Page 173 of With the Assist

I thought I’d caught a glimpse of Coach Folley, but hadn’t been sure. I hadn’t let myself hope. Coach’s confirmation sends a jolt of excitement up my spine.

She claps her hands once, sharp and decisive. “Alright. Go warm up. There is still a lot of game left.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before turning away, already focused on something else. Her words stick with me as I head back out to the field.

I sink down onto the bench, towel draped around my neck, heart still racing as I replay the half in my mind. My pass to Avery had beendamn near flawless despite the way Columbus’s midfield kept trying to close me down. Confidence is humming under my skin.

This is what I’ve worked for.

And yet.

My eyes flick, involuntarily, toward the stands.

It’s stupid. I know he’s not there. I knew he wouldn’t be. He’s injured, and we’re not anything. Not really. At least not yet.

The thought slips in anyway, uninvited.

What if he were?

I can almost see it, him somewhere in the lower bowl, one arm tucked awkwardly against his chest, his jaw set in that familiar way he gets when he’s trying to read the game. I imagine the way his eyes would follow me and how he’d lean forward every time I pushed into space.

Avery nudges my knee with her cleat. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, tearing my gaze away from the empty section of seats. “Just catching my breath.”

She gives me a knowing look. “You’re kind of kicking ass. It would be fun if your favorite hockey idiot were here to see it.”

I huff out a laugh. “Subtle.”

She grins. “I try.”

The thing is, she’s right. And we both know it.

I wish I’d let myself want that before I hurt him, before I convinced myself that wanting more than one thing meant failing at both. Because right now, in this moment, the only thing that would make tonight better is knowing he was somewhere in the stands, watching me do exactly what I love.

I tighten my grip on the water bottle, knuckles whitening briefly before I force myself to relax.

Focus.

This is my job. My responsibility. My dream.

And I’m playing the game of my life.

The whistle blows again, and we rise as one, stepping back onto the field. The noise of the crowd swells, anticipation crackling in the air as we take our positions for the second half.

I take my position, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet as Columbus lines up across from us, their body language more desperate now.

As the ball rolls back into play, everything else fades. There’s only the grass under my cleats and the weight of the captain’s armband on my bicep.

I lose track of time as plays bleed into one another without pause. Normally, Coach would sub me out, but tonight she lets me go as if she knows I need this more than I need a breather.

It’s not until the final whistle cuts through the night like a release valve that my fatigue sets in.

We win. The sound of it crashing over us, as the crowd gets to their feet. We don’t usually have a big crowd, but this game is packed with everyone wanting to see the first big game to kick off the new season. I bend at the waist for a second, hands on my knees as sweat drips down my spine.

Avery whoops somewhere behind me, Becca tackles Haley into a half hug, and I straighten, grinning as we jog toward the sideline. My legs feel heavy in the best way, like proof of work done right.

That’s when the cameras start going off.