I nod. “We’ll get the win tonight, Coach. We’re ready for them.”
“I hope so. I really do.” He rubs a hand down his tired face and fixes his heavy gaze on me. “Listen, I’m not going to sugar-coat things. It didn’t escape Coach Rourke’s notice that there’s bad blood between you and Kincaid—” I open my mouth to dispute it, but his glare has me slamming it shut. “Now you’re captain, we hoped you’d realise that petty bullshit doesn’t belong on the pitch. Whatever happened between the two of you pales in comparison to working as a team to get the job done. If you can’t bury your bullshit, I’ll have to make some changes around here.”
“Yes, Coach,” I choke out. Message received, loud and clear. “I’m… working on it.”
“Good.”
We go through a few plays for the game, and I fill them in on what Dane noticed from the game tape. I’m only half focused on the conversation, though. I’m too distracted trying to figure out how I’ll block out what bothers me about my goalkeeper.
I still have no clue when they dismiss me to get my kit on, ready for warm-up. When I enter the change rooms, my eyes find him instantly, like a fucking vortex. He’s laughing and joking around with Ritter, and Everett Mathers is grinning at them, shaking his head at whatever they’re talking about.
Figuring now is as good a time as any to extend the olive branch, I walk over and clap a hand on Mathers’s shoulder. “What’s so funny?”
Our right wing leans down to tie his laces. “Just giving Ritter grief for that shanked cross in training.”
My smile falters as I remember my own shanked square ball against BHU that resulted in our first loss of the season.
Ritter shakes his head. “Shanked is a strong word.” He shoves Mathers playfully. “The wind caught it.”
“The wind,” Zac repeats, deadpan. “Sure, mate. Blame the wind.”
The others laugh, but my grin is forced. A strange feeling settles in my chest as I imagine what they’ve said about me this past month after all the fuck ups I tried to blame on Kincaid.
“Big game today,” I say, setting my bag down and reaching for my kit.
Zac glances over, one glove already on. “We’re aware.”
“So, maybe let’s focus on turning our season around instead of rehashing past mistakes.” My voice is light, but Idon’t miss the scowl that crosses his features for a split second before he masks it.
“You’d know all about mistakes, hey,captain.” There’s a challenge in his eyes, and I groan inwardly, knowing I’ve already messed this shit up.
Ritter and Everett exchange a look before moving off to chat to Dane and Jasper.Shit.So much for trying to fix the situation. I rack my brain for a way to salvage this, but Kincaid gets in before me.
“Did you have fun on your date last night?”
His question catches me off guard—not the words themselves, but the tone. It’s not mocking or jealous, but something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
I blink, searching his face for a tell, but Zac’s expression is unreadable. The awareness I feel whenever he’s near kicks into overdrive, and I struggle for air.
“It was fine,” I finally say.
“Good.” There’s no inflection, no way of telling what he means by that one simple word. It drives me insane.
“Look,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. “I know I’ve been an arsehole, but can we put all that behind us on the pitch? Work together for a common cause and all that shit?”
He arches a brow. “Why are you acting likeI’vegot a problem withyou? I go out there and do my job every damn time. Seems to me like this is more of a you problem than a me problem. Maybe you should save your speech for yourself.”
Before I can unpack that, he turns away, tugging his second glove on, effectively ending the conversation.
I sigh as I sit down to pull on my boots. At least I tried.
I can’t force the guy to forgive me, not with words at least.
As the team heads out onto the pitch, I promise myselfI’ll show him how I can be a professional and leave all the off-field drama out of the game. It’s not like we have to be best mates or anything. All I want is to find a way to work together in shutting down the last line of defence.
Chapter 9
Zac
