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October 23rd, 1984
“Goddamn, Kayleigh,” David gasped as he let his head flop back onto his pillow. “You should think about doing that professionally.”
Kayleigh swatted him with a pillow.
“I’m serious, if this Exy thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got a real future in—“
“Stop talking or I’ll sign you up for a marathon, Wymack.” Kayleigh warned, pulling his t shirt over her head.
David grinned, blindly reaching at his bedside table for his smokes. He lit one up and inhaled deeply, enjoying the weight of Kayleigh’s head on his chest as they settled into the comfortable silence of post-sex bliss. His hand absentmindedly stroked her back in slow circles. Her nails scratched idly at his chest hair.
When he had signed up for the US Exy exhibition tour, he mostly was looking for a way out of his grandma’s house. It was this or the military. Hell, he’d probably have joined the circus if they’d been in town. And yeah, maybe he assumed since he’d grown up playing a little lacrosse and a lot of hockey he’d be a natural at Exy, so maybe he fudged some credentials at the tryouts in Palmetto. God had thrown him a bone that day though, because Kayleigh Day had signed him anyway. He still remembered what she had said to him after the teams had been announced.
“You’ve never played a day of Exy in your life,” she had said coolly as the other hopefuls poured out of the gymnasium. “But I’m going to make you into one of the best strikers in the country by the end of this tour.”
“I always thought of myself as more of a dealer,” David had said, sweat pouring down his temples from the brutal scrimmage he’d played not 10 minutes before. “I like the idea of being able to control the flow of the game. It’s a utility position, right?”
Kayleigh smirked and checked her clipboard.
“I like your attitude. I suppose Hixon could move to striker instead,” she had said, scanning the sheet of her drafted players. “You’d have to do additional coaching with me after regular practice though.”
She’d looked him directly in the eyes then, green eyes daring him to challenge her. Looking back, he’d been screwed about her ever since.
Now laid up in a motel somewhere between Fargo and Omaha, he thanked his lucky stars that he’s taken her up on private coaching. His cigarette dwindled into ash between his fingers. Kayleigh hummed underneath him.
“Whatcha thinking about, Day?” He asked, kissing the top of her head.
“I just want this to become something, you know?” She said, chewing on her lip. “The crowds seem to like it, right?”
If David had thought she was referring to something besides Exy, he kept that thought buried in the back of his mind.
“It’s fast, it’s hard, there’s fights, what’s not to love?” He said, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I’m serious, Wymack,” she said, propping herself up to look at him. “I see a future in this. A good one. Someday, Exy stadiums are gonna sell out. We’ll have made history.”
She was so earnest that David needed to start a second cigarette.
“Tell me more about this Exy-obsessed future,” he said, offering her the smoke. She took it from his fingers, dragging lightly.
“Kids leagues. JV and Varsity in high school. Summer camps. Travel teams. NCAA teams, coverage on TV. A league in North America, a league in Japan, a league in Europe, the Olympics.” she said, rubbing the side of his ribs absent-mindedly. “An exciting time had by all.”
“Sounds awesome,” David said, grabbing the cigarette from her.
“Obviously I’ll govern the international league with Tets’.” She said. “You’ll be the star player on the US Court if you can ever figure out your offensive game.”
David barked out a laugh.
“Oh, is that so? Maybe I need some extra coaching,” he teased. Kayleigh pondered his question seriously.
“I should ask Hixon and Marshall to join us next time, we could actually run a new drill I was thinking of—“
“Day, cmon, I’m laying here naked as a jaybird, please don’t talk about Marshall—“
“—But it would be beneficial, you’re an incredible defensive dealer, with a little extra work you’d be unstoppable—“
David cut her off with a kiss. She rolled her eyes, but settled anyways.
“You’re good at this, Wymack,” she said quietly. “I didn’t just name you captain because you’re pretty.”
Warmth bloomed in David’s chest. Being the captain of an exhibition team didn’t mean much outside the burden of speaking to local press, but it had made David feel good. No one back home would have ever thought to make a Wymack kid the leader of anything.
“But I am pretty, right?” he asked, stubbing the cigarette out.
Kayleigh dug her nails into his ribs until he yelped and squirmed. She continued, grinning like a maniac until David was thrashing and laughing on the squeaky mattress, eventually throwing himself on top of her and pinning her wrists by her head.
“Promise you’ll fix my offensive game and I’ll let you go,” he teased. Her eyes crinkled as she playfully fought against his hold.
“You’re the only one who can fix your game,” she said. “But I’ll certainly give you the opportunity,”
He kissed her.
“Thank you,” he said. “And for what it’s worth, I’d be just as happy coaching as playing.”
“Really?” she said, rolling off of him. “Three months ago you didn’t know how to play at all, and now, you want to coach?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe college? I don’t really know how to act around little kids.”
Kayleigh nodded, holding eye contact. David decided to say what he’d been thinking about every day since joining her team.
“This shit saved my life. It feels only right that I pass it along to someone else who needs it.”
Kayleigh pressed a kiss into his temple. It felt remarkably tender. He dimly realized that this was uncharted territory for them. He decided to ramble.
“But yeah, once I’ve played enough, I’ll coach for a college team. Maybe help some people out along the way. Definitely win some championships. Settle down, get a house with a white picket fence, the whole deal. Couple of my own kids running around. Maybe a dog if I’m lucky.”
“What kind of dog?”
“I don’t actually care for dogs. I don’t know why I said that.”
Kayleigh laughed, hands running through her thick, dark hair.
“You’ll come visit,” David said, squeezing her shoulder. “It’ll be talk of the town, International Exy Commissioner Kayleigh Day visiting the ol’ Wymack homestead for a barbeque.”
Kayleigh’s smile faltered for a second, then returned.
