Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

Windy

I feel like I've been running for hours. Days even. In my head I know the clock is winding down and we're only minutes away from victory. It's a good thing, too, because I've run from one end of the pitch to the other enough times I'm feeling every connection of my cleats to the turf everywhere in my body. My shins ache. My Achilles tendons are burning like the back of my boots contain built-in torches.

"Service!" Taryn shouts from ten yards ahead of me.

"Man on! Man on!" I hear Vanderman's bark even though he's ages behind me on the sidelines, closer to our goal than the one I'm driving the ball at my feet toward. The information he's relaying is every bit as critical as Taryn's repeated call for me to send her the ball. His shout means I've got an opponent pressing in on me.

I need to get this pass off quickly or we could lose possession. This close to the end of the game, that could be catastrophic. Our goalkeeper, Ophelia, has been looking rough the past few plays. I can't swear to it, but I'm pretty sure there's blood from someone's cleats catching her during a tackle seeping through the neon green keeper's jersey that designates her position. The last thing she needs is pressure on our box this close to the final whistle.

"Line it, Windy! Now!" Taryn screams. My foot obeys without conscious decision. I flick my attention to the defensive player rushing toward Taryn to make sure my pass won't push her off-sides. Then I launch the ball to her right and ahead of her, trusting she'll get to it.

The inside of Taryn's boot cradles the ball as she strides alongside it, matching the speed of my pass to her sprint into the other team's penalty box. Sweat pours into my eyes, making them sting more with every blink. I squint to watch Taryn press forward, juking and dodging defenders and lining up the shot on goal.

"Shot! Shot!"

It sounds like the whole universe is screaming it. I'm gasping for a deep breath to join the rallying cry when Taryn finally releases the ball and sends it, bending the ball high and tight into the upper corner where the keeper's gloves miss it by inches.

The crack of bodies colliding is loud enough to register over the roaring cheer of the spectators who have traveled to watch us play. Taryn crumples under a late tackle from a defender with more momentum than she could rein in. I sprint on jelly legs to her side in time to help the other player carefully untangle herself from my best friend.

"Taryn, don't move! You could be hurt. Wait for coach!" I demand.

She never listens. I swear, the girl's more brat on her best-behaved day than I'll ever manage. Instead of obeying my plea to stay still, she rolls over onto her back and clutches at her knee.

"Owwww! I think I'm really hurt!" she cries.

My heart's in my throat, tears erupting from my eyes like her words are a remote control turning the volume up. Taryn writhes on her back, her hands clutching at her knee in an almost theatrical agony. I drop to my knees, ready to hold her in place and stabilize her until the medics can arrive.

"It's my kneeeeee!" she wails as Coach Vanderman, Taryn's boyfriend Bhodi, and the paramedics skid to a stop beside where we're on the ground.

"Try to be still so we can help you," a paramedic commands, snapping latex gloves on as he kneels next to us.

"But it huuuuuurts!" she howls dramatically.

Hands cup my shoulders, pulling me away from the EMTs working on my teammate and bestie. I thrash and fight them, trying to get back to her side when a firm swat on my backside shocks my attention away from the commotion in front of me.

"Shhh, it's okay. Settle down, little lush. It's me." Deke's got me. I hadn't even known he would be here today until right before the match began when he walked out and shook Coach Vanderman's hand. He's been pacing the sidelines with my coach the whole game. If that's not making our relationship obvious to Director Franklin, who also traveled to be here, his hand on my backside just now surely did.

"Da—uhhh—Deke! You can't do that here!" I whisper-shout, though it's not like anyone's paying attention to us.

"Trust Daddy to know when and where to touch his baby." The iron in Deke's voice warns me not to push him. Ever since he found out I'd been ghosting him in a misguided attempt to protect his reputation, he's been adamant that I stop trying to be the Daddy in this relationship.

It's funny when he scolds me. Not so funny when he reminds me with his hand on my tush. My hand itches to creep back and protect my ass but exhaustion hits so hard my muscles feel locked and frozen.

