Andy relays my instructions to the players, and they set up for the drill. Luca blasts the first one in on the whistle, and while West’s timing is perfect, Peters reads the ball well. His footwork is solid, there’s no hesitation, and he stretches out to the right side. He has no problem saving the shot.
The next ball goes high, and there’s definitely tension in his body as he prepares to lunge, like he’s bracing for something. He grimaces as the ball deflects off his right glove.
Luca frowns and catches my eye.
I’m about to make the call for Kincaid to step in so I can chat to Peters when it happens. Without waiting for the whistle, Walters takes a corner from the left, curving the ball on the outside. It’s like the ball moves in slow motion as itsails towards the box. West moves in for the header and drives the ball low and to the right. Peters dives with textbook extension, getting fingertips to it.
Then he lands, hitting the ground hard, shoulder first, his full weight slamming into the turf. He doesn’t get up.
I’m already moving towards him, my heart hammering in my chest. This is bad.
The players give us space, and Andy’s hot on my heels as I reach our keeper. Mitch is on his side, teeth gritted as he cradles his right arm. The pain is etched deep on his face.
“Talk to me, mate. What is it?” I crouch beside him, keeping my voice calm while my gut twists.
“Shoulder,” he grinds out. “Popped… or worse. I heard something.”
Shit.
Andy’s already on the phone to the team’s physio.
I shoot Mitch a look. “Why didn’t you tell me you were carrying an injury?”
He says nothing, groaning in pain as he tries to sit up.
Andy and I help him, bracing him so he doesn’t fall back and do more damage. I clench my jaw, biting back my lecture. It won’t do him any good now. This isn’t just a niggle anymore; this is out for weeks, maybe longer.
When the physio arrives, she and Andy help Peters off the pitch, his arm locked tight against his chest. The rest of the players gather around me, their faces solemn, each of them understanding the gravity of the situation.
“Right, boys,” I say, clearing my throat. “There’s nothing we can do for Peters now, but he’s in good hands. We still need to focus on tomorrow’s game and be ready to go out there and win for him. Kincaid”—the terror on thekid’s face as he looks at me is unsettling, but I have faith in my players—“jump in the box. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I don’t miss the thunderous expression on Noah Bentley’s face as he mutters something under his breath, but I can’t focus on my centre back’s attitude right now. I need to make sure our reserve keeper is ready for the game tomorrow. Dylan and his teammates will look to exploit any weaknesses in our defence. It’s my job to make sure there are none.
Chapter 11
Leni
Both teams are out on the pitch warming up, and I do my best not to let my gaze wander to number seven for Blue Haven University. It’s hard enough blocking out the girls in the crowd cheering his name.
Of course, he’s popular. With his tan skin, honey-coloured eyes, sexy smirk, and sandy brown hair that falls effortlessly over his forehead, he was born to be ogled. The way he moves is so effortless, and?—
Fuck!I wrench my eyes away from the slimy bastard and swallow the bile rising in my throat. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I jump when a soft hand lands on mine, and my eyes find my best friend’s, hating the concern I see shining back at me.
“Are you okay?” she whispers so her mother doesn’t overhear. We’re sitting in the stands with Gwendoline and George Whitford, putting on a united family front despite the fact Luca hasn’t spoken more than two words toWillow in four years. Arrogant arsehole. No wonder he and Dylan were such good friends in high school.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, clearing my throat and forcing my gaze to the other side of the pitch where Beckford U are warming up.
“I appreciate you coming with me, but if it’s too hard and you need to leave, I won’t hold it against you.”
Forcing a smile, I shake my head. Dylan Rourke will not rule my thoughts anymore. It’s been four years. I’m not the same girl I was back in high school. Elena Hart doesn’t exist anymore. Leni Hart is a strong, badarse bitch who doesn’t give a fuck.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily,” I tease quietly.
“Getting out of what?” she asks, all fake innocence.
“You’re coming to Euphoria tonight. You promised.”
