A few heads nod.
“We pressure them high, force mistakes, and we finish. That final ball needs to be sharper.”
“Yeah.” The room fills with their collective shout.
I address our centre back. “Bentley, talk to your teammates. If you want a chance at leading the team next year, I need you to step up your communication out there.”
His jaw clenches, and he throws a murderous look at Kincaid before giving me a tight nod. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of them, but they need to get their shit together. We can’t win a game if there’s discord in our defence, and when the other boys graduate in three months, they’ll be the leaders of the next group of boys coming up.
Andy slips into the room, and I nod at Luca as I make my way over to my assistant coach. The players gather around their captain, and I arch a brow at my mate.
“Where have you been?”
Andy glances around, not quite meeting my eye. “Had to take a call.”
“A call?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Personal stuff. Sorry.”
“Everything okay?”
“Fine. All good. Let’s go out and win this game.” He moves past me, clapping Walterson the shoulder as Luca finishes up a motivational speech to his teammates.
I frown, wondering what’s going on with Andy, but before I can press him further, the ref’s whistle blows from the tunnel—three short blasts. Time’s up.
The players bounce up and down on their toes, hyping each other up as Luca shouts, “Beckford on three.”
“One, two, three—Beckford!”
Andy and I follow the boys back out onto the pitch. When we reach the bench, I stand next to him and murmur so we’re not overheard. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Yep. No problems.”
“If you’re in trouble?—”
He barks out a laugh, clapping me on the shoulder. “Focus on the game, Coach. We can talk about it afterwards.”
The whistle blows for the second half, and I push it to the back of my mind until after the game.
We win the game three-two,but the win is bittersweet as I watch my son storm off the pitch after playing one of the worst games I’ve seen him play. There’s nothing I can do about it until he’s showered and out of the opposing team’s change rooms, so I brush it off and follow my boys into our rooms, where the mood is euphoric.
Shit. I don’t need to be thinking about what else could be euphoric if I allowed myself to go there tonight. Mentally face palming myself, I push any thoughts of a tempting little devil to the side.
Despite being proud of the way the boys played, it’s hard not to notice the growing tension between my centre back and my new keeper, and I make a note to follow up with them later. Tonight’s not the night. Let them celebrate their win, and we’ll knuckle down at training this week to iron out the kinks.
After a quick debrief with the boys, I leave them in Andy’s capable hands and head off to find Dylan.
I lean against the wall just outside the visitor’s change rooms, arms folded. It’s a little unorthodox, being the opposition coach, but I’ve got my father hat on now.
The BHU door finally creaks open, and one of their midfielders steps out. He stops short when he sees me standing there.
“You looking for someone?”
“Yeah. Dylan.”
He tilts his head to the side, assessing me in my Beckford U uniform before jerking his thumb back towards the room. “He’s still in there. I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks.”
