, Theo.” Duane knelt in front of him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, coach.” Theo glanced over his shoulder at the bleachers that were packed with the family and friends of the players.

There was a giant banner floating atop one section of the bleachers. It had a picture of Theo in his football gear. In big, bold letters, it read ‘GO, THEO!’.

He saw Yolanda’s mother and sister, Janice, sitting beneath the banner. They were flanked by two other women that he’d seen sitting beside Yolanda at all of Theo’s games.

The only person who was missing was…

“He’ll be here,” Duane said. He hoped with all his might that wasn’t a lie.

“No, he won’t.” Theo shot up from the bench and stalked off to huddle with his teammates.

In that moment, Duane’s heart broke, and he had a sudden urge to make Devon pay.