Morgan gives me her hand to help me up, but I shake my head. “I think it’s torn or broken.” The player got the same ankle I had taken out in the first playoff game. I’m sure she knew that, too.
Paxton and the trainer run over and help me up. I hold onto their shoulders as I hop on one leg off the field. The girls set up and Lindsay gets ready to take the kick.
“Coach, stop her. Lindsay can’t take the kick.” He looks at me, and he knows I’m right. “She’s too strong and she overshoots. If she doesn’t hit the crossbar, the goalie will be ready for her shot. It’s always in the upper ninety. You know I’m right. Stop her. Morgan has to take the kick.”
He nods and waves Lindsay over before the whistle is blown. The trainer starts talking to me about my ankle, but I shush him. I’m too focused on the game. I take the ice like I’m told, but the rest can wait.
Lindsay looks disappointed, but she runs back onto the field and tells Morgan. If she makes this goal, we win the game.
The whistle blows and Morgan bounces on her toes. The goalie for NC is on the goal line, bouncing on her toes from side to side, waiting for the kick.
Morgan lines up and runs toward the ball. The goalie follows her hips—a big mistake. Her hips are angled toward the left side but the ball soars into the right.
“Yes!” I scream and clap. If I could jump up right now I would.
Paxton walks over to me, giving me a high five and a hug. He looks at me and doesn’t even need to say what he’s thinking because I already know. We did it.
Granted, there are three minutes still left on the clock.
The team runs to the half-line with the ball and sets up, rushing the ref to blow the whistle. When he does, they charge. They power down the field, but they’re careless and messy.
It results in an indirect kick for us and we do our best to run the clock, kicking the ball out of bounds as often as possible. There’s no reason to play fancy. We already won.
When the whistle is blown, the team huddles, jumping and cheering. We’re fucking champions.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Bria
The bus pulls up to our stadium after a day of non-stop traveling. First the flight home, then the bus ride back to the stadium, then back in the car to head home. And all with a broken ankle.
Okay, I’m being dramatic. It’s not broken, but it’s a grade three sprain which means I have to wear a brace for a few weeks. I may as well have broken it.
What a way to end the season, but at least we won.
My mom wasn’t able to fly across the country to make the championship game, which sucked, but she watched it on TV. I had eleven missed calls from her starting from the minute I was taken out of the game.
I called her back from the trainer’s office and calmed her down, assuring her I’ll be fine and can manage with a sprained ankle. She asked where my hot coach was and if he’d be helping me for the next few weeks. The words left a pang in my chest.
On the plus side, she’s been working overtime and hasn’t heard the latest news surrounding his assault or I really would’ve heard it from her. And now, since the retraction was made, it’s irrelevant anyway and hasn’t been talked about since.
Silver linings.
When we pull up to the house, a car is sitting outside. I recognize it, but I don’t want to get my hopes it. A million people could have the same jeep.
But there aren’t a million people with a body like his and a sleeve of sinfully sexy tattoos.
I mean, there probably are, but I only know the one.
I hobble on my boot over to the jeep as my teammates shoot glances at me. Morgan offers a small smile but keeps walking without a word. Basically everyone knows what happened between the two of us. Now the season is over and the team knows the truth, anything can happen.
“What are you doing here?” A big part of me hoped he’d show up to the game and we’d kiss under falling confetti as the team held up our trophy and sang We Are the Champions at the tops of their lungs.
But no confetti fell, I couldn’t even stand, and we were surrounded by reporters as soon as the whistle blew. There was no romanticizing that moment.
“I wanted to say congratulations in person. And also, I wanted to see how you were.” He motions to the boot and I half smile, half grimace.
“Yeah, pretty sexy, right?” He laughs and God, did I miss the sound.
“There’s a lot we need to talk about. Can we go somewhere?” Despite exhaustion fighting to consume me, I nod, because there’s no place else I’d rather be than with him anyway.
He helps me into the jeep and drives away back to where it all began.
“You know, I was just here. You could’ve met me here instead of coming to the house.” He shrugs and apologizes.
I don’t actually mind, I just like busting on him.
“Can you make it to the field?”
“I think I can manage.” We walk at a slow pace as we cross the track and head onto the turf. I’m grateful when he leads me to the nearest bench because lugging this thing around is more tiring than anyone might realize.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” he says. He sounds sad which is the complete opposite of what I’m feeling right now.
“Then let me go first.” I fill him in on Morgan and Sam. I tell him the story got pushed because that reporter Meredith is Sam’s sister. He listens, but he doesn’t seem surprised by most of it. “I’m sorry you somehow got dragged into the middle of my drama,” I tell him.
“I could say the same.” He runs a hand through his hair. I reach my hand up and press my palm to his cheek. His stubble has grown in much longer than usual.
“You look good with a beard,” I tell him, though the only thing I can think about right now is whether it would feel soft or scratchy between my legs.
“I missed you.” He pulls me to him and I hug him around his side. I never want to let him go again. “I’m back on the team,” he tells me and my face lights up, but inside I go slightly dim.
“That’s amazing, Tatum. I’m so happy for you. I knew you’d figure it out.” He plays with my hand and the light massage is heavenly. “What about Amanda and the baby?”
He scratches his chin, tugging at the slight beard. His forehead wrinkles and he looks down, his focus elsewhere. “It’s, uh, he’s not my kid. She lied about all of it.”
“WHAT?” Again, I don’t know if I should be shocked or angry with this chick. She’s certifiable, certainly not fit to raise a child.
“Yeah, um, we did sleep together, but she was already pregnant and found out later. She knew who I was obviously and used it to her advantage. I feel bad for her, but I also kind of hate her? Is that awful? I mean, I got attached to this kid, you know. To the idea of him even.”
I nod, but I’m not sure what to say. My heart aches for all of them. “I am so, so sorry Tatum. It’s not right what she did to you.”
“I know. I’m not making up excuses for her. I know she was in a bad place, but it’s no excuse.” I hate feeling relieved at finding out he doesn’t have a kid. I know he’s hurting, but I wasn’t ready to be a step-mom.
Not that he and I are getting back together or anything. We haven’t even discussed what’s next for us.