I nodded, checking, “Jacobs, right?” The dark-haired player nodded in response. “Zone defense is a great way to slow the game down. Use it to your advantage. Let it give you and your team the time needed to take control of the game and the play’s tempo.” I cast a quick glance at Milo, who stood back, arms crossed, smiling and nodding in agreement.
“Remember, no layups in zone defense. Plus, talk to each other. At this stage, you’re not mind readers. Sure, when you’ve played for a while together, there’ll be some of your teammates you gel with, can read from a simple look or read of their play, their body language,” I explained.
“Like you and Moore, right, Coach Sutton?”
Immediately alert, I flipped my attention to the redheaded kid who’d seemed too gangly to be a player. But since I’d seen him on the court, that impression didn’t hold. When my gaze snagged his, I’d expected cockiness to be staring back at me. Instead, curiosity filled his features, and there was no sass or derision in his tone.
“Yeah,” I finally answered, keeping my tone neutral and focusing on Moore my teammate, rather than Jayden my… fake fiancé? “On the court, we don’t need to share a word most of the time. We got to that point by hours of practice, of studying replays—”
“—of hooking up,” a wiseass said alongside a ridiculous cough.
“Murphy.” Milo stepped in immediately. “Pipe down unless you want you and your team to run laps until you collapse.”
Murphy, a guy who was quick on his feet, simply grinned, hands held up in a defensive gesture. “No disrespect, Coach Sutton,” he said, eyes bright with amusement. “Just pointing out that being… uhm… friendly off the court has to mean you can read each other on a whole other level, right?”
I glanced around the small group. All of their attention was on me.
The need to deflect niggled at me, but then I remembered one of the reasons why we were here. Why we’d been invited.
The only way to cut through the bullshit and negativity surrounding queer players was to tackle this head-on.
When Milo spoke up again, I smiled over at him. “It’s okay, Coach. I can field this and any otherreasonablequestions,” I emphasized for good measure. Heck, I didn’t want a complete free-for-all. Nor did I want my private life to be at the center of gossip.
Taking a discreet, calming breath, I channeled the version of myself that could handle this and any other shit that came my way. Hell, I was an African-American man with a good sprinkling of Polish in me brought up in a working-class neighborhood. The amount of bigotry and prejudice I’d challenged and tackled over the years had been too numerous to count.
Why the hell not add in a queer label to that list for good measure? Somehow I held back my snort and focused on the young guys before me.
“Murphy’s right. Connecting with your teammates can improve your game twofold. You have to build mutual trust and respect. That’s not always easy, especially if you have a few mouthy players on the team who don’t know when to shut up.” I quirked a brow and followed up with a smile to soften the blow. Murphy and the rest of the group snorted out laughs. “Having a player in your team who’s not gelling for some reason can hurt a team’s mindset, their morale. Playing pro is so much more than you being a kick-ass player, and as clichéd as it sounds about there being no I in team…” I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “I know, I know, I said it was clichéd, but it doesn’t make it any less true. If there’s upset in the team, it can mess up all plays.”
Taking in the group, I hoped I wasn’t screwing this up. At least they were listening or at least pretending to. But shit was about to get seriously real. For me anyway. It was kind of empowering that not a single person in this group would understand the significance of the words I was about to say either.
“Dissention in the group can spark from such minor things, like not leaving the emotions of a pointless argument in the locker room. Heck, it can be nothing to do with the team. Maybe you’ve had an argument with your parents, your girlfriend, your boyfriend,” I added for good measure, “and rather than sharing that and talking it out, you bottle it up, take it on the court, and end up screwing your team over.
“Then of course there are the bigger things. Perhaps bullshit you’ve read in the press. Maybe it’s one or two of your teammates identify as LGBTQ+, are queer, like me, and it throws you off your game because of some preconceived opinion of what that looks like or means.”
Each pair of eyes in the group was a hundred percent focused this time. I pushed ahead, refusing to waver. “I can tell you all right now, sexuality, faith, race, none of it matters on the court. Ever. On the court, you’re players, a team. And off the court, I can only hope you’re all educated, decent human beings.”
My words were met with silence. Ignoring the golf-ball-sized lump in my throat, I focused on keeping my breathing steady and shoulders relaxed. I then looked at Milo. A soft smile formed on his mouth, directed my way. He nodded once, winked, and turned back to the group.
“Right,” Milo said, garnering the players’ attention and thankfully removing their intense stares from me. “You all have your one area of focus. Form pairs and one three and get your asses moving. You’ve got thirty minutes to prove you don’t want to be staying till midnight tonight working plays.”
When no one moved immediately, Milo looked to the ceiling and raised his hands in the air. “Sweet Jesus, Coach Sutton asked for educated, but all you gave me were these guys.”
My mouth twitched, appreciating the giant change in subject and the break in tension. My thundering heartbeat began to steady out a little.
With one look at the sitting team, complete with raised brows and a scowl, Milo’s expression did the trick. All seven guys were off their asses and racing to the court.
“What do you think?” he then said, moving to my side as we watched the group sort themselves and work on drills.
“About?” I asked.
“Think they’ve got what it takes?”
“Maybe ask me again in a month.”
Milo snorted. “Right. You should have seen them two weeks ago. And these guys are the cream of the crop. I swear, have you seen Parker, number fifteen, in a game?”
I nodded. I’d watched him a few times when I took in a televised game. “The kid was impressive.”
