The parent—Mrs. Jacobsen—tilted her head as she studied him. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Kennedy. The first time we showed up with Liam for practice, I saw your tattoos and . . . well, I thought you would be . . .”

Diesel’s lips curved, because it appeared the conversation wasn’t going to go as he’d feared. “Mean? A thug?”

She laughed nervously. “Something like that. We try to teach our son not to judge a person by their appearance, but I’m afraid I did that with you. But you came highly recommended by my friends, so I allowed Liam to join the team. I’m so glad I did. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said graciously. “I hope Liam enjoys himself.” He looked down at the boy and gave him a wink. “He’s a neat kid.”

Liam beamed. “’Bye, Coach Diesel.”

Diesel waved as they left, then looked down at his list with a silent sigh. One name left unchecked. One child unclaimed. He turned to find Joshua Rowland sitting on one of the folding chairs with Mrs. Moody, his little face pinched as he searched the parking lot for his mother’s car.

Mrs. Brewer had been late picking up her son from every practice. Diesel had needed to call her cell phone to remind her. She always gushed that she’d been so busy and was so sorry, but Diesel got the feeling that the woman was more concerned with attracting attention to herself than with caring for her son.

He dialed her cell, got her voice mail, and left a polite message. Then he gave Joshua a bright smile. “Your mom’s running a little late. Maybe you could help me put away the soccer balls while we’re waiting for her.”

Joshua jumped up, eager to help. So eager to please.

Diesel’s heart hurt. The boy reminded him of himself. Children this eager to please were prime prey for predators.

They put the equipment in the bed of Diesel’s truck, and he let Joshua shove the tailgate closed, unable to keep from smiling at the way the child dusted his hands together and gave him a satisfied nod.

But the boy’s satisfaction was a facade, because he was searching the parking lot from the corner of his eye. The pinched look returned when there was still no sign of his mother.

He looked up at Diesel, tears filling his eyes. “What do I do? I don’t know the way home.”

Mrs. Moody, who’d been silently watching them from the sideline, came over and gave the boy a hug. “We won’t make you go home by yourself, sweetheart,” she said. “We can take you.”

Joshua glanced at her, then back up at Diesel. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Diesel crouched down so that he was on Joshua’s level. “No need to be sorry, my man. Things happen.”