Chapter 36

: Andi

I see the players as they barrel toward me. I attempt to sidestep them, but I don’t get far enough over and Seamus O’Marra plows right into me. I curl forward as I fall so I don’t whack my head again.

I don’t need a second concussion this summer.

It still hurts when I make contact with the ground, especially with the weight of Seamus O’Marra on top of me. It’s only for an instant as he jumps up as if I were made of fire. He grabs my wrists, pulling me to my feet.

While touching referees is a foul-able offense, this would be one time when it’s okay.

What is not okay is when his hand snakes around my waist, cupping my butt and giving it a squeeze. It can’t be misconstrued for the slap players give each other on the rear for encouragement.

Even so, I probably would have let that slide.

It’s the wink and the grin he gives me that stuns me.

Is Mike going to call this? I reach my right hand around to my back pocket which is the signal that there is a red-card offense, but Mike just stares at me, unmoving. There’s no way he didn’t see it. Then, all hell breaks loose.

Out of nowhere, Brandon flies through the air, landing on Seamus and knocking him to the ground. Brandon’s pommeling him as if he were in a bar fight. In a flash, Pressley Samson and TJ Doyle are pulling him off of Seamus.

Hamilton steps between the melee and me. “You okay?”

I nod, trying to look around him to see what’s happening with Brandon. I hear my name before I can see him. “Andi! Andrea! Are you okay?”

He said Andrea .

I look around Hamilton Regan to see Mike giving Brandon a red card. He records the information before signaling a direct free kick for the Wave.

What about the red card for Seamus O’Marra?

I run up to Mike. “You’ve got to give O’Marra a card.” We both glance at O’Marra who’s still sitting on the ground, blood pouring from his obviously broken nose as the trainer attends to him.

Good. He deserves it.

“They’re going to have to sub him out. He might have a concussion.”

“He can get evaluated in the locker room when he’s sent off. Did you not see my signal for a red?”

Mike sighs. “Andi, you can’t give him a foul because he ran into you. You should have moved out of the way.”

I grit my teeth. “I know I should have moved out of the way, but he shouldn’t have touched my ass. GIVE HIM A RED CARD,” I all but growl.

Mike rolls his eyes. “Fine, but you can’t go carrying on every time something like this happens. If you want to be in the men’s league, you have to toughen up a little. You know, not wear your heart on your sleeve so much.” He turns away, holding up his red card again.

The crowd erupts into cheers.

It takes me a minute before I realize what they’re chanting. “Andi! Andi! Andi!”

My breath rushes out. I scan the crowd, making eye contact with Hannah LaRosa in the first row. She’s screaming my name at the top of her lungs. I smile and wave to the crowd, garnering even more applause.

Mike looks at me, exasperated. “Can we please finish this stupid game?”

I manage to stuff my feelings down for the last three minutes of play, plus nine minutes of stoppage time, much of which is thanks to Brandon Nix.

Brandon.

Oh, this is not going to be good for his career. He’d had such a good game. No fouls, a hat trick. And then he threw it all away.

For nothing.

Finally, Mike blows his whistle to signify the end of the game. I keep my head high as I exit the field and walk through the tunnel. There are too many eyes on me to let my emotions show. Once I finally make my way back to the referee locker room, I all but collapse, sagging against the wooden bench in front of my cubby. Mike comes in a moment later, totally hot.

“What the hell was that crap, Andi?”

I’m about to give Mike a comeuppance when Rico Lopez stands up. “We should be asking you the same question. What the hell was that crap, Mike? The touching was inappropriate. It’s undeniable. Andi was signaling for a red card before the fight.”

“Yeah, ” Hamilton Regan joins in. “It’s sad when Brandon Nix is the one who has your back rather than your colleagues.”

Mike stares at me, seething.

That does it for me. I stand up too. “I was assaulted mid-game, Mike.”

“He crashed into you. It was an accident.”

“Are you blind?” Maybe the harassment referees get is not all totally unfounded. Maybe Mike needs to have his vision checked. “He grabbed my ass! It was no accident. It was on purpose, and it was inappropriate. He should be sanctioned or suspended or otherwise punished.”

Mike tilts his head and gives me a tight smile. “I don’t know that you’re one to be making a big deal about inappropriate contact. I mean we all saw how Brandon Nix reacted. There has to be a reason for his behavior.”

“What are you saying?”

“We’ve all heard the rumors. We’ve seen the videos.”

I open my mouth and then close it again, not knowing what to say. I sit back down in silence. I can’t explain his behavior without disclosing that we’ve spent time together.

In all fairness, until the event this morning I hadn’t seen him in a month. One little kiss shouldn’t change anything.

But it did.

Hamilton laughs. “Brandon Nix is a bad seed. He’s a loose cannon, and there’s no place in this league for someone that unhinged. We should make sure to request a drug screen, just to make sure he’s not on something.” He glances at me and continues, “But at least he did something.”

I want to laugh because I know just how absurd that is. I need to stand up for Brandon like he did for me. But if I do, that’s it. This will all be over. I need to think this through before I say or do anything incriminating.

There’s got to be a way to save Brandon without sacrificing myself.

I’m tempted to storm out, still in my official kit. It’s already going to be hard enough to get out to my car unbothered. Wearing my fluorescent yellow jersey will probably not aid and abet me.

Maybe if I move slowly enough, people will forget I exist. I take a long shower and am deliberate in packing up my gear. By the time I’m done, Mike’s gone. Hamilton is still there.

“Walk you to your car?” he offers.

I nod, grateful for his courtesy and concern. I pull my phone out of my bag but hesitate to turn it on.

I can only imagine what’s being said out there. I can only imagine the messages from the USSLRA, demanding my presence in Atlanta tomorrow at 8 a.m. sharp. I’m sure Benj will be checking on me to see if I’m okay.

Probably my mom and dad too, though they pretty much figure I can hold my own no matter what.

Hamilton and I walk side by side out to the parking lot. There are still people with their phones held up, trying to get pictures and videos. I ignore the calls of my name, certain that if I make eye contact or speak, I’ll burst into tears.

Enough of me has been exposed today. I don’t need the world to see that too.

Hamilton opens the driver’s side door for me, and I slide in. “You good?” he asks as I turn the keys over and over in my hand without inserting them into the ignition.

I nod and he closes the door. I know he’s not going to move until he sees me drive off. I put the car in drive, not thinking about where I’m going. I’m on autopilot as I head toward I-95. I see the sign for the exit and carefully glide over three lanes of traffic.

I should not be doing this.

This is stupid.

But at the end of the day—and what a day today was—this is the only place I want to be. I need to check and make sure he’s okay. I need to thank him for coming to my defense.

I can only imagine the fine the USSL is going to slap on him for this one.

But most of all, I just want to give him a hug.

I pull into his driveway and wait for Brandon to come home.