Chapter Text
David Wymack had the optimism beaten out of him as a kid.
So he’s getting really fucking sick of people calling him an optimist as an insult.
“Listen, David, we understand where you’re coming from,” Greg from the Exy Rules and Regulations Committee says nasally, “But I don’t think we’re going to be able to let this one go. I mean, c’mon, Dave, one of your players just attempted suicide! At some point you’ve gotta face the music and recognize that your little ragtag team isn’t going to make it! I admire your optimism, I really do, but I think this is the last straw.”
Don’t fucking call me Dave, David wants to say, grinding his teeth.
“I get what you’re saying, Greg,” he somehow manages to say into the phone, “But maybe listen to me for once; these kids are good. I know it, and I know that they’re going to keep getting better, but if you don’t even give my kids a shot, you’re never going to be able to see them at their full potential.”
“I don’t know, Dave,” Greg says, sniffling wetly from his side of the phone.
“Look,” David interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Give me a week. If I don’t have a player signed for the season, you win, we’re out. But if I find someone, then the ERC gives the Foxes one last chance to play this season.”
Greg is quiet for long enough that David starts to chew on his lip, ignoring the flash of pain when he rips off a sliver of skin.
“You’re a stubborn one, I’ll give you that,” Greg sighs crackly. “Fine. We’ll give the Foxes one more shot.”
David leaps up from his seat, throwing his arm up in the air. He’s so busy celebrating as silently as he can that he almost misses when Greg keeps talking.
“But I’m serious, David,” he says. “If your kids can’t get their act together and play like you think they can play, they’re done after this season.”
“I hear you, Greg,” David hopes Greg can’t hear the elation in his voice. “Give me a week. I’ll find someone to play. Then give me the season.”
The pleasantries go in one ear and out the other, because David’s mind is already racing. He hasn’t slept in nearly thirty hours, and he doesn’t think he will for a few hours more. When he finally hangs up on Greg, he stares at the wall of his cruddy office, panting in disbelief.
He’d been worried that he’d have to start sending emails to his kids.
Thank fuck he didn’t, he thought to himself, running his hand down his face, through his hair. He wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t recognize the self-soothing nature of those touches, but he blinked away Betsy’s voice in his head.
Kevin would be here in a few hours, David knew, but he had to start without him. He started up his clunky computer, still in disbelief. He and Kevin had already reviewed all the tapes of players’ applications, but there had to still be someone that could work. They didn’t need a pro athlete, they just needed someone that would put the work in when it came down to it.
With that, David’s determination solidified into something that poured steel down his spine, and everything else fell away as he dove into reviewing player’s tapes once again.
He was so focused that he nearly missed the sound of Kevin barreling his way into the court, clomping down the hallway.
But it was hard to miss a perpetually angry, 6’2” athlete who was allergic to complaining quietly.
“Kevin!” David calls, sounding angrier than he really is. He refuses to entertain the thought that it’s actually stress.
“What?” Kevin snaps back from the hallway.
“Get your ass in here!”
David doesn’t look away from the kid he’s watching attempt to score on his computer screen as Kevin clomps his way into his office.
“ What,” Kevin demands, and David can practically tell that the kid’s vibrating to get on the court. He’s like a chihuahua.
“Sit down.”
With a put out sigh, he falls into a chair in front of his desk.
“You too, Andrew.”
The little menace waits a minute before he stalks forward and sits next to Kevin. With a sigh, David pauses his video and levels his two players with a look he knows makes people nervous.
The kids don’t even flinch. Kevin glares back and Andrew tries not to yawn, it looks like.
“Janie attempted suicide yesterday,” he tells them bluntly.
“Shit,” Kevin swears, his eyes sharpening and sitting up straighter in his seat.
Andrew looks at his nails. What a turd, David thinks fondly.
“What did the ERC say?” Kevin asks frantically, eyes gone wild in the same way that his mother’s had.
“Janie’s fine, thanks for asking, dipshit,” David says, trying to convey how unimpressed he is.
“Fine, whatever,” Kevin says impatiently, leaning forward. “What about the ERC?”
How Kayleigh Day created such an asshole, David will never know.
“We’ve got a week to find another striker before we’re out,” David says, folding his arms.
“Shit,” Kevin says again, raking an aggressive hand through his hair. “Out for the season?”
David doesn’t answer.
Kevin stares at him in disbelief.
“Out, as in, out?”
“Yeah, kid,” David sighs, feeling tired.
Kevin covers his face frantically.
Andrew kicks the leg of his chair, his face ever unimpressed.
“We still have a week, numero dos,” he says tonelessly, his only tell the way his hands have tightened on his biceps.
“No one who sent in tapes is good enough,” Kevin retorts scathingly.
“Kevin,” David sighs. “You’ve got to work with me here. If you still want to play, we’re just going to have to make a decision.”
Kevin stands abruptly, shoving his chair to the side sharply, and leaves the room without another word.
It’s quiet, and David is exhausted. David isn’t worried about the way his expression crumbles. Andrew watches him impassively, but David can tell by the glint in his eyes that he can see how tired he is.
It’s quiet in the dingy office for a while.
When Andrew stands, dragging his chair to be next to David, he can only blink.
“Play the tapes, Coach,” Andrew says, settling into his chair. He doesn’t make eye contact.
David makes sure to hide his little smile as he presses play again.
Abby marches into his office only a few hours later. David knows that his eyes are probably swollen, knows that the burning in his eyes won’t go away after a single night of rest. Andrew doesn’t so much as flinch next to him, but David looks up to meet her red-lined gaze.
“Time to put it away,” she says calmly, knowing that both of them will listen to her. Neither of them are willing to test her patience.
David smirks a little when Andrew pushes away from the desk.