“Of course,” she said, tenderly rubbing the back of his head, long nails scratching at his short-cropped hair. “I’ll start searching for pie recipes.”
“I like cream pies, just so you know. Banana specifically,” David offered.
“You’re disgusting.” Kayleigh sighed. “Go to bed, Wymack, we have to be on the bus by 7AM tomorrow.”
June 4th, 1985
“And off an assist from Wymack— Hixon makes a buzzer beater, The Day Stars have won tonight’s match!” boomed the announcer as David dropped his racquet, basking in the cheers from the Tacoma crowd.
It was the last game of the tour. He knew that the final score, the final statistics didn’t mean much— but their goal had been achieved. Upwards of 3,000 people had showed up for the final match between the Day Stars and the Moriyama Moons. Everyone he had ran into in the last 2 months had been fascinated by his job as an Exy player. They’d even had a write up in the National Enquirer, and a response from the New York Times. Kayleigh’s dream was coming true.
As benched players swarmed the court, jumping into the huddle like they’d won a gold medal, David tore his gaze to Kayleigh. She had tears streaming down her face, beaming at him like he was the sun. He was totally fucked.
Later that night, after the press, after the champagne in the locker room and the wild celebration at the fancy bar and the taxi to their hotel, David kissed Kayleigh senseless on the chilly beach overlooking Puget Sound.
“We did it,” he breathed. “We won. Everyone knows about Exy now.”
“It was a beautiful assist,” Kayleigh panted. “Couldn’t have wrote it better.”
“Think there’ll be a US Court for me to make?” he laughed.
“Tets and I have a meeting day after tomorrow,” she laughed.
David’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He kissed her again, mouths crashing together hard.
“I’m stoked about the motorcycle,” he said, giddy and giggling. Harley-Davidson had put up a last minute sponsorship to the winning team’s captain, and David was going to pick up a shiny new bike tomorrow afternoon.
“Do you even know how to ride?” Kayleigh asked, beaming between soft kisses.
“I figured out Exy. How hard could it be?” he teased.
She smacked his ass and he dove in to kiss her again, draping his body over hers while waves crashed around in the background.
“I should ask them for a second helmet,” he panted. “We could mosey back to the east coast, hit all the states we missed on tour.”
Kayleigh stilled beneath him. David’s stomach curdled before she could explain.
“I’m going back to Ireland in 3 days,” she said gently. “Tets and I talked. We need to establish a European league.”
David let out a heavy breath. It was natural, he supposed. Party’s gotta end at some point. He put on a brave face, desperately tamping down the urge to beg Kayleigh to stay, to take the road trip he’d been fantasizing about for weeks.
“Makes sense,” he breathed. “I want a team to smoke in the Olympics, eventually.”
Kayleigh’s shoulders relaxed. She kissed his forehead too gently.
“Sorry, David,” she said.
“Don’t say that,” he said, kissing her forehead back. “Should we head back in?”
As they walked up the shore back to their hotel, David panicked and formed a plan. Squeezing her shoulder, he made an excuse about calling his mom at the lobby payphone.
By the time he walked into her room, he had already booked a flight back home to DC the next day. The Harley representative he’d talked to on the second call had assured him that their Norfolk location would be happy to outfit him with a motorcycle of his choosing once he came home. All of it faded away as Kayleigh pulled him onto the bed by his belt loops.
July 2nd, 1985
“Wymack, do you know what time it is in Belfast?” Kayleigh slurred, clearly waking up from a dead sleep.
“Not a clue,” David smiled, twirling the payphone cord around his index finger. “Grandma Carol threw a plate at my head when she saw the phone bill, so now I’m at the roadhouse.”
It had been worse and more drawn out than that. But David was calling collect, and Kayleigh didn’t need to hear all the sordid details, so a plate to the head would have to suffice.
“Jesus Christ,” Kayleigh muttered. “Did you hear back from the Bronx?”
“They called me yesterday, I’m waiting for the contract to fax through,” David said, testing the cut on his hairline to see if it was still bleeding. It was, but it was slowing down. “Doesn’t feel real yet, playing pro.”
“Feels real to me,” Kayleigh said, yawn escaping her mouth. “I’d be ashamed if you didn’t make the national league. Promise you’ll represent me well?”
“Absolutely not,” David said, lighting a cigarette. “I’m going to be an absolute menace, and make sure that everyone knows that I’m the great Kayleigh Day’s protege. How’s the European takeover going?”
Listening to her pour over the nitty-gritty of convincing Europe that Exy wasn’t a stunt felt like sinking into a warm bath to David. He slumped against the payphone, absent-mindedly nodding at every rough biker and dolled-up ol’ girl that walked by him into the roadhouse. His bike stood out in the field that acted like a parking lot, gleaming orange and white and obnoxious. As Kayleigh woke up and told him more and more about how she was shaping the future of their shared sport, the cut on his hairline slowly coagulated into a tight scab.
August 28th, 1985
The Bronx team was fine, but disorganized. Too many rich kids, too many entitled motherfuckers, too many spoiled brats, as far as David was concerned.
He was the only member of the team who had bothered to move into the Bronx. The rest had taken their contract money and bought condos in Manhattan.
He’d complained about it to Kayleigh ad nauseam. One benefit of living in a cheap apartment (by NYC standards, at least,) on a professional athlete’s salary is that he could rack up as many long distance charges as he wanted. He kept a map pinned up over the landline jack, thumbtacks in a tupperware underneath. Every time Kayleigh called him from a new place, he’d idly work a red thumbtack into the wall beneath the map, marking the place she was talking to him from. Curly cord intertwined with his fingers, he’d smoke and listen and bitch and commiserate and scheme with Kayleigh.
“The French are cunts,” she said plainly while on their usual Thursday morning call. “I’m sick of the Moreaus blowing smoke up Tets’ ass and acting like I’m not there.”
