I know I shouldn’t care. Especially after Jordan used me like an old, torn-up T-shirt, then threw me in with the dirty laundry; but what can I say? I have a problem with losing, and I don’t intend to make my peace with it now. I don’t want to lose out on this field, with a local team from a tiny fucking town in the middle of nowhere. I especially don’t want to lose in front of the entire city, who are already waiting for me to fail.
“He can’t do it,” Tyler says, standing with me at the sidelines.
“Who?”
“The goalkeeper.”
I turn my gaze to the player and scoff. He was injured during our last training session, and told me it was just a sprain. He said he’d be fine for the match – but the painful twist of his expression says otherwise.
“There’s only one more substitution we can make,” I say, concerned.
“We can’t leave him there.”
I take off my cap and wipe my brow. I have no idea why I’m sweating so much, given I’m not even playing.
“So?” Tyler presses.
I turn back towards the bench and pray that I’m making the right decision.
“Carter!”
“Oh, fuck,” Tyler murmurs dramatically.
“Off your arse, kid. You’re up.”
“Me?” he asks, panic-stricken.
“The goalie is injured.”
“But I—”
“You can do it. You don’t even have to run.”
He gets up and trudges over towards us. I place my hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes.
“I trust you, kid.”
“O-okay.”
“You have to protect that goal like it’s your own home. Don’t let anything into your home, Carter, or we’re all fucked.”
“That’s not exactly encouraging,” Tyler points out.
“What would you know?”
He raises his hands in surrender and leaves the talking to me.
“This is your chance,” I say to Carter, gesturing behind us, where my daughter is watching.
He knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“Show her that you know how to protect the things you care about.”
He flashes me a shy smile and nods, as Tyler calls the referee over to tell him about our substitution. I glance over at the crowd and see my daughter giving me a thumbs-up; behind her, just two rows away, sits the only person I can think about.
I haven’t seen her for a week – not since that night. She didn’t come to training, and I was hoping she wouldn’t come to the match, either; seeing her and pretending that she hasn’t broken my heart is worse thannotseeing her and still pretending that someone else hasn’t broken hers.
I wave at her and she smiles tightly back at me; I go back to work, hoping that this will be the only thing I can still do well in my life. I mean, I’m a pretty crap father, and an even worse man – so I try to concentrate on the match, on my team, and on the remote possibility that we can really do this. I promised Jordan that we’d win, and, despite everything, I don’t want to let her down. I’m a grown man with a mission: never to disappoint anyone in my life, ever again.
