The Ex Project by Nia Arthurs

Chapter Twenty-Three

The tournament was going well,but Duane could not fully enjoy it. Quiet rage built in his chest, bubbling right under his skin. The rage jumped when Theo got hurt and spiked again when Yolanda cried in his arms because of the stress.

He had no idea why today’s events hit him so hard. He’d endured a career-shattering injury, limped through a serious break up and went spiraling into a depression about his future, but nothing jarred him more than holding the impenetrable and unshakeable Yolanda while she cried.

Even after Yolanda dried her tears, his restlessness was not satiated.

He continued to coach the games.

Continued to host the tournament.

Continued to solve all the problems that cropped up.

But through it all…

Steadily, quietly…

The fury continued mounting.

Duane wasn’t sure where to point that anger until Gio came running to him for the last game of the day.

“Devon is here,” Gio said, his eyes on the clipboard. “He just signed in.”

“Good.”

Gio shot him a curious glance. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to tear someone open on the field. This is a friendly game, remember? That’s why the coaches can join.”

“I’m aware.”

“No, you can’t be aware because that look in your eyes is the look you wear before a big game. The ones that matter for your future or your career.”

Theo mattered. That little boy and Yolanda were his future and they meant a whole lot more than his freaking career.

“Duane.”

“I heard you.” He rolled his ankles and stretched out his arms. “I heard you, Gio.”

Emmanuel strode toward them. “The new ref is here. He says he’s ready when you are.” Manny froze as he caught a look at Duane’s face. Giving Gio a frightened stare, he mumbled, “What’s with him?”

“I think he wants to kill someone.”

Emmanuel squeezed his shoulder and spoke in a warning tone, “Duane…”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. There are reporters here. People are streaming this game live. You see all those folks in the bleachers? Yeah, they’re witnesses. Hundreds more are watching as we speak and thousands more will watch the replay when the news segment airs.”

“I know.”

“You can’t be seen murdering someone in broad daylight. Think of the kids.”

Duane growled.

“Think of Yolanda.”

He tossed his brother a dark look. “Mom told you?”

“I look forward to being formally introduced to my sister-in-law.”

Gio piped up. “We’d prefer if that meeting didn’t happen with you behind bars.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone.”

Gio shot out a finger. “No maiming either.”

“Or breaking of bones.”

“Or stab wounds.”

“Or concussions. Don’t give anyone a concussion.” Emmanuel scowled at him. “I don’t have the equipment here to handle that.”

Duane kept silent.

Emmanuel leaned in. He was the brother Duane had been closest to growing up, simply because they were nearer in age. Duane respected his brother’s ambition to study medicine and often turned to him for advice.

But this time… he didn’t want to listen.

“Duane…”

“Fine.”

“Even with your injury, you’re still dangerous. So tamp it down.” Emmanuel warned. “None of these players went pro. They didn’t train with the best of the best like you did. They didn’t hone their skills for years just to stay competitive. They work desk jobs. They spend eight hours sitting down. They only practice a couple hours a week. Keep it clean and keep it simple.”

He nodded.

Gio laughed nervously. “It feels like you’re prepping a boxer before he gets into the ring. Are we still talking about football?”

Emmanuel didn’t laugh.

Duane didn’t either.

At that moment, he saw Devon traipsing through the grass and the ire burned inside him again.

“Duane…” Emmanuel called his name tersely.

Heat washing over his body, he growled. “I’ll behave.”

Gio let out a breath.

Emmanuel stepped back.

It was time for the final match.

He stalked to the field and joined the rest of his old football buddies. It was a mini-reunion and everyone was happy to see him. They slapped his back and joked about how he made it big time.

Duane barely heard any of it. He watched as Yolanda’s ex headed into the bleachers to find Theo.

Devon knelt in front of his son who watched him stiffly and then glanced away. Devon said something with a big smile on his face and Theo watched him with a frown.

Yolanda stepped in, vocalizing something that made Devon pull his fingers into fists. Duane took a step forward, ready to launch up the bleachers if Devon even thought of raising those fists at his people.

Yolanda opened her mouth and wiggled her finger. He couldn’t hear her words but, from the way her eyebrows met in the middle of her forehead and the sassy way her neck bobbed, he could tell Devon was getting a tongue-lashing.

His woman was handling herself. The thought should have pleased him, but it only annoyed him further.

He wanted Yolanda and Theo to only have good things. The best things.

And he wasn’t talking materialistic crap.

He wanted them to have peace of mind. Hope for the future. A safe place where they could always find a listening ear or muscle, depending on what bodies needed to be buried that day.

He didn’t like being down here on the grass, helplessly watching while Yolanda took on Devon by herself.

“Duane.” Someone tugged on his arm and he almost shoved them for their boldness. At the last minute, he focused in on the face and realized it was his old buddy Tank. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Any fancy, pro-league strategies you got up your sleeve?”

“None. This is personal. I’m going after him.” He pointed up the bleachers.

“He owe you money?”

“He messed with my family.”

“Hm.” Tank rubbed his chin. “I’ll cover for you. Make all the moves you want and then pass to me.”

He dipped his chin. Even after all these years, he knew Tank would understand and have his back.

Devon headed back to the field and cast him a dark look.