“Fuck em,” David said emphatically. “Tets has the money, but you’ve got the vision. Where are you off to next? Spain, right?”
Kayleigh paused on the other end of the line, taking a deep breath.
“I’m actually headed home,” she said. “Flying back to Belfast in 2 days.”
“What’s wrong?” David said, going still. Another pause on the end of the line.
“I’m pregnant, David.”
He knew he should say something, but his mouth wouldn’t move. Someone blared on their car horn outside his window.
“Wymack, don’t worry. It’s not yours,” she said, exhaling a little laugh. “Did you think you were my only lover?”
It felt like a punch to the gut.
“Congratulations,” he choked out, hoping that his voice sounded more even than it was.
“Thank you,” she said. Awkwardness still hung in the air, despite the rush of blood to David’s ears. He stared into the middle distance as Kayleigh explained that she’d be moving back home temporarily for the pregnancy, and was planning on bringing her child with her when she got back to work on the European league. He tried to make an appropriate response, but it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
“Same time next week?” she said, snapping David out of it.
“Day, I don’t think we can keep doing this,” he said without thinking.
“Doing what?”
“Talking. It doesn’t feel right, you’ve got another man and I just— does he even know about us?”
“There’s no other man, Wymack,” she said, irritation creeping into her voice. “I said I had others, not that I had someone,”
“Does he know?”
“That I used to fuck my defensive dealer? No, Wymack, the world does not revolve—“
“No, that you’re pregnant!”
“No!”
“When are you gonna tell him?”
“I’m not,” she scoffed.
Wymack ground his teeth together, faintly recognizing that his anger had deeper roots than the conversation at hand.
“That’s fucked up, Day.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘why?’” he howled. “Sometimes you are so goddamn dense—“
“It’s not like he wants to be involved!” she spat at him. “Fuck, I barely see him any more, and he’s not— it would just be impossible for us to both get what we want, and I’m not going to ruin his life with this, a kid that he can’t take care of right now, he doesn’t want that—“
“How would you even know what he wants, he doesn’t even know he has a kid!” David yelled. “So you’re gonna have a kid, raise it by yourself—“
“Tets’ family said they’d help out—“
“Oh good, cause Tets turned out great and normal, no problem—”
“You’re being a prick right now, you’re acting like I haven’t thought this over,”
“I don’t think you have,” David laughed incredulously. “I think you’re making a huge fucking mistake, and you should come to the States and we can figure this out. Fuck, I will help you figure this out, Day.”
“It’s not your problem to figure out. It’s not your fucking deal, It’s not your kid, it’ll never be your kid, and I think you should mind your business,”
“Kayleigh, please,” David said desperately. “Let me help you,”
“You know what,” Kayleigh said, voice wavering. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t be talking to each other anymore. You clearly have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. Good luck, Wymack.”
The phone clicked off. David threw it at the wall and buried his head in his hands. If he showed up to practice that night with puffy eyes and a mean streak, none of the spoiled brats said anything to him about it.
May 17th, 1986
David was named team MVP with the Bronx Hellcats after a brutal playoff run that ended just short of the final match. As a gift, his coaches had gifted him a bottle of Midleton Irish Whiskey. He forced a smile as they handed it to him while cameras flashed.
He wanted to call Kayleigh. He drank the whole bottle instead.
January 1988
“David, it’s nothing personal, we just had to make some hard decisions and we feel like this was the best possible outcome,” said his head coach.
David’s hands shook, although whether that was from anger or the lack of a drink in his hand was up for debate. Blood rushed in his ears as his coach, his agent, and the GM explained that he’d be expected in Atlanta in 2 days time to make it to his first practice with the Sabres.
The last thing in his apartment to be packed up was the map. A thin layer of dust covered the heads of the thumbtacks. As he took an eye-watering pull from a cheap bottle of bourbon, he contemplated ripping it straight off the wall and tearing it into a thousand pieces. Instead, he carefully removed the tacks and rolled it into a tight tube. It went into the back of a box labeled “STORAGE”.
March 1990
The Sabres were alright as far as David was concerned. They played scrappy and lost more games than he cared for, but he liked his teammates more than he’d ever liked any of the Hellcats.
“Wymack, Brenda wants to know when you’re bringing a WAG around,” Hernandez yelled over the din of their favorite bar they had piled into after practice. David rolled his eyes.
“Tell Brenda she needs to mind her own damn business,” he said, knocking back his whiskey coke.
“C’mon,” groaned Hernandez. “You never bring a girl around, some of the guys are starting think you’re a queer.”
“What the fuck would y’all do about it if I was?”
“Are you?”
“No! Fuck, I don’t know, I’m busy,” David flagged down the bartender again for another drink.
“With what?” Hernandez finished his beer and swiped a cigarette from the pack on the table. “Alright, Brenda’s got this friend named Shellie, she’s a total rocket…”
August 1991
Shellie had been a total rocket. They’d spent the better part of the year riding around on the Harley, checking out every dive bar and roadhouse they could, and laughing their asses off. In between all that, David had been named captain of the Sabres and gotten them to the championship game (which they lost.)
They’d rented a little cabin by a lake near the Smokies for a week, and were both nursing hangovers on the dock when it all went to hell.
“I wanna have kids, Davey,” she had said, looking at him like he’d hung the moon. He had just squinted at her, head pounding. In the blinding sunlight reflecting off the lake, he realized that her dark curly hair, green eyes, and freckles were a little too familiar for him to handle at that moment.
“I’m sure you will,” he had groaned, turning over to try to nap.
She’d left by the next morning. In the fall when practices started up again, Hernandez had beaned David with a ball to the head.
“Brenda and Shellie said that’s for you!” He had taunted.
