Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

Deke

Much as I want to rush to Windy's side and carry her home with me, we both have work to do. Student athlete might not be an official job title, but it's absolutely grueling work. She needs to be able to focus on her practice and performance, not be pestered by the guy who's crazy about her. Especially not the guy who's crazy about her that she's been avoiding for days. And my own athletes are counting on me to prep them for upcoming games.

Pushing thoughts of her back as much as I can, I supervise my coaching staff as they run drills. It takes deliberate effort to keep my eyes off the soccer pitch next to my football field, but I do it. Barely.

"Bring it in, men!" I blow the whistle around my neck and holler for the players to gather around. In my days as a student athlete, a whistle and a shout was enough for a coach to be heard. Might make for a hoarse and sore throat by the end of every practice, but I never heard any of my coaches complain. Technology marches on, though, and today I'm able to stand on a bench and speak into the wired-up mic that's clipped to my polo. My voice carries all the way to the players shuffled to the very back of the huddle.

With over eighty young men to coach and supervise, my attention still manages to stray over the bobbling helmets as player jostle one another to get closer. I'm looking for the compact little dynamo with the impossibly thick soccer-girl thighs and the bouncing blonde ponytail that trails behind her as she does her thing on the defensive end of the pitch.

By now I've given the mid-week end-of-practice speech enough times I can recite it in my sleep. Which is why I'm able to keep motivating my players even while I'm scanning the far fewer girls on the other field and its benches on the side. Fewer soccer players means fewer halfway covert scans necessary to realize she's not on the field. Not on the benches. Not anywhere.

"That's it for tonight. Jerseys only tomorrow for a walkthrough. If you're on the list for testing tonight, stop by the trainers in the clinic before you leave. If you're testing in the morning, get it done before classes. No using ball as the excuse for poor academics. Clear?"

Maybe at other schools, players are allowed to cheat and sports their way into passing grades. University of Mariposa doesn't tolerate that shit, though. My players are expected to be as studious as any other college kid. My focus is still divided though, coaching because it's my job and searching to find Windy on the women's field because not having her in my sight is becoming a serious problem.

I dismiss my players and make my way to where the soccer team is winding down its own practice. This time it's me seeking out Vanderman instead of the other way around, but I don't bother to disguise my purpose.

"Where is she?" I ask.

"Michaels sent her home early while I was on your side. Said she's favoring that left leg, and he wanted her icing and resting before the game Saturday." Paul shrugs, seemingly unconcerned.

"She's injured and you sent her home instead of to the clinic? What the fuck, Paul?" And yeah, my voice is louder than is probably respectful for one colleague to another.

"Settle down, man. Athletes get strains. They ice them. She's not injured, she's worn out, so Michaels sent her home to rest up and ice. Windy will be fine. You, however, are gonna have an aneurism sweating the small stuff like this."

I force my fists to unclench. It's not like I was seriously considering punching my friend and coworker. Much.

"When you see her, tell her to report to the clinic before classes tomorrow. I'll let you sort her out tonight, that's fine. But I'm done quietly letting Franklin pull his bullshit. I'm testing all my players whether they ask me to, or not."

"Got it. Will do. On it." I toss the assurance over my shoulder, already striding to my truck. The dorm where Windy lives, for now, is only a quick walk away, but since I plan to pack her into my truck and bring her home with me one way or another, it makes sense to grab it now.

I've been willing to tolerate her avoidance game for the past few days because I wanted to give her the chance to make the right decision. Now, finding out she's not just looking worn out, but is actually battling injury? Yeah, she's done running. Now it's Daddy's turn to catch her.