Enjoying something, being good at something; it’s not enough without the drive to get up at insane hours, to spend a ridiculous amount of time doing the same thing until my muscles screamed in pain, chasing tiny increases in performance.
Over the long months after she fled, I poured myself into the routine, into the exhaustion, into the hard slog of becoming better. My one chance to chase her, and it needed that level of obsession for me to level up my game.
Now, not only do I have the girl, but I’m also reaping the benefits of that obsession.
There’s the faint ring of a phone, then I ease into my next contortion, adjusting my form in the long mirror, then settle in to count down the minutes. A few other players turn up, also easing into their pre-practice routines.
Antoine makes a few kissy noises, earning himself a finger as I relax and switch into the next pose.
“Clarkson,” Coach yells, making me twist and almost fall. “Yeah?”
“Come through, here.”
My heart jumps into my throat, lodging there as I try to swallow. Welter never interrupts warmup. Until we hit the exact minute practice starts, he leaves us alone to sort out how we want to get our minds ready for the game.
I jog across the room, ignoring Wesley as he snaps a fake whip.
“Yeah, Coach,” I say at the doorway, heart pounding as I try to read his expressionless face.
“Close the door, take a seat.” I’ve only got halfway through those commands, when he says, “That was Robson on the phone.”
“Oh, yeah?” My throat is dry, and I give up trying to swallow. That’s not happening.
“Yeah. He wants a late replacement for a game on Saturday and thought you’d be a good fit.”
“Saturday.” My lips twist in a smile. “Tomorrow, Saturday?”
“Yeah. Told you it was a late replacement. You’d be subbing in for Cameron Forster.”
I blink. Then blink again. “You mean in district?”
Suddenly, it’s easy to read Coach’s expression because he’s beaming like a lighthouse. “Don’t get your hopes up too high. You’re coming on as a sub, so you’ll likely be on the bench for all or most of it.”
“Still pays, doesn’t it?”
He gives a grunt and I know what he means. Sit on the bench for a whole game and it’s high four figures. Get on the field, even for a few minutes of play, and that’s going upwards of twenty-five grand once all the sponsorship minutes are counted.
“You want it?”
“Course I want it.”
“Then say yes and get back to warmups. I don’t need you twisting your delicate wee ankles when you’re on the verge of a proper game.”
I tap the side of his door twice as I leave, a sign of respect. Then shoot Antoine an excited grin the moment I’m back in the exercise room.
“No,” he says.
“Yep.”
“Showing us up again, Sebbie. Where’s your team spirit?”
I flip him another finger for the hated nickname, but nothing stops the joy bubbling in me.
The excitement carries me through practice like I’m floating five inches above the ground. The shower barely gets the chance to wash off the outermost layer of sweat before I’m changing, calling my goodbyes, and hustling home to share the good news.
When Esme completed her senior year, we found a cheap flat near the university campus. A lease car is part of my sponsorship package, so it doesn’t matter too much that I’m now a fifteen minute drive away.
I walk through the door and stop, watching as Esme dances around the kitchen, her earphones apparently blocking out news of my arrival.