“Go run laps!” David yelled back, scowling. “Do it again and I’ll sign you up for a marathon!”
May 1994
David Wymack retired from professional Exy after 7 seasons played between the Bronx Hellcats and the Atlanta Sabres. He’d been team MVP in 1986, captain for the Sabres from 1990 on, and brought the Sabres to two championship games. His jersey number #49 was the first to be retired in the Sabres stadium. His retirement plan was to attend Palmetto State University and study Athletic Training with a minor in Coaching.
As he packed up the remainder of his apartment, he couldn’t help but think that maybe playing pro first and then going to college was kind of ass-backwards. But on the other hand, there were rumors of a college Exy league in the works. If he wanted to coach, he’d have to at least get a bachelor’s degree.
His phone rang, startling him. He picked it up and was greeted with a voice he hadn’t heard in almost a decade.
“David Wymack. So glad to have reached you at home.”
“Tets?” David said. “How’d you get my number?”
“I heard you are retiring. You didn’t want to try for the championship again next season?” Tetsuji Moriyama asked politely. David smiled to himself. Tets’ had always been an odd fucking duck, but he seemed pretty harmless.
“Nah, I’m already signed up for classes at Palmetto State in the fall,” David said. “Figured I’d bow out before my knee’s fully trashed.”
“I see. Did you know that Evermore College offers a similar program to the one you’re registered for?”
“Yeah… I actually applied, but Palmetto seemed more interested in having me,” David said. “Why?”
“You have heard the rumors about the college league.”
“Yeah.”
“I will be the head coach at Evermore. I would like you to be an assistant coach.”
David ashed his cigarette. Something was off.
“They offer you a position already?”
Tets laughed. It was unsettling, even through miles and miles of phone line.
“No, they have not offered. They will not need to. Why would anyone refuse me?” he said.
David couldn’t think of any real reasons why anyone would refuse Tetsuji. However, a squirming feeling in his gut told him that he was about to.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll run a hell of a team out there.”
”We will run the best team in the nation out there.” Tetsuji said matter-of-factly. “I can assure you, you would be well compensated.”
“But I can’t go to Palmetto for my degree first,” David said.
“It would be best for you to attend Evermore. I have a specific vision for how our team will conduct themselves. You will need to see it firsthand, be there for the genesis of my legacy.” Tetsuji said.
“Let me think on it,” David lied, cracking open a beer.
“You know, Kayleigh’s son has become quite good friends with my nephew, Riko. She is planning on letting Kevin spend the school years with us at Evermore. He’s already quite the player. Almost as good as Riko. Have you met Kevin?”
David fumbled the full can of beer on the floor, cursing as it foamed and spilled.
“Motherfuck— goddamnit— hang on a second,” he said, pulling a hand towel from the handle of the refrigerator. He did his best to mop it up using his foot, taking a long drag on his cigarette.
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” David said through gritted teeth. How was this still a sore spot for him? “He’s what, 8? Kids that age have a lot of energy. And Kayleigh’s the best Exy player that’s ever been.”
“The best yet,” Tetsuji said coldly. “Riko will be the best player that ever will be.”
Silence hung between them. David’s previous assessment of Tetsuji Moriyama as an ‘odd duck’ was quickly being upgraded to ‘total fucking lunatic’. He was trying to think of a way out of this conversation when Tetsuji spoke again.
“Tell me, David, when did the mole above your eyebrow first appear?”
Instinctually, David touched the raised mole above his left eyebrow. It had started off smaller, then got darker and larger a few months before he started the first grade. If his mom had still been alive, she probably would still be bitching about the cost of those early dermatologist visits.
“I don’t know,” he bluffed. “Always been like this, I think. Why?”
“Just curious. Kevin was born with a freckle above his eyebrow, it started raising and getting darker when he was six.”
David tried very hard not to think about his father, uncles, and grandfather who all had the same fucking Wymack mole on their faces. He took a shuddering breath in, feeling nauseous.
“David, I do hope you consider my offer,” Tetsuji continued. “It would be nice for you to meet Kayleigh’s son, but if you’re coaching at a different university, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to bring him around to away games. Security issues, you understand?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I promise you, that kid is not mine— if you won’t take my word for it, you can ask Kayleigh. Good night, Tets,” David spat. He hung up the phone like it was hot to the touch.
He thought about calling Kayleigh. But what could he say? He imagined it.
Hey Day. It’s me, Wymack. Sorry we haven’t talked in about ten years, but Tets’ just called me, acting like the goddamn Godfather and implied that your son, who you insisted wasn’t mine and wasn’t any of my business, is actually mine. Any thoughts?
He laughed out loud, nervously.
“Not my deal,” he said to himself as he cracked open another beer. “Not my fucking deal.”
The squirming in his gut seemed to still think it was.
April 1st, 1995
What a fucking joke, thought David as he weaved through highway traffic. Riding a motorcycle in a funeral suit was not ideal.
Marshall had called him early in the morning just a few weeks ago. They’d kept up in the way that David had kept up with most of his former teammates. A few phone calls a year, promises to get together soon that never came to fruition, and a Christmas card every December. This phone call was different from the second that David picked up the receiver.
“Dude, I’m so fucking sorry,” Marshall had sniffed. “I didn’t want you to find out from the news,”
“Find out what?” David had said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Kayleigh died last night. Car wreck.” Marshall said.
That woke him up.
“Oh my god,” he said faintly. “Holy shit, that’s fucking awful,”
“I know, it’s just so— it’s so fucking sad,” Marshall sniffled again. “At least her kid wasn’t in the car.”
Now David was driving up to the gates of Evermore College. He parked his bike and followed the signs towards the Athletics Department, where Kayleigh’s memorial service was being held. They had already buried her in Belfast. The most selfish part of David was glad that at the very least, he wouldn’t have to see her body.