His expression falls when he meets Abby’s eyes again. She looks exhausted, and his heart hurts for his friend.
“How bad?” he asks finally, his voice too gruff.
Abby collapses into a chair with a gust of breath.
“Bad,” she mutters, face in her hands.
Fuck, David thinks, resting his head against the chair to stare at his yellowed ceiling.
Janie was a quiet girl. On the court and off of it. It drove Kevin crazy, but she was good and could keep up with his pace, most of the time. He’d tolerated her. The girls had liked Janie a fair bit. Apparently not enough for it to make a difference.
“They’re keeping an eye on her for now,” Abby says, muffled. David keeps staring at the ceiling. “Don’t know how long, but she doesn’t want to come back. Wants to go home.”
David thinks of an angry teenager, living on the streets and getting into fights just to feel like he was in control, if only for a second. Thinks of how often that teenager almost let it go too far. Remembers how often he did let it get too far.
“Which one?” David asks, mostly to himself.
Abby’s sigh sounds tremulous.
There’s a stain on the ceiling— David thinks it’s from a leak.
“Get any word from the ERC?” Abby asks.
David rolls his head to look at her, “We have a week to find another striker, or we’re out.”
Abby’s hands form fists in her hair. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” David sighs, looks back at the ceiling.
His fingers itch for a cigarette.
“Have you found anyone yet?”
David stretches his leg, winching at the deep pain in his hip. He needs to stand soon.
“Andrew’s helping. No one yet.”
“Great,” Abby mutters, with rare bitterness in her voice. “So we’re both out of a job.”
“Don’t start that shit with me, Abby,” David says sharply, jaw gritted. “We ain’t out of a job until this week is over, and that kind of shit will only make it worse.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Abby tells him. “But c’mon, David. A week?”
The silence feels heavy.
“A week,” David says, old exhaustion lining his bones. Sometimes he wonders if he was born exhausted. Sometimes he wonders if pain made him this way.
He assumes Abby’s thoughts are equally grim, because the quiet is oddly oppressive.
Eventually, the pain in his hip is too much, and he heaves himself up to stand. He takes it faster than he should, and ignores the shaking in his knee and the flinches of muscle in his hip.
“You taking your meds, you stubborn bear?” Abby asks, her eyes hawk-sharp on him.
David scoffs, and limps away. He has to check and make sure his kids are all actually heading home for once.
“Agonizing over all of this is pointless right now,” David says when he hears Abby’s footsteps behind him. “We should all head home, get some sleep. I’ll have some pizza delivered to your place.”
“David.”
He stops, hearing the tremor in her voice.
“I know, Abby.” He does. “We’ll figure something out.”
He leaves Abby in the hallway. He gives her the grace of falling apart without any eyes on her, at least. He finds Kevin on the court in gloves that shake and littered balls everywhere. Andrew watches darkly from the top of the stadium.
“Day!” David yells, once again sounding angrier than he feels. “Get your ass off my court!”
When Kevin not-so-accidentally bumps into David on the way out, he lets him get away with it. The color of his face and the shine in his eyes reminds him of when Kevin had found him with a broken hand and a crushed spirit. David created this ragtag team to try and help kids glue themselves back together, not tear themselves further apart.
If his actions were the reason behind his kids giving up, he’d never forgive himself.
Andrew clangs his way down the stadium steps, and stands next to David to watch Kevin stalk his way through the door.
Sometimes he just imagines putting his hand on Andrew’s shoulder to replace the actual action of it. Sometimes he thinks Andrew can tell when he does.
“I’ll watch him, Coach,” Andrew says, and it sounds oddly kind in his apathetic voice.
“I know you will, Minyard,” David tells him, turning back to his messed up court. “Just make sure to take care of yourself, too.”
Andrew must not feel like that needs an answer, because he only walks away. David cleans everything up, puts things back into place, and makes sure to turn off all the lights.
When he orders pizza for Abby and the boys at her place, he makes sure to then order a sandwich from another delivery place, and heads back to his office and powers up his computer.
Then he decides he better order a large coffee to be delivered too.
David wakes up to the sound of a harsh ping from his computer. His neck cracks when he lifts the dead weight up from the back of his chair, and his eyes are burning.
He’s not really sure how long he’s been asleep, and once he fully wakes up, he doesn’t really care either. It looks like the notification had been from his email. From the ERC, probably. David’s going to blame his bad attitude on lack of sleep.
Problem is, it’s not from the ERC.
The title of the email reads, Neil Josten— Candidate for Striker Position.
David is suddenly very, very awake.
He nearly knocks himself out of his office chair with how hard he sits up, and he has to grab his desk to keep him upright. Papers slide off the desktop, and David tries to catch his empty coffee cup from last night, but abandons it when it clatters to the ground.
He’s holding his breath as he opens the email.
Coach Wymack, he reads, My name is Juan Hernandez, I coach a high school Exy team in Arizona.
Coach, I realize that this might be too late after the recruitment period, but I’ve included one of my players’ information to be considered for recruitment. This kid is the best player I’ve got, but he’s living rough right now. Kid’s name is Neil Josten, and he’s playing striker for the team. Neil’s got the fastest clocked mile I’ve seen from an Exy player, and he’s wicked fast on the court. He’s a scrappy little shit, and I’ve seen him pull off plays that shouldn’t have worked. We’re not the best team, but Neil is undoubtedly the best player on this team.
I won’t air out this kid’s dirty laundry to you, but he would fit well with the Foxes. Neil needs something to live for, Coach, and I think Exy is the only thing that makes him feel alive.
I’ve sent you clips from some of his best games, and the school’s information as well.
David feels like he’s been hit with a hammer as he finishes with, Thanks, Juan Hernandez.
“What are the fucking chances,” David whispers to himself.