Eye of the Storm

-> dogfight football

I didn't know what was currently going through my dad's head at the moment, I guess I was never good at reading him.

But it took us to the beach, so I was slightly grateful for whatever had prompted him to take us here today.

Unless it was running. Or conditioning.

My eyes brighten, and my smile widens as my father brings out two footballs.

I look at Rooster, just to see him staring at me.

He wiggles his eyebrow, and jabs his thumb at the footballs.

The nostalgia must've gotten him too.

Maverick smiles, slightly sweating under the sun. "Today, we're going to be playing dogfight football. Rooster and Hurricane know this drill. I'll explain the game, and then they can be team captains."

Rooster calls out, "A little competition never hurt anyone, right Hurricane?"

I laugh, and quip back, "Wait, what competition? Nobody else gets to be me!"

"And how many wins do you have?"

"More than you." I say back.

Rooster looks him up and down, checking me out in public. "You wish."

Phoenix says, "Ladies! You can go back to fighting-slash-flirting after the game, let's actually play."

We both nutter apologies, trying not to laugh. It feels like old times alright.

Maverick explained that is was just like football, except offense and defense happened at the same time, every time.

I had Phoenix, Coyote, Fanboy, Harvard, Fritz and Halo on my team, while Rooster got Payback, Omaha, Yale, Bob, and Hangman.

I don't think exactly qualifies as training, but we're all having too much fun to care.

In the beginning, we all are barking out the score, but now we're all laughing to hard to remember.

Even Maverick joins in at one point, but being the old man he is, he just can't keep up on the ground.

Once, he gets tackled, and Rooster goes over and helps him up. I think we're all beginning to heal in our own way.

I'm happy for Rooster, but I'm jealous because Rooster was the son my father never had.

I ignore daunting thoughts of the past, and move onto the present. Where my team is winning, once again. Hurricane 1, Rooster 0.

Rooster scores the first touch down, raising his hands in the air, cheering with his teammates.

I'm especially admiring him shirtless, and more so when he starts dancing to his victory.

Enough, Hurricane, focus on the game.

That's no fun.

I make some pretty epic catches on my side, and Rooster decides it's his mission to stop me every time.

Whether it's pushing me, knocking the ball down, or even lifting me away from it, he's effectively stopping me.

Phoenix laughs and eyes the two of us, her eyes saying, I know what you are, even if you two don't accept it.

I roll my eyes, and try pushing Rooster out of the way before he can stop me from catching the ball.

I fake right, but go left, catching Rooster off guard, and breaking his ankles.

I catch the football and I lift it into the air in celebration. I begin to race over to my team, but a pair of large hands encircle my waist.

Rooster lifts me up into the air, spinning us. His calloused fingers from piano and piloting sweeping across my waist.