Page 172 of With the Assist

Columbus came in swinging. It’s the cup game that kicks off the season. It sets the tone, and we’re the champions. They weren’t going to come with anything other than their best. Still, their best is struggling to keep up with us, which has me standing a little straighter on the sideline.

I take a long pull from my water bottle, hands on my head with my chest heaving as the noise of the crowd fades into a dull roar. My head feels clear, and the excitement to be here, on the field, is thrumming through me. Every touch tonight has felt intentional, like the ball is an extension of my foot instead of something I have to think about controlling.

I’m on fire.

It’s not arrogance, just a fact. I’ve been everywhere I need to be, dropping back when Columbus presses, creating space in the middle so that I can push the ball to the corners, right where my teammates are waiting. We’re moving like a unit, and it makes the coming season seem like it’s ours to lose.

Avery bumps her shoulder into mine as we pace on the sideline. “Hell of an assist, Cap.”

I grin, breathless. “Hell of a finish.”

She shrugs like it was nothing, but her eyes are bright. It’s the first goal of the season, and it came off her foot. Sure, she might act like she couldn’t care less, but she wouldn’t be our best forward if that were true.

“See?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You play better when you’re not spiraling.”

I snort. “Bold claim.”

She opens her mouth to say something else, probably something about how much better I’d be playing if a certain hockey player were in the stands, but Coach Bennett’s voice cuts through the noise before she can.

“Head to the locker room.”

We gather in a circle around her, the air thick with sweat, shin guards clacking against the floor as we pull them from our socks, giving our shins a second to breathe. Coach Bennett stands in front of us, tablet tucked under her arm, eyes assessing like she’s cataloging every movement we made in the first forty-five minutes.

“Good half,” she says, and coming from her, that’s high praise. “You’re dictating pace, controlling possession, and making them chase.”

She looks directly at our back line. “Columbus is going to come out harder. They’ll press high. I want you to push the line. Let them be offside, trust each other to push them out or get the call.”

Then her gaze shifts to the midfield, and finally, it lands on me.

“All of you are seeing the field beautifully. Keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

Something warm settles in my chest at the approval. Maybe I won’t get the call for the National Team, but I have a team here, and I won’t let them down.

She finishes the talk with a few tactical adjustments and reminders to stay disciplined, finish chances, and not let one goal make us complacent.

The team starts to disperse, some heading for the benches, others stretching or re-taping. I’m halfway to grabbing another bottle of water when Coach Bennett’s hand lifts slightly.

“Wesley. Hang back a second.”

My stomach flips, just a little.

I wait while the rest of the team filters out, the room quieter now, the hum of the stadium bleeding faintly through the walls.

Coach Bennett studies me for a beat, her expression unreadable. Then she nods.

“You’re more than making up for the missed scrimmage.” She adjusts the deep purple Tempest hat on her head.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thank you.”

She tilts her head. “You look settled tonight. Confident.”

“I feel good,” I admit.

“Good. This is what leadership looks like. You set the tone, not with words, but with how you play.”

I nod.

“They’re here in the stands. Keep showing them what you’ve got.”