"Is Taryn okay?" I'm crying and I don't know whether it's just fear for my friend, or a culmination of all the stress of the past few weeks, worry, and postgame endorphin crash. But I am full-on losing it. Deke wraps me in his arms, lifting me and shifting until I'm perched on his hip. My legs wrap around him and his hands go to help my noodly muscles keep their grip.

"I'm too noodly to hold on, Daddy," I whisper in his ear while he carries me to the sideline. I peek over his shoulder to see the stands are emptying now that the game's over, but my whole team, as well as all the coaching staff, are clustered near our bench. Everyone's attention is ping-ponging between the scene with Taryn and me with Deke.

"Is that a word now? Noodly?" Deke asks. I can feel him smiling against the side of my head. He's walking and peppering my temple with kisses even though I know I must taste like a salt lick.

"It is if I say it is," I declare.

"No energy left to walk but you got enough gas in the tank left to be a sass-mouth, I see," he teases.

"I know what you're doing."

"You do, huh?" He carries me to the bench and sets me down so I'm facing the field, then sits next to me.

"Mmmhmm. You're distracting me so I won't be worried."

"It's working, too," he says.

He's right. Mostly.

I look over to the field in time to see Taryn picked up and put onto a stretcher that the paramedics wheel toward the ambulance that's always parked just off the field for every sporting event.

"Is she okay?" I'm so scared for my best friend I've all but forgotten we just won the game that puts us into the championship series.

"Remember when you told me you trusted me to handle things with Franklin? That you didn't need to know all the details?" he murmurs softly, leaning close enough no one can hear or even read his lips.

"Of course. You said you had a plan, and I believed you. But how could you know she'd be tackled like that?" Realization dawns as we sit and watch Taryn disappear behind the closing doors of the ambulance.

"Sweetheart, just because you didn't want to be involved doesn't mean your friend felt the same. And it's not just men's soccer players who are good at flopping." His whisper makes me giggle and cheers me up a lot.

Watching men's soccer sometimes feels like it's half-sport, half-slapstick comedy. Anytime another player comes within feet of a guy, he's collapsing bonelessly onto the pitch and contorting on the turf like he's been mauled by a tiger.

Coach Vanderman makes his way across the field to where we're all waiting, a somber look on his face. Bhodi's gone with Taryn, but other than that, we're all still here. Sweaty and exhausted, worried and tearful. Director Franklin's standing off to the side, his glower enough to ensure nobody goes near him.

"Ladies, I want you all to take a few deep breaths and compose yourselves. your teammate is being tended by the professionals, and it looks like her injury is a relatively minor strain. It will, of course, be fully checked out by the sports orthopedist and she'll receive plenty of care before she returns to the field. The rest of us will carry on with our season until Taryn's cleared to play. Ruthie, you'll be taking over as center forward until she's back."

Ruthie's a sophomore with speed and agility, but less confidence as a striker than we need right now. I hope whatever the plan Deke and the others have concocted is, it happens soon. And, I mean, of course most importantly, I hope all of this really is part of a plan and not a real injury for my friend.

I lean into Deke, his arm wrapping around me. I probably smell like a gym sock at this point, but he doesn't seem to mind. I don't know about everybody else, but I'm cooked. This night can't end soon enough.

"Can we go to the room now?" I ask. Well, whine is probably more accurate, but I'm trying hard to hold my shit together and I'm not sure how much longer I'll manage it.

"Grab your bag. We'll get you showered and cleaned up at the hotel."

I point to my duffel with all my game day gear and Deke throws the strap over one shoulder and helps me stand. My muscles are cramping with exhaustion and my mind's a muddled-up mess.

I don't have any idea what happens next. Deke pulls me to my feet and leads me from the field, but after that I kind of blank on whether we talk to anyone or make any stops. All I know is the way his arms feel around me, his hip bumping mine to keep my feet moving in whatever direction he leads until we get to his truck.