They had used the basketball court for the service— hundreds of people had turned out for Kayleigh. David found a few former Sabres teammates in the bleachers and joined them.
There were several speakers at the service— a representative from University of Dublin, Fukui University, the National Exy League, and Tetsuji. All extolled Kayleigh as exactly who she was— a warm, funny, fiercely motivated woman who had a brilliant vision for Exy and an unmatched sense of good sportsmanship. By the time that Tetsuji’s speech was well underway, David had begun to get antsy. He shifted in his seat, scanning the crowd for faces he recognized. In the corner behind the podium, down at the courtside row, he saw two little boys swinging their feet and whispering to each other. With a jolt, he realized who they were.
“Sabrina, that’s Riko and Kevin, right?” He whispered to his former backliner, gesturing towards the boys.
“Yeah,” she said. “Looks like they got a two-for-one deal on kid’s suits.”
The boys were indeed in matching black suits with red ties. It looked like they had drawn something on their cheekbones, but David couldn’t make out what it was. It was weird. He’d never seen a picture of Kevin Day before, but somehow he looked exactly like he had imagined he would look like.
“God, Kevin looks just like Kayleigh,” he whispered to Sabrina, fumbling for the flask stowed away in his breast pocket no. “Same coloring for sure.”
She turned to him with a bewildered expression, mouth open to say something. A group of people in front of them shushed them, which David politely responded to by kicking their chairs.
When he looked back up, Kevin Day was staring right at him.
He didn’t remember much of the rest of the funeral.
July 2001
A banner hung over USC’s newly built court proudly declaring that the “First International Exy Expo” was underway. Hundreds of people milled about at different tables set up along the court, looking at new rackets, meeting and greeting professional players, and hearing spiels from various exy camp representatives and private coaches.
Wymack’s booth was tucked in by the other college booths, although none of them had quite the eye-watering shade of orange to help draw patrons in. He had spent the whole morning talking to high school players and their parents, extolling the virtues of PSU’s brand-new program, the availability of scholarships for Class I athletes, the new athletes’ dorm on campus, and most importantly, how he hoped that the Foxes could be a second chance for players who other colleges may have passed over.
He was not getting a lot of interest. He had expected that once he saw the ticket prices for this thing, Jesus Christ.
One day at a time. That was what his sponsor repeated to him over and over again when David called in a panic over how stressful it was to start a Class I team, and how delightful drinking himself into oblivion sounded.
One day at a time.
Further down the corridor of booths there was a commotion. David craned his head to look, then cursed under his breath.
Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day were cutting through the crowd like butter. David had seen more of the two so-called “Sons of Exy” in recent years— it seemed like every month, ESPN would run a special report on the teenagers as they dominated the Juniors league as a pair. Most had been straight fluff pieces, fawning over how these boys were going to be the future of the fastest-growing sport in the world, and wasn’t it nice that they were best friends to boot?
Seeing them walk in lockstep, like little robots, David was more inclined to believe the National Enquirer article that spoke of a deeply unhealthy environment in Evermore’s so-called Raven’s Nest. The jury was still out on the Enquirer’s claim of a giant neolithic raven controlling Tetsuji Moriyama’s mind through hypnosis and mild drugging.
Kevin Day stopped directly in front of David’s booth, blinking hard. Riko almost fell out of step with him, but managed to save himself from tripping. He looked at the poster behind David that proudly declared “COME BE A FOX AT PSU” and scoffed.
“That color is an affront,” Riko said.
”Didn’t pick it myself,” David said, plastering on a smile. Too many eyes on him to tell the little fucker to piss off. “You boys interested in learning more about Palmetto’s program?”
Riko laughed maniacally. Fuck, he sounded like Tetsuji had over the phone all those years ago.
“You really think that either of us would play for your team? The master was right. You are a madman.”
“The master?” David asked, brow furrowing. “You mean Tets? You know, I did the original exhibition tour with him, Riko.”
Both boys’ eyes widened at David’s casual use of Tetsuji’s nickname.
It was creepy the way that even their facial expressions matched.
“Anyways!” David said, clearing his throat. “I don’t have to sell you boys on Palmetto. What do y’all think the US Court’s chances are this year?”
“They’re good, as long as they can figure out how to pace themselves for the second half. They tend to give their all when they should be conserving energy. That will be particularly important when they face Spain, which they likely will in the semifinals. Spain’s self-restraint on the Court is remarkable.” Kevin said.
David realized his mouth was hanging open. For whatever reason, it hadn’t occurred to him that Kevin would still have traces of Kayleigh’s Irish accent.
“Confident analysis.” David said, snapping his mouth shut. “What do you think about Rhemann? The rookie.”
“He’s excellent. His footwork is impeccable,” Kevin said. “I’ve been studying his tapes from juniors.”
“Maybe if he focused more on the game and less on moral grandstanding to reporters, he might even fix his overhand serve.” Riko sniped. “Although I take it that you like his dog and pony show.”
“What do you mean?” Wymack asked. Kevin was no longer making eye contact with either of them, choosing to stare at the ground.
“You didn’t have to take on a college Exy program in order to run a charity,” Riko sneered, voice raised. “It’s an embarrassment to the sport, the type of riff-raff you want to bring in. You would have done better to take the assistant coaching position that the Master offered you, but I suppose your misplaced ego got in the way of that.”
David forced another smile. Too many people had given up on pretending to mill around, now simply watching the teenager berate him.
“You’re not the first to tell me that, Riko, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.” He said coldly. “I hope you boys are lucky enough to never need a second chance.”
Riko scoffed and walked away, rolling his eyes. Kevin stalled for the briefest second, eyes darting back up to David. As much as he looked like Kayleigh, David had never seen an expression of quietly contained terror on Kayleigh’s face like this. It made his stomach turn. He gave Kevin a nod, and Kevin darted after Riko to catch up.
