1: Summer hello

Heat shimmered above the football-field car park, softening the white lines and making the distant goalposts waver against a sky bleached pale blue. Vesna switched off the engine. The air-conditioning died with a sigh, and summer pressed immediately against the windows.

She pushed a loose strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear, disturbing the half-up twist she had attempted that morning, then turned in her seat.

Sen sat in the back wearing his green T-shirt and khaki shorts, his narrow knees close together. With his fair hair, round young face and solemn eyes, he looked like any little Slavic boy dragged somewhere by a mother who had promised it would be fun. His fingers worried at each other in his lap.

“Ready to play with the team?” she asked.

Sen just stared down. Vesna waited because she learned not to fill every silence for him, even when the quiet made something anxious tighten beneath her ribs.

At last, Sen shook his head. “Not really.”

His reply was barely louder than the ticking engine. Vesna exhaled through her nose before softening her voice. “It’s all right. You don’t have to be ready yet.”

His fingers kept twisting despite her words.

“But Milan’s been training with this coach for two weeks,” she added, “He said it’s really good. Also, Milan will be there, so you won’t be on your own!” she added a smile in hopes of enthusing him.

Sen’s mouth pressed into a small line and for several seconds, he said nothing. Then, still looking at his hands, he muttered, “All coaches are same.”

Vesna sighed and asked, “Are they really?”

“Yes, they’re strict.” his shoulders rose towards his ears, “They shout when you do it wrong.”

For a moment, he saw white again: a polo, shorts, a baseball cap pulled low against the sun, and the ball rolling wide of the goal. Useless, the man had said, in the same voice Sen still sometimes expected to hear from the next room.

Vesna unfastened her seat belt and climbed out into the heat, the skirt of her cream summer sarafan stirring around her calves, and walked around the car. Her white cropped shrug did little against the sun, but she was grateful for it when the metal door handle burned against her palm.

She opened the back door. Sen remained folded into the seat, making no move to climb out.

Vesna crouched on the hot pavement until they were eye to eye. A breeze carried the smells of dry grass, sun-warmed rubber and somebody’s aggressively floral sunscreen. She rested one hand against the edge of his seat but didn't reach for him.

“Listen to me sweetie,” she said, “We’ll meet this coach today so that you can see how he is. But, if you don’t like him, we’ll find another coach next week.”

Sen finally looked at her, “A completely different one?”

“A completely different one. I’ll even interview them personally with very serious questions.”

His gaze flickered with cautious interest, “Like what?”

“Let's see. What their favourite dinosaur is, what kind of biscuit is the best and most importantly, whether shouting at six-year-olds makes their hair fall out.” she ended with a laugh.

A tiny movement touched the corner of his mouth and Vesna held out her hand, “So, what do you say? Deal?”

He considered it, then nodded with more force than before and put his hand in hers.

They both got out of the car, and Vesna slung Sen’s little sports bag over her shoulder, the neck of his water bottle knocking softly against the shin guards inside and they both crossed the car park together and passed through the open gate.

The field spread ahead in a brilliant square of green, bordered by low fencing and rows of trees heavy with summer leaves. Children in coloured training bibs chased balls between cones while parents lingered along the touchline with water bottles and folding chairs.

Sen slowed as the noise reached them and his hand tightened around Vesna’s.

Near the centre of the field, two men were setting up a line of miniature hurdles. One was lean and sandy-haired, gathering footballs into a mesh sack. The other straightened with a stack of cones balanced in one large hand.

He was tall enough that the fitted deep-teal compression shirt seemed to create more distance between his shoulders and the ground than was strictly reasonable. Textured mesh and grey-teal sleeves followed the movement of thick muscle through his chest and arms, while charcoal panels narrowed sharply towards his waist. Black athletic shorts showed strong thighs built for use rather than display, and a grey wrap circled one wrist.

His muted-burgundy hair was swept back from a broad forehead, thick and textured, the shorter sides neat without looking overworked. At a distance, his face was all firm angles: high cheekbones, a long jaw, straight nose and restrained mouth.

Well, Vesna thought, that must be him; Coach Valko.

He was hot. Annoyingly, comprehensively hot and exactly her type. In fact, the kind of man some primitive corner of her brain would have selected from a crowd before she knew anything useful about him. But this was fine. Attractive men existed and she had survived encountering them before.

Coach Valko passed the cones to his assistant and said something that made the other man laugh.

As Vesna approached, he came towards them with an easy, long-limbed stride.

“First session?” he asked.

His voice was remarkably deep, carrying across the field without effort, but it had a warm, boyish liveliness beneath it that nearly made Vesna fold on principle. Nearly.

“Yes.” She offered her hand, “I’m Sen’s mother.”

“I'm Valko, head coach. Nice to meet you, Ms. Vesna.” his large hand closed carefully around hers, warm and calloused, his grip precise despite the difference in size.

“Nice to meet you too, Coach.”

He gestured towards the other man, “And that’s Luka, my assistant and also the one doing all the real work.”

Behind him, the assistant coach lifted the mesh sack in acknowledgement, “Finally, some recognition!”

Valko grinned, and the expression transformed his sharply structured face, drawing warmth into his eyes.

Vesna liked him immediately and not only because of the shoulders. His social ease was bright and unselfconscious, as though amusement were something meant to be shared rather than carefully measured out. It reminded her, unexpectedly, of an earlier version of herself.

For a moment, she saw a sunlit road, the car’s hood folded down, her arms lifted high above her head while her girlfriend laughed beside her into the wind. Vesna had once believed joy was something that could not run out.

