Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Take the first right,” Creed suggested. “Cut through all the outdoor flea market parking lots until you get to the backside of the high school. There, there will be a cut fence right at the corner of the mall parking lot closest to Dillon’s. That’ll take you to the back side of the fieldhouse.”
I was off before he could say anything more, taking his exact directions through the rest of town, passing a confused looking Denver as I went.
Cows scattered. Dogs barked.
But the only thing I could focus on was getting to that soccer game.
Twenty-Eight
What kind of birth control are you using? Or is it just your personality?
—Eddy to Nettie
Eddy
“All right, ladies,” I said as I looked at each face individually. “We’re going to do just fine. Calm down. Focus on our style of play. You’re stooping down to their level. You’re better than this. Passes are faster than dribbling.”
Heads nodded.
“Look up. I want to see a bunch of one twos. They’re ready for you to dribble it.”
I said this to my team captain.
She nodded in understanding.
“We’re only down by one,” I said. “And we have a whole forty-minute half left.”
“Yes, Coach,” one of my quietest seniors said, her shoulders straightening. “We got this.”
They did.
I knew they did.
It happened like that sometimes, losing against teams that were clearly worse than us.
But sometimes, it was hard to hold onto your foundation of soccer when you were playing against girls that literally had no clue what a foundation was.
If you asked them what an offside was, none of them would be able to tell you.
They were playing rough. They were clearly trying to take our girls out. And it was more than obvious that their coach had told them to do it.
“Win by whatever means possible” was the asshole’s motto.
“And remember,” I continued. “This is a scrimmage. In the end, this game doesn’t matter. If we win or lose, we’re still going to start fresh in three weeks. We’ll play teams of our own caliber. And we’ll play knowing that this game didn’t matter. Okay?”
More nods.
“All right,” I said when the ref blew her whistle, indicating halftime was over. “Let’s get out there.”
They all huddled close, and we called out ‘Bos!
The girls hustled out onto the field, and the six left on the bench huddled in close to me.
“Y’all really need to remember to bring your own blankets next time.” I laughed as I gave them my blanket and stood up.
They huddled under it and shivered.
I rolled my eyes.
“Weak. Y’all are all weak.”
“It’s thirty degrees out here with a windchill of twenty. You’re the weirdo,” Nettie called.
I discreetly flipped her off.
Nettie snickered and got in closer to the last girl on the bench and wrapped her into a hug.
They were right.
It was chilly.
But we were soccer players.
We were used to chilly.
I actually never remembered a time when we didn’t play when it was cold.
I was decked out in my warmest boots, several layers of clothes, and my soccer parka that said JCHS LOBOS on it.
The ref blew her whistle and the game was on.
I watched with a keen eye as my girls started the game, clearly intending to play their game this half instead of the other team’s game.
Ball movement was perfect for a solid ten minutes until our forward went down when the goalie went for the girl instead of the ball.
Everyone was on their feet at that, including the girl’s parents.
I held up my hand when I saw the dad start to hop the fence.
He stilled, but I could tell he didn’t want to. “I’m going.”
I hustled out onto the field along with our athletic trainer.
My ribs protested only a small amount as I got to Saraha’s side and dropped down to my knees. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. What hurts?”
“My head,” she admitted. “I’m seeing double.”
Fuck.
“Concussion?” I asked the AT.
The athletic trainer nodded. “That would be my guess. Let’s get you to the sideline. You’re not playing anymore today.”
I gritted my teeth and got her up, helping her toward the sideline with the AT’s help.
The ref, having waited until he got her off the field, turned around and held up a red card to the goalie, who pitched a huge fit.
Her coach pitched one as well, going up to the ref and getting into her face.
Which only pissed me off, because it was more than obvious that the reason he was doing that to her was because he thought he could intimidate her.
The fans on the other team yelled and booed.
The ref threw the coach out, too.
That’s when it went sideways.
Everyone was so focused on the goalie, the coach, and their issues that no one watched a random man come from the stands and storm across the field.
The female ref was flanked by both of her female linesmen, and didn’t see this man coming up until he was already on top of her.