“Good game. You have some real skills, kid.” I watch her eyes narrow with the nickname. Everything about me pisses her off and it’s fun watching her get riled up. “Grab some water while I set up.”
She jogs to the sideline and digs her water bottle out of her bag, taking a generous gulp. After setting the bottle down, she lifts the hem of her t-shirt to wipe the sweat off her forehead. I try to glance away, but the glistening sweat pebbling on her impressive abs surprises me. The girl is insanely fit.
I glance away before she notices and set up a row of cones opposite the goal box. She jogs back over to me and stretches. Since her muscles are nice and warmed up now, I’m going to push her to her limit.
“On the line.” She obeys, though her eyes say it’s killing her to do what I say. “When was the last time you ran the beep test?”
She groans, throwing her head back and pinching her eyes closed.
The beep test is one of my favorite conditioning tools which makes people think I’m crazy. A recording plays and counts down to the start of level one until one long beep sounds. You have to get to the other side of the lines before the next beep sounds. Each level gets faster until you’re sprinting and pushing yourself harder.
I always found it to be a competition with myself to see how much I could improve. Everyone always hates the beep test, but it’s one of the most useful tools we have.
“Don’t worry, I’ll run it with you.” I smirk at her and she rolls her eyes.
I set my phone up on the bench and get on the line beside her. “You ready?” She doesn’t respond and when the first beep sounds, we walk to the other side to the line of the goal box.
The point is to pace yourself and it can separate the good athletes from the great ones.
She stops after level sixteen which is highly impressive, especially for this early in the season. The test only has twenty-three levels which are all but impossible to complete.
“Nice work, Bria. You surprised me today.” We’re sitting on the bench, collecting our breaths and hydrating.
We’ve been training for an hour and I can tell she’s exhausted. She should get home and rest before her regular practice later today.
“Stretch and cool down before you head out. I don’t need you getting injured.” She nods but hasn’t said a word to me since we ran the test and it’s starting to piss me off. “Bria,” she turns and glares. “What’s your problem with me?”
A scoff precedes an emotionless laugh. “Are you joking?” I feel like I’m missing something. “You storm in here, all but tell Coach you don’t think I’m good enough, so he decides to have you train me. Then as an added bonus, you torture me on our first practice and expect me to make nice? You might have the other girls wrapped around your finger because you’re some big shot with a pretty face, but that ain’t me.”
The thing she doesn’t know is these extra training sessions weren’t Coach Paxton’s idea. They were mine. I saw her potential and I was the one who wanted to make her better. Paxton agreed, but Bria doesn’t need to find about how this all started. She hates me enough already.
“Campbell,” my tone garners her attention in an instant. “You can hate me all you want, but I’m doing this for you and I will not tolerate you acting like a spoiled brat. Coach wants to know how these practices are going. Don’t push me into telling him the truth.”
“You’re seriously blackmailing me to be nice to you?”
“No, I’m demanding respect. I’m the best player in the world right now. That has to be good for something.”
“You can’t be the top soccer player if you’re not playing soccer.” God, she’s hotheaded. I thought the guys on the team were bad, but they don’t hold a candle to her.
“Go home and cool off. I’ll see you at practice later.” She storms away, snatching her bag off the bench as she passes me without a glance. “Oh, and Bria?” she pauses, “tomorrow be here at five a.m.”
I’m in the office working on plays and a training schedule when Paxton comes in.
John Paxton has been the women’s soccer coach at Palm Valley University for as long as I can remember. He’s good friends with my coach and has come to almost all of our home games.
“Trevino, how was training this morning?”
Do I tell the truth or do I give her a pass?
I go vague. “Campbell has a fire in her. I understand what you see in her.”
“I knew you would. She keeps those girls in line too.” Probably because they’re all scared of her. “Let me know if she gets to be too much. She can be intense.”
I nod and he leaves.
The rest of the day passes in a breeze. The afternoon practice is uneventful, though Bria gives me nasty looks at every turn. It’s refreshing compared to the rest of the team throwing themselves at me and asking for their own one-on-one sessions. And I don’t think most of them are talking about soccer.
Getting home to my big, empty house is the worst part of the day. Being on the field and surrounded by people as passionate about the sport as I am keeps my mind off of the shit storm also known as my life right now.
I should be across the country right now, working my way towards playoffs, not coaching a bunch of college coeds. My phone has a bunch of missed texts from my teammates, keeping me in the loop when the reality is, they feel sorry for me.
I want the team to do well, of course, but if they win without me, will they even fight to bring me back?
A beer and ESPN are my easy fix. The highlights show the Yankees beat the Red Sox, a football player for the Eagles donated half of his salary to CHOP, and the LA Elite beat the Florida Lightning 3-2.
The cameras pan to my coach who looks ready to give an interview.
“Coach Murray, how is your team holding up without your forward Tatum Trevino?” the blonde sportscaster asks.
“We’re doing great. We beat Florida and next we’ll beat Atlanta.”
“Where is your star player? I didn’t see him on the bench. Is he even with you at all?”
We’d told the press I was dealing with a hip flexor injury. Injured players are always still required to travel with the team and sit on the bench.
“No, he’s at home, working on physical therapy. We didn’t want to push him too hard on the road and the best doctors are back in LA anyway.”
The blonde smiles for the camera, but something tells me she doesn’t buy into the story she’s selling. “Interesting. There’s a rumor going around—” My blood runs cold. If the story gets out, my career is over.
“Are you the type of reporter who listens to gossip? There’s no truth or integrity in rumors. Excuse me, I have to go celebrate with my team.”
Thank God Coach was prepared. I knew it would get out eventually, but I didn’t think it would happen this soon. This was all Coach’s idea and I have to trust him to protect me.
As long as the story doesn’t break, I have some time. As long as it stays buried, my life and career aren’t over.
Chapter Three
Bria
Three knocks rap against my door and I don’t even remove the pillow from over my head before I yell, “What?”