A tug at the back of Vesna’s dress drew her attention down. Sen had slipped behind her, both hands twisted into the cream fabric of her skirt. Only one eye and the curve of his cheek showed beside her hip.

She turned slightly towards him, “Sen, sweetheart, this is your Coach Valko.”

Those words makde him vanish completely then.

“He’s usually a little-” Vesna reached behind herself, trying to coax him forward without pulling, “Come on, love. Just come say hello.”

Valko raised one hand. The gesture was easy, almost absent-minded, but it stopped her before she could try again.

“He’s fine there,” he said.

He took a step back, giving Sen more room, then lowered himself into a crouch. One forearm rested loosely across his thigh as he angled his body towards the boy without trying to look around Vesna’s legs.

“Hey, champ.”

Sen said nothing.

Valko held out a closed fist, leaving plenty of space between them, “I’m Valko, and this is our teams official coach greeting.”

Still nothing.

“It’s very technical,” he added, his expression solemn, “Most people need at least three years of training to master it.”

The fabric at Vesna’s hip shifted and Sen’s face appeared again, his gaze fixed on Valko’s outstretched hand.

Valko kept it there, steady and unhurried. After several seconds, Sen loosened one hand from Vesna’s skirt and reached around her leg. His knuckles barely touched Valko’s.

Valko nodded with grave approval, “Perfect form there, bud.”

Sen glanced at his face, then quickly looked down again.

“Do you like football?” Valko asked.

A pause, followed by a small nod.

“Good. Where do you like playing?”

Sen pressed closer to Vesna’s leg and Valko waited without filling the silence.

“Forward,” Sen whispered at last.

“Forward.” Valko lifted his brows as though Sen had just revealed an important tactical advantage. “Ah, so you’re here to chase after the goals?”

Another pause, then, “Yes.”

“Excellent! We’ve got plenty of boys who enjoy running.” He gestured a thumb behind him. “But remembering which direction to run in is still a work in progress.”

“I remember!” one of the children shouted from across the field.

Valko turned his head and called back, “Oh yeah? Luka's shins say otherwise there!”

Sen’s mouth twitched and Valko looked back at him, giving no sign that he had noticed, “You don’t have to play today. You can warm up with everyone, then watch for a while and see how we do things.”

Sen peered up at Vesna and she kept her face calm, though his fingers were still knotted in her dress, “It’s up to you, what do you say?”

His gaze moved towards the children and his friend, Milan had spotted him among the green bibs and was waving both arms over his head.

Valko remained crouched, his attention on Sen without pressing for an answer, “How does that sound, champ?”

Sen studied his face for a long moment, watching for the part where the offer might change. Then he gave a small smile and nodded.

“Good.” Valko rose in one smooth movement, “Watching still counts. Smart players watch everything.”

He didn't reach for Sen or try to guide him onto the field. Instead, he turned and called, “Milan, come and collect your new teammate before Luka teaches him anything silly.”

Milan came sprinting over, and Sen released Vesna’s dress one finger at a time. With one last look up at her, he stepped out from behind her legs. Valko shifted aside to give the boys room, watching Sen without holding him beneath his attention.

Vesna stayed where she was as her son followed Milan towards the warm-up cones. He moved cautiously, shoulders still drawn in, but he was moving on his own.

“If he wants to stop, he can,” Valko said beside her. “No questions asked.”

She turned towards him. His arms were folded across his chest, but his attention had shifted from the field. His amber gaze settled on hers and stayed there with an openness that felt almost accidental, as though he had forgotten, for a moment, that looking could become noticeable.

“I appreciate that,” she said.

“I know.”

The answer came too quickly. Something flickered across his face; not embarrassment exactly, but the brief awareness of a man who had heard himself a second too late. His gaze moved towards the field, then returned to her almost immediately.

“I mean,” he added, a little more carefully, “I could tell it mattered to you.”

There was no arrogance in it. If anything, the attempt to recover made the interest beneath his words more obvious. He looked at her with the startled concentration of someone who had expected an ordinary conversation and found himself suddenly invested in every answer.

Vesna shifted Sen’s bag higher onto her shoulder and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, annoyed that her hands had decided they needed somewhere to be.

Valko’s mouth tipped at one corner. “You still don’t look convinced.”

“You’ve had five minutes, Coach. I’m not that easy.”

“I was hoping not.”

The words landed between them.

For the first time since he had approached, Valko went completely still. His expression did not change much, but the muscles along his jaw tightened as though some more sensible part of him had finally arrived and was reviewing what he had just said.

Vesna lifted her brows. His eyes warmed, equal parts apology and amusement, but he did not take it back.

“You should probably start coaching, then,” she said.

“Probably.” His smile came slowly this time, less polished than the ones before it, and considerably more dangerous.

Before he could say anything else, Luka called his name from beside the hurdles. Valko glanced towards him. “Coming.”

Vesna turned before either man could see the smile threatening at the corner of her mouth and joined the other parents along the touchline, finding a patch of shade near the fence.

She kept most of her attention on Sen as the boys moved through the warm-up. Every so often, Valko’s voice carried across the field: deep, lively and impossible to mistake for anyone else’s.

When she looked towards him again, she found him already watching her.

He had a football tucked beneath one arm while Luka spoke beside him, but whatever his assistant was saying appeared to have lost the competition entirely. Valko held Vesna’s gaze across the field, the look on his face quieter now, stripped of the easy confidence he offered everyone else.

It was the unguarded look of a man who had been caught wanting something and had not yet remembered how to hide it.

One second passed, then another. Then, Luka nudged him sharply with an elbow. Valko blinked and turned back towards the children.

“Eyes on the field, Marko!” he called. “The ball’s down here, not in the clouds!”