“It says here he likes football.”
She nodded. “Came in clutching a stuffed Eagles mascot.”
“I can work with that.” At least, I hoped I could.
“If anyone can reach him, Mya, it’s you.”
Her words touched something inside me. All I wanted was to make a positive difference on the lives of the kids I encountered, so to have my mentor say that was everything.
I left Sally and went to find Hugo, spotting him the second I stepped into the main hall. A small kid with a head full of brown, curly hair, he watched the other kids and volunteers play a game of hacky sack.
I grabbed a soft football out of the box and made my way over to him. “Mind if I sit here?”
His silence and lack of eye contact spoke volumes. Instead, Hugo gave me a half-shrug and shifted along the bench.
“I’m Mya. I was hoping we could hang out.”
More silence. But I didn’t let it faze me. You had to have thick skin to work with these kids. Kids who had seen and experienced things no kid ever should.
“Is that Swoop?” I motioned to the tatty stuffed eagle in Hugo’s hands. He was clutching onto the thing so tight I was surprised it hadn’t ripped clean in two.
But he didn’t respond.
“I’m not a huge fan, but my boyfriend plays for a college team. He’s pretty good.”
Hugo glanced at me, his stare so dull and lifeless it twisted my insides.
What had this poor kid seen to make him choose not to communicate? To build walls so high he didn’t know how to break through them? To choose isolation and solace over comfort and security?
“His name is Asher, he plays defense.”
Hugo averted his gaze again, and the seed of hope that had flourished in my chest withered and died. But I’d keep pushing. Slowly and surely, I’d prove to this six-year-old with pain in his eyes that he could trust me.
Two weeks and three more sessions later, Hugo still refused to talk. He barely engaged in sessions, choosing to color or read a book in silence. His brothers had flourished, although Jay preferred the physical activities laid on by the center while Mario preferred the more creative ones.
“There you are.” Asher looped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest as I added milk to my cereal.
“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”
He made me drop the spoon and turned me in his arms. “The kid?” His brows furrowed.
“He’s just so... sad. It breaks my heart.”
“Babe, we talked about this. You can’t fix every kid who comes through the doors.”
“I know.” I bristled. “But you haven’t seen him, Ash. He just sits there, completely closed off. I’ve spent almost ten hours with him, and he hasn’t said a single word to me.”
It was no time in the grand scheme of things, but it was the first time I’d worked with a selective mute before. It was hard not to let my own frustrations bleed over.
“You promised you wouldn’t get too involved.”
“I’m not,” I snapped a little too harshly, and Asher arched a brow. “Sorry, I just—”
“You care, I get it. But some of these kids have experienced enough trauma to warrant a lifetime of therapy. You said he was getting professional support?”
I nodded. “Someone has been working with him at school. But so far, nothing.”
“Know what I think?” He leaned down, touching his head to mine.
“What?”
“The little guy will talk when he’s good and ready.”
“I wish it were that simple.” My shoulders sagged.
“Maybe he just needs a reason to talk.”
“What do you mean?” It was my turn to frown.
“Maybe he needs some motivation, and I’m not talking getting a sticker or lollipop at the end of a session with the school shrink.”
“Like a bribe?”
“Let’s call it gentle persuasion.”
“Actually,” I said, an idea forming. “You might be onto something.”
“Yeah?” Asher grinned. “And here was me thinking I was talking complete crap.”
“There’s this intervention a lot of schools use called the ‘mystery motivator’. I might be able to adapt it.”
“Sounds good. You said he likes football, right? Maybe we could arrange something once the season starts? Bring the kids out to a training session or even a game.”
“You’d do that for them?”
“For you, babe. I’d do it for you.” He kissed the end of my nose.
Ideas started firing off in my head. The only time Hugo even looked remotely interested in me was when I’d mentioned my boyfriend played college football. I’d tried to incorporate football into our activities and conversations as much as I could without coming on too strong. It was important to go at Hugo’s pace, to gradually earn his trust.
“I’ll talk to Sally and see what she thinks. Thank you.” I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. Asher grew hard against my stomach, and I eased back to look at him. “Seriously?” I smirked.
“What? My dick just so happens to be very, very attracted to you.”
“Well, I hate to be a buzz kill…” I let my mouth linger on his, running my tongue over the seam of his lips. “But I have an early class.” Slipping out from between Asher and the counter, I grabbed my bowl and sashayed away.
“You’re killing me, Hernandez,” he called after me.
“Love you too,” I replied around a smile.
Because I did.
I loved Asher the way the stars loved the night.
Unconditionally.
Irrevocably.
Endlessly.
Asher
“Bennet, get in here, son,” Coach Johnson called as I passed his office.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“Just checking in. Wanted to see how you’re feeling about the upcoming season?”
“I feel good, sir. The team is looking strong. I think we might have a real shot going into the playoffs.”
“I agree. That kind of attention will bring scouts. You’re a junior now, son. It’s time to make some decisions about your future.”
“Already made them, sir.”
“I thought you might say that.” He rubbed his jaw. “But I’d hoped to convince you to reconsider. When scouts come knocking, I’d really like your name on their list.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, sir. Going pro isn’t in my plans.”
“Well, shucks, Bennet. Never thought I’d see the day a talented young man such as yourself would give up a shot at the big leagues for a woman.”
“She’s not just any woman, sir.” A smirk played on my lips.
“No, son, I guess she’s not.” There was no malice in his expression; just mild disappointment, and a shit ton of respect.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t the answer you’d hoped for, Coach.”
“Me too, son. Me too. Now get out of here.”
I gave him a nod and walked out of there. I knew the guys wouldn’t understand, but it wasn’t their life.
Back in senior year, at high school, I’d watched my mom almost die from a bullet meant for me. I’d watched the fear in my old man’s eyes as he held the one woman who had always stood by his side, despite his flaws—and he had many. I’d made a promise to myself that day if Mya ever gave me a second chance—which she had—I would never do anything to jeopardize that.