Slowly, the crowd that had formed around David’s booth resumed their chatter and slow browsing of the booths. A short redheaded man with a moustache and aviators walked up to him.
“What was that all about?” He asked David in a thick Baltimore accent.
“ ‘Sons of Exy’,” David scoffed. “Moriamya should teach them some fucking manners.”
“Is that so.” said the stranger.
“Look, I get it. Those boys are better at Exy than anyone else in this room,” David said conspiratorally. “But you gotta admit, the way that Tetsuji’s trotting them out all the time, it can’t be good for them.”
The stranger barked out a laugh and gave David a sharky smile.
“You might be right about that, but I would keep that to yourself,” he said, shaking David’s hand with a grip that betrayed his short stature. “If you know what’s good for you. You have a good one now, alright Wymack?”
David gave him a nod and watched him dip back into the fray. Something told him that the stranger’s advice to keep his opinions to himself would have been helpful to hear 10 minutes ago.
One day at a time.
February 2002
“Son of a bitch, Winfield,” David groaned as she helped him stretch. “Sometimes I wish that goddamn truck had killed me instead.”
“C’mon David, just thirty more seconds and then I’ll let you take a break to smoke,” she said, no sympathy in her voice. It was one of the things he liked about Abby most.
“Last time I heard that, it was 1984 and I was in the back of a station wagon outside of Milwaukee—- aw fuck, fuck—“
Abby released the stretch and handed David one of his crutches. She lent him a hand off the PT table and walked beside him while he hobbled outside. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall.
“I know I’ve said it a million times, but Jesus Christ,” he exhaled. “I’m telling you, that truck came out of nowhere.”
“And I’ll say this again: It’s an actual miracle that you lived.” Abby said, squinting into the sunset.
She wasn’t wrong. He’d been on his motorcycle, riding home from practice when a truck had barrelled into him. He’d flown nearly 50 feet and managed to land in a swampy ditch, ass first. The truck had driven off, of course, but a semi driver had found his wrecked bike and managed to get an ambulance out there before David died of shock.
Five months, two hip surgeries, a concussion, dual arm casts, a relapse in drinking that had no end in sight and an absolutely abysmal first season coaching later, David Wymack was finally starting to see some results from his 5-days a week PT. It helped that Abby Winfield refused to let him whine his way out of his exercises.
“You know, it’s kind of funny, you living.” Winfield said.
“It’s funny to you that I lived.” David deadpanned, dragging on his cigarette.
“You’re the second chances guy,” she shrugged. “Feels right that the universe finally threw you one.”
She looked beautiful illuminated against the sunset. Maybe not here nor there, but David noticed anyway. He ran his tongue over his front teeth, nodding and pretending that he was coming up with an idea he had been thinking about for weeks now.
“You ever work with college athletes, Winfield?”
May 2004
“Wymack. Open a window, for fuck’s sake. It looks like you have a fog machine going in here.” Abby said from the doorway of his office.
“No,” David said absentmindedly, ashing his cigarette in an overflowing tray.
Abby waved her hand in front of her face as she craned her neck to see what David was locked into on the TV.
“Is that Kevin Day?”
David nodded.
“You know he’s already signed to the Ravens,” she said gently.
He sighed, pressing pause on the remote. He had stopped on a close up of Kevin’s face, helmet torn off at the halftime bell.
“I know.” He sighed again. “Just a hell of a player. Wish we could get a kid as dedicated as him.”
Abby crossed her arms, rubbing her thumb absently on her arm.
“You played with Kayleigh.”
“I played for Kayleigh. She taught me the game.”
“That would have been in ‘85?” She asked, biting her lip.
“Yeah,” David said, stubbing his cigarette out. He looked her in the eye. “Why?”
She let the silence hang for a moment.
“Kevin was born in February 1986. Would have been conceived in 1985.”
David’s face twisted into a grimace.
“I wonder how many of the other guys from the exhibition team get this bullshit—“
“—David.”
“I’m serious, Kayleigh was a fucking professional, do you really think she was gonna fuck a player of hers?”
“I didn’t mean to say anything about Kayleigh Day—“
“Well you did. Do you really think if Kevin was mine, that he’d be in that psycho Moriyama’s cult?”
“Would you have had a choice?”
David paused, mouth opened like he’d been slapped. He snapped his jaw shut, staring back at the TV.
“Get out.” he said, coldly.
Abby turned heel and walked down the hall to her own office. She allowed herself to slam the door. Counted to 10, like she told the psychopaths on her team. Did it again when that didn’t work. Her phone rang.
“Winfield,” she answered, taking a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” said David on the other line. “If I buy groceries, will you cook? I promise, no more Exy tonight.”
She sighed, dropping her shoulders from her ears. He sounded like he might be on the verge of tears.
“Fine. Get a bottle of red on your way home. Betsy’s calling at seven.” She hung up.
Work at a college, they said. It’d be less stressful than the public sector, they said. As she packed up her notes for the week, she couldn’t shake the picture of Kevin Day’s face as it had been frozen on the TV screen. He looked exactly like David Wymack, even if he refused to see it.
January 2005
All things considered, the winter banquet had almost been a success. Only four of his players had gotten trashed off of flasks that Wymack had pretended not to see, Danielle had only had to sucker-punch one dickhead captain (although that Boyd kid had threatened two others, he noticed), and Tetsuji hadn’t even pretended to talk to him outside the distracted pleasantries that were expected of NCAA coaches.
So when a frantic knocking woke David out of a dead sleep around 2 in the morning, he almost rolled over and went back to sleep. Let the little fuckers figure it out themselves.
