My stomach churns and churns. I can’t wait any longer. Time to seek out Coach Wheeler and beg him to let me sit out.
“Um, Coach?”
The man looks up from where he writes something on his clipboard. He stands near the bench, chewing a wad of gum and looking intimidating as hell with the deep frown lines surrounding his mouth. My knees knock together. Calling on Kellan’s breezy, careless attitude would help, but I’m not him and I never will be. I’m Noah Dumont. Liar and fraud.
Behind, some of the players pass the ball around. The refs, in their crisp white and black shirts, congregate at center field. I’ve watched enough soccer game videos at this point to know they’ll call the team captains over soon to flip the coin.
“Something you need, Dumont?” Coach Wheeler says, still staring at me.
“Yes, actually. I’m not feeling well and think it would be best if I sat out this game.” I rest a hand on my stomach for emphasis. “I don’t know if it was something I ate last night, but—”
“Kellan.” Gripping my shoulders, Coach Wheeler stares into my face, searching. Can he tell I’m not Kellan? Does he have a sixth sense? “This is one of the most important games of the year. I need you on the field. I’m sure what you’re feeling is performance anxiety. We’ve had a few weeks of difficult practices where you’ve struggled, but I’m sure that playing a real opponent will help rectify that. All right?” He claps me on the back much harder than I expect, nearly buckling my knees. The man doesn’t recognize his own strength. “You’re starting, so get some water and huddle up.”
God. This is going to be a disaster.
Thousands of people are about to watch me make a fool out of myself. That’s ninety minutes of humiliation, the destruction of Kellan’s career. Should I purposefully injure myself? If I do it too soon, Kellan’s teammates will question me. Could I hold out for twenty minutes? Thirty? Not too serious of an injury. A sprain, maybe. Coach Wheeler would have to bench me for the rest of the game.
Noise thunders throughout the stadium as our team huddles up. Our breaths cloud the cold air. It takes me a second to realize Max has arrived. He stands on the other side of the circle, looking too good for words in his uniform and shin guards. I think I’m starting to have a thing for long socks.
I’ve been staring at him for close to ten seconds, but he hasn’t looked at me once.
The churning in my stomach worsens. Did something happen? At the very least, I would have expected him to stand next to me. As far as I know, none of the other players suspect what’s going on between us. His demeanor, however, is cold, his expression fierce in its anger. The fury is so unexpected I feel like I’m looking at someone else. He’s a stranger.
“All right team, listen up.” Coach Wheeler stands in between Max and Sebastian, fierce, determined, and with a surety in his gaze that steadies the players’ nerves. “Clemson will be a difficult match. No doubt about it. But we have a chance, so long as wecommunicate.” Is it my imagination or does his gaze linger on me? “I want to see you talking to each other out there. Calling the ball. And for the love of all that is holy, spread out. The first person I see trying to encroach on another member’s space, I’m pulling him. Is that clear?”
A round of “Yes, Coach” comes from everyone.
“Be careful out there. We know Clemson likes to play dirty. Try not to retaliate. Let the refs dole out the consequences.” Coach Wheeler reaches out a hand. “On three.”
“One, two, three, Irish!”
The air is frigid, cold enough to still the air in my lungs, yet I’m sweating through my uniform. I try to catch Max’s eye as we break from the circle.
He doesn’t look at me once.
Twenty minutes into the first half, I am halfway to hypothermia.
It’s freezing. My dick is a tiny little icicle inside these shorts. It’s only belatedly that I notice every player except me is wearing thermal leggings under their uniforms. Fuck. My lungs are iced over, and each breath feels like I’m inhaling a mouthful of knives. My breath puffs white in the air. Sweat steams off my skin. I don’t think I’m going to last.
The number of times I’ve been bashed, slammed, shouldered, jostled, or run over by players larger and stronger than me is too many to count. Coach Wheeler still hasn’t pulled me from the field. The words go in one ear, out the other. I think he’s hoping I’ll turn things around. If only he knew.
As for Max... He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t pass to me—not that he should, mind you—doesn’t acknowledge me. He speaks to everyonebutme. Were I less of a coward, I’d ask him what I did wrong. Is it possible he’s learned of the switch? I’ve kept my mouth shut. Sebastian has too, surprisingly. I seriously doubt Kellan’s said anything.
Turning away from where Notre Dame carries the ball downfield, I look once again to the stands, trying to spot Kellan. He’s disappeared.
A shout draws my eye. Clemson takes possession of the ball at mid-field and heads my way. I’m frozen. Jason shouts at me to get my ass over to the ball. I stumble a few feet before stopping. My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat. The Clemson player is huge, with thick thighs and a powerful build, and he barrels toward me at full speed. The crowd’s screams are deafening.
Before I realize what’s happening, the guy slams into me.
The force explodes through me. He’s got six inches on me and at least fifty pounds. I’m falling before I realize it. My shoulder slams into the cold, hard earth, and I’m rolling head over heels, again and again, feeling the bruises forming on my body. When I come to a stop, I’m on my side, my face pressed into the grass. A rush and a roar in my ears, of blood pulsing through my body. I can’t move.
A whistle cuts through my confusion. Right. Soccer game. Why can’t I move?
Someone touches my shoulder. “N—Kellan? Shit. Are you okay?”
Try as I might, I can’t get myself to roll over. The only thing I can manage is a long groan.
People circle around me, everyone talking at once. In the background, the dull thunder of the stands. I don’t think anything’s broken, but it’s hard to tell with my veins pumped full of adrenaline. If Kellan had just shown up like he’d promised this never would have happened. For all I know, I could be paralyzed.