Duane returned it in full.

As he gathered with his teammates, his heart began to pound.

This was his field.

His territory.

Devon just stepped into the lion’s den.

When his team huddled, the group asked him to give the inspiring pre-game speech. Duane wasn’t in a good-will kind of mood, but he rattled some words that sounded uplifting when strung together and broke the huddle.

“Let’s go!” Tank yelled. He ran past Duane and gave him a nod.

Duane nodded back.

As they got into formation, he glanced over at Devon. Yolanda’s ex was wearing a black and red jersey like all the others on his team. He wore high black socks along with shin guards. His sneakers were all wrong for the field and Duane latched onto that fact. It would come in handy.

The whistle blew and he charged, accepting the ball when Tank passed it and doing a quick maneuver around Devon. He slowed his steps, allowing the man to catch up. Eyes on his opponent’s footwork, he let Devon steal the ball just to see what his skill level was.

The word that came to mind was awful.

And tragic.

Satisfied, Duane increased his speed and stole the ball back from Devon before he could pass it. Blowing past him to emphasize the embarrassment, he feigned to the left and kicked the ball right.

Tank was right there to accept it and drive it down to the goal line.

Breathing hard, Devon jogged toward him. His face was squashed in exhaustion. Hands on his hips, he panted. “What the hell, man? You think I don’t know you gave me that ball just to steal it back?”

“Instead of complaining, why don’t you focus on upping your game?”

Devon snarled at him.

He jogged away. If you think my anger’s quenched, you have no idea what you’re in for.

The game dragged on as each side fought valiantly. Duane could have ended the match early, but he wasn’t interested in making goals or strategizing to beat the other team. He focused on the duels with Theo’s father—running shoulder to shoulder, anticipating every turn or stop, deflecting, and harassing him whenever he had the ball.

It was a football annihilation and he was not sorry for it.

“Come on, Marden,” Devon yelled after he’d forced him to the sidelines, using the tight space to take the ball from him and kick it off to Tank. Throwing his hands up, Devon stalked forward. “You got a problem with me? Just say so!”

“I’m playing the game, Devon.”

“You’re making an example of me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Duane knew exactly what he was talking about, but playing dumb seemed more appropriate than cussing him out for missing Tay-Tay’s game.

Sweat dripping down his face like a river, Devon clutched his knees and gasped for breath. Duane watched how exhausted the man was and waited for a strike of satisfaction. Instead, he just felt empty.

Glancing up at the screaming crowd who was rapt at attention—not for the game but for all the ways he was making a fool of Devon—his eyes locked on Tay-Tay. The little boy sat huddled against Yolanda, wincing and squirming.

There was no smile on his face. No relief.

He looked… worried.

A striking hot pain hit Duane’s chest.

He thought he was vindicating Tay-Tay. Thought that playing circles around Devon would make it up to the kid. Instead, he was just puffing himself up. Tay-Tay was not enjoying the sight of his father being humiliated.

Duane’s hands dropped from his waist. “Let’s go. Only five minutes are left on the clock.”

“Wait. I need to… breathe.” Devon slowly got up and jogged to his team.

Duane returned to his team too and glanced up at Tay-Tay again. Yolanda was speaking to him, but the troubled look in his eyes never wavered.

“You’re doing awesome, man.” Tank handed him a bottle of water. “I’d want to crawl into a hole and hide forever if I were that guy.”

Duane sipped the refreshing liquid, glad that he had an excuse not to respond. Tank’s assessment only made him feel worse.

“It’s obvious we won.” Tank accepted the water bottle back from him. “But you’ve got one more chance to send him home crying and defeated. Relish it, aight?” He offered a fist.

Duane bumped Tank’s knuckles with his own. “Yeah.”

“Let’s go!” Tank yelled.

The Garifuna drummers hadn’t left yet. They remained on the sidelines, playing a beat inspired by the chaos in the air.

The sun was about to set on the field and the lights flashed on one-by-one. More spectators had arrived for this match, drawn by the promise of seeing Duane Marden in action.

The roar of the small crowd was startling. It sounded like there were thousands in attendance, though he knew this small football stadium couldn’t hold that much.

As the game started and the clock counted down, Tank passed the ball to him. Duane glanced at Theo who was sitting on the edge of his seat, watching intently. Then he glanced at Devon. His teammates had abandoned him, already aware that any ball that came Devon’s way would never make it to the net.

Duane sucked in a deep breath and played the ball, heading straight in Devon’s direction. He saw someone approaching from the corner of his eye and faked a stumble, intentionally sending the ball to Devon.

The man’s eyes widened when the ball rolled his way. He stared at it for a second as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Kick it!” Devon’s teammates yelled.

With an expression of pure determination, Devon swiveled his body and kicked the ball toward the net. The goalkeeper jumped, but it trickled out of his fingers and slammed against the ropes.

The crowd groaned, but Devon’s team went wild.

Duane glanced at Tay-Tay and saw a grin crossing the boy’s face for the first time since the game started. An invisible hand landed in his chest, tightening with every breath he took.

Shoulders slumped, he walked back to his teammates but kept his eyes on the bleachers.

Yolanda caught his eye and smiled. “Thank you.”

Immediately, the weight in his chest lifted and Duane smiled back.