Chapter 35

: Brandon

A ndi holds the flag in her right hand. She raises it up and then out in front of her. Offsides. It’s me. I’m the offender. I’m also totally offside, so I raise my hand sheepishly. Barnaby blows his whistle, and the Wave get their indirect penalty kick.

Considering we’re in the second half, and I’ve amassed no direct penalties, fouls, or cards, I’d consider this a good game. It’s practically one for the record books.

Not to mention I’ve already scored once from two yards outside the penalty area, which was probably about 35 yards or so, give or take. The majority of my goals are from this range. I wasn’t kidding about challenging Chris Todd from the Patriots to a kickoff.

The Wave gets their ball down onto our half of the field. Cally scoops it up and launches it in a drop kick past the midline of the field. Midfielder Merriweather Hayes traps the ball and, with one smooth motion, boots it across the field to me. I can see the shot as clear as day. I’m to the left of center, downfield enough to not seem like a threat. I make sure to watch the offsides this time, knowing Andi’s trained eye is upon me.

She’s not doing it to bust my balls. She’s very good at what she does.

The ball arrives like a line drive right to me. With perfect timing, I take a step with my right foot, swinging my left back in preparation for contact. I’m more accurate with my right foot but can be dangerous with either one.

As I am right now.

My left foot makes contact and the ball sails into the upper corner of the goal. This one’s 36 yards, from the opposite side of the field as the last one. Not too shabby for my “weaker” foot. I yell, striking my signature muscle arm pose before I run up to Landon, jumping on him as I do with every goal.

“That’s two, man. Hat trick?” Jacob Pavlovic asks as we jog back to midfield to set up for Miami Wave’s kickoff.

“I’ll try. Set me up.”

I’m running out of time for a hat trick, but it’s all I can think about now. I haven’t had one since May, so I’m due.

Today feels like the day.

It’s also just basic math that you have a higher probability of scoring more if you don’t have to leave the game because of penalties. I should remember that.

As the Wave pushes into our half of the field, we drop back in an attempt to regain control of the ball. We’re up, three–nil, so the Wave is no longer pulling their punches in their attempt to score.

Quite literally.

Barnaby doesn’t seem to be calling tons. Andi’d be blowing her whistle right and left. I glance over at her. Assistant referees can call from the sidelines, especially if the head referee misses them. It’s a large field with lots of moving pieces. I feel like she sees most of it.

Xavier Henry, playing defense, pops the ball up the field. I see it coming and run toward it. I jump, trapping it with the inner portion of my thigh. As the ball hits the ground, I begin to dribble it. Just as I make it past the midfield mark, I feel a shove in the middle of my back, causing me to pitch forward and stumble. I roll on the ground for a moment before popping back up.

Barnaby blows his whistle, his arm directly out to the side. Direct free kick. He places the ball and signals to me. I’m just in front of the midfield line. While the opposing team is allowed to make a wall in front of me, I’m far enough out that there’s not much of a threat.

I love it when people underestimate me.

It’s a drill I’ve practiced for years. Two steps and kick.

The ball sails through the air and right over the hands of the Wave goalie for the third time today.

GOOOOAAAAAL!

I pump my arms, running toward my teammates. I jump on Landon. The crowd chants “Hat trick! Hat trick!” as they toss their caps onto the field. The officials have to stop to clear the field of any debris.

It’s prolonging the inevitable, which is a crushing defeat of the Miami Wave. This has been one of the best, cleanest, games of my career. Hopefully it does something to help with my probationary status.

Coach Janssen signals me to see if I want to come out. Of course I don’t, but it’s also a good move to let another teammate who doesn’t see as much playing time have their shot. The score is four–nothing with just over five minutes left plus stoppage time. I see Andy Bracer at half-field. With the next stoppage of play, I’ll be out.

The ball moves toward the sideline. Maliq Miller and Seamus O’Marra battle for the ball. They run together, shoulder to shoulder, checking each other, fighting for control. Maliq kicks the ball which ricochets off O’Marra’s foot and out of bounds. O’Marra stumbles, catapulting out of control and out of bounds as well.

Right into Andi.

She backpedals, attempting to keep her balance but can’t with the velocity of O’Marra’s body. They both fall to the ground.

I freeze for a second, unable to tear my eyes away from Andi. What if she hit her head again? Another concussion this soon could be devastating. Is she hurt? O’Marra hit her pretty hard. I want to run over and help her. To pull her to her feet and make sure she’s okay. Instead, I drop my head for a second before heading to the sideline.

As I’m crossing the line, I glance again at Andi. O’Marra pulls her to her feet. In one smooth move, as soon as she’s on her feet, O’Marra lets her go while reaching around and grabbing her ass, squeezing for a moment before letting go and walking away, a shit-eating grin on his face as he winks.

Her eyes are wide, mouth agape. Absolute shock is written all over her face.

No one touches her like that.

I immediately see her signaling for a red card. I also see that Mike Barnaby is ignoring her.

My mind goes red. I charge at Seamus O’Marra. He doesn’t see me coming. He certainly doesn’t see my fist cock back before it lands squarely on his jaw. “If you ever touch her like that again, I’ll make you wish you were never born.” We both land on the ground with a thud I barely register. I continue to hit until I feel myself being lifted off O’Marra.

My teammates physically restrain me as I yell a string of expletives that are sure to have the broadcasting team cringing for fear of a large FCC violation.

“Andi! Andrea! Are you okay?” I shout. I can’t see her over the crowd of people. The other official is between us. I crane my neck and finally get a glimpse of her. Her eyes meet mine. She looks shaken.

Mike Barnaby’s in my face waving a red card.

Sure, this he sees.

I nod and walk off without putting up a fight. I deserve this one. It was worth it.

As long as Andi’s okay, anything’s worth it.