Unfortunately, Abby had stumbled out of bed and opened the door to their hotel room. She swore loudly as the intruder rushed into the room. David fumbled for the light, and was met by the vision of Evermore’s second ranked (but better, in his opinion) striker, clutching a hand soaked in blood and at a strange angle.
“What the fuck,” he said, wishing that he had slept in something besides tighty-whities.
“I’m sorry,” Kevin Day sobbed. “I just— I don’t know what to do, and it hurts,”
David fumbled through his bag for a shirt while Abby corralled Kevin into a chair. He kept looking back at the door, so David locked it before sitting on the edge of Abby’s bed. She examined Kevin’s hand grimly.
“You need to go to a hospital,” she said quietly.
Kevin shook his head fiercely. He looked paler than normal. Older too, much older than his 19 years.
“Kevin,” David said as gently as he could. “What happened?”
“I fell down the stairs.” He said.
The lie fell heavy on the floor.
“You already woke us up before the ass-crack of dawn,” David said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Try it again, without the lie.”
Kevin chewed on his lip. Not for the first time, David looked him up and down, seeing Kayleigh in so much of him. The face tattoo would have sent her into a conniption.
”I embarrassed Riko. I had to be punished,” Kevin said quietly.
David’s blood ran cold.
“Riko did this?” He asked, kneeling to meet Kevin’s eyes. Kevin’s eyes darted away, but David had played this game more than a few times in the last several years.
Amanda, who would have made Court, if she hadn’t gone back to the deadbeat boyfriend who knocked her up.
Brian, the defensive dealer who couldn’t admit that he would never get off the bottle without inpatient rehab.
Kellen. Meghan Jameson. Cody. All three had been too poor to resist being shipped to Iraq, and all three had been sent back in body bags.
Kevin started sobbing in earnest. Abby looked at David, panicked. He gestured to his bag, thumb and pinky in the universal symbol for “get this guy a drink.”
She dug through his duffel bag and pulled out a flask of David’s own with pursed lips, and handed it to him. David held it to Kevin’s mouth. He coughed out most of it, but his crying slowed to a hiccup.
“Riko did this to you.” David asked again, patient as ever.
“Riko,” Kevin coughed. “The Master watched.”
David’s stomach curdled. This was not the Exy that Kayleigh had wanted, and her own son was paying the price. Fuck the commision, fuck the Moriyamas, fuck the police and the feds and whoever the fuck else Tetsuji was going to call— He was going to get Kevin out of this hell.
“Abby,” he said levelly. “Go wake the team. We’re leaving,”
“David,” she said, voice wavering. “It’s three in the morning.”
“I know. I know. We gotta get him outta here,” he said, looking at Kevin.
“Kevin, if you don’t want to file charges, we can’t go to a hospital here,” he said. Kevin hiccuped and nodded, still clutching his obliterated hand. “But if we get back to Palmetto, it’ll be out of state. It might not be impossible to trace, but if we don’t push it, the hospital won’t push it.”
“How do you know that?”
Maybe it was just because he was tired. David laughed anyway.
“My grandma threw a plate at my head once,” he said. “I called your mom from across state lines. Needed stitches later that night and it turned into a whole thing,”
Kevin took a shuddering breath.
“So you did know my mom,” he said, chewing on his lip again.
“Yeah,” David said. “She was my coach. She’d be proud of you. But she’d be pissed as hell about your hand. Should we go get on the bus?”
Kevin hesitated, then nodded.
David felt the world shift as Abby slipped out of the door to wake the rest of his players for an early exit.
April 2005
“It’s like they don’t even understand the privilege of being here,” Kevin bitched from the coach’s bench as their team fucked around on the court. “Why do they act like they’ve never been a part of civilized society?”
David ground his teeth and cursed his own perpetual kindness. Kevin Day could be real goddamn dense when he wanted to be. Took after his mother in that way.
“Easy, Day,” he said. “It’s a rebuilding year.”
“How many rebuilding years can you have in a row? What is there to rebuild from?” Kevin asked, shuffling his notes clumsily in his non-dominant hand. His left hand was still locked into a sling after a second surgery. Paying for it out of pocket had ensured that David would drive the team bus by himself for the remainder of the season, and probably into the next fall semester.
“Did you look through the files?” David said, desperate to change the subject as Dan tried to break up a fight on the court.
“I did. Millport next weekend?” Kevin said, not even looking at the shitshow happening in front of them.
David racked his brain. Millport— Hernandez’ kid. The runner. He didn’t see the promise, but he had heard the desperation in Hernandez’ voice during their call.
“We need defense more than we need another striker,” he said. Boyd joined the fray on the court with panache, and he debated blowing the whistle.
“Janie’s not going to make it.” Day said flatly.
Wymack sighed, pinching his brow. Was Kevin right? Probably. Was that extremely depressing to think about? Absolutely.
Boyd threw 2 punches into Gordon’s stomach, which made Reynolds throw her racquet and jump on his back. Dan, god bless her, at least aimed the ball at Allison’s trunk instead of her head this time.
“How many athletes do you know that regularly put out a four minute mile?” Kevin said, totally oblivious to the bloodbath on the other side of the plexiglass. “Speed in any position can shift the course of a season. We can move other players around. I can coach Josten after-hours.”
David sucked in on his own teeth. If the spectre of Kayleigh Day had been haunting him for damn near twenty years prior, then Kevin was a doubling-down of sorts.
“If you want another striker so bad, you should learn to play right handed,” Wymack said. “I’ll give you court keys so you can practice when you want.”
Kevin’s head snapped up from his notes, eyes wide.
“You’ll fix my game?” he said. He looked too hopeful for David to explain that he had been joking.
“You’re the only one who can fix your game,” he said instead. “But I’ll certainly give you the opportunity to try.”
“I won’t fail you,” Kevin said, nodding his head weirdly. David had the rotten feeling that the Moriyamas had beaten the instinct to bow into Kevin. Still. He was so self-assured. Just like Kayleigh had been.
“If you say so,” he muttered before finally blowing the whistle before Andrew could bean a third player with a near-lethal shot from goal. “Foxes! If you dumb motherfuckers spent half as much time running drills as you did fighting, you might be an actual team! Let’s try it from the top!”
May 2006
When this season was over, if everyone was still alive, David was going to throw his nokia in the ocean and not speak to another living soul for a month.
He was waist deep in legal paperwork— who knew that having a player who was technically an FBI informant would be a hassle— when Kevin knocked on his office doorframe.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“Of course,” sighed Wymack. This was not good. Kevin never knocked. David saw Josten sneak past them in the hallway, giving Kevin a thumbs up. Also not good.
Kevin stepped into his office, fiddling with his hoodie pocket. He shut the door behind him. Another bad sign.
“What’s going on?” David said.
Kevin sat down in the chair across from David’s desk.
“Neil and I were talking, and he told me that um. Well, I was thinking— well. No.” Kevin let out a shaky exhale, and pulled a yellowing envelope from his pocket.
“I think you should read this,” he said, passing it to David.
David recognized the shape of the handwriting. He took the envelope from Kevin carefully, and pulled out the letter contained within.
Kevin chewed on his fingernails, staring at the floor while David read. He made it about a paragraph in when the reason for Kevin’s nervousness was made clear.
The father is David Wymack— He’s not going to be involved. In fact, I haven’t spoken with David since late August. He’s a fine man, but it just wasn’t going to work out for us.
David’s fingers shook as he read and re-read that sentence over and over again.
The father is David Wymack.
The father is David Wymack.
The father is David Wymack.
“Where did you find this?” David heard himself say. He sounded far away.
“I found it in Tetsuji’s office,” Kevin said quietly. “I stole it and hid it in my things at the Nest.”
“Wait, what?”
“It was buried in a filing cabinet of my mom’s old stuff, I was just trying to see if she had—“
“When did you find this, Kevin?” David clarified.
Kevin chewed on his thumbnail.
“Like, 6 years ago. Moreau gave it back to Neil over winter break.”
“Six YEARS ago?” David yelled.
Kevin flinched. Blood rushed through David’s ears.
“When were you going to clue me in?” David said, tossing the letter back onto the desk.
“I didn’t plan to, but Neil thought it might be a good distraction—“
“You didn’t plan— We’re not talking about Neil right now!” David yelled. He dragged a hand down his face. “This is fucking unbelievable.”
He picked up the letter again, finding Kayleigh’s impossibly neat signature at the end of it.
“Kevin, do you realize how fucked up this is?”
Kevin just stared at him, panic in his eyes. David scoffed.
“You actually probably don’t realize how fucked this is. You know— god, this is a goddamn mess, the ERC and ESPN are gonna have a fucking field day, not to mention the rest of the team, and the college board— I had to pull a lot of fucking strings to get you here and now that’s gonna look suspect as hell—“
“I didn’t know what to do!” Kevin snapped. “If it got out, Tetsuji would have gone after you, I didn’t want that!”
“Oh my god,” David groaned, now standing up and pacing. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
He barked out a humorless laugh.
“That little fucker tried to bribe me with you, you know that?” David said. “When he tried to get me to coach at Evermore. I didn’t take the bait because Kayleigh had assured me that I wasn’t the father.”
Kevin paled.
“That’s the real kicker here, too, the amount of bullshit you Days have put me through,” David continued. “I mean, you both just assumed that I couldn’t make any fucking choices about this, y’all just had to have it your way, huh? I’ll be honest Kevin, I know your mom had others around the time that we were fucking. I mean, how do we even know that this letter is true?”
“I’ll pay for a paternity test,” Kevin said, looking anywhere but at David.
David exhaled. Counted to ten, like Abby had told him to.
“We have to get one done,” he said to Kevin, flopping back into his desk chair. “Just to be sure.”
A heavy silence filled the room.
“I’m sorry,” Kevin said again.
“It’ll work out.” David said grimly. “I wish you would have told me when you first got here, but I mostly wish your mom hadn’t fucking lied to me.”
“I think she was trying to protect you,” Kevin offered.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said bitterly. “You would have never ended up in the Nest if I had been in the picture, Kevin. I wouldn’t have allowed it.”
“Coach—“
“She knew I wanted a family,” David said, tears welling in his eyes. “She knew that, but she wanted Exy more. Fuck. So fucking selfish.”
Kevin fidgeted. He looked like he was about to cry too.
He could already see what he had been avoiding for years— Kevin looked like Kayleigh until you knew what to look for. Same nose, same thick eyebrows. same Wymack mole on the forehead. He realized that their moles were mirror images, aligned when the two of them stood face to face. It made David sick to his stomach.
“Kevin, I need you to get out of my office. Schedule the paternity test— do not use any doctors associated with the University. Call me when you get that figured out.” David said, willing his voice to stay even.
“Yes Coach,” Kevin said softly.
“Do not apologize to me again.”
“Yes Coach.”
“We’re gonna figure this out,” David said, mostly to himself. “It’s just a shock.”
“Understood,” said Kevin, standing up to leave.
“Kevin,” said David.
Kevin turned back from the doorway.
“If it’s true, this is gonna be a lot of sessions with Bee. For both of us. And you’re getting that tattoo covered up.”
Kevin just nodded, then left.
David stared at the wall across from his desk. A map hung crookedly, green thumbtacks placed where prospective recruits were living. He got up and ran his fingers over the map, finding the tiny, worn down holes where red thumbtacks had once told him where his heart had been.
He could have killed Kayleigh Day for all of this.
But he was going to make sure that Kevin Day survived.