I stand still at midfield, hands on my hips, watching Tore sprint toward the corner flag. He slides on his knees (which I hate), fists clenched, screaming toward the stands.
Then he looks straight at me. He taps his chest. Points at the scoreboard. Then holds up one finger.
I smile.
He’s good. I’ll give him that. Strong on the ball, quick feet, confident enough to take risks.
But this is MY pitch.
When play restarts, I jog past him deliberately slow.
“Took you long enough,” I tell him. “You warming up or something?”
He leans in as we pass. “You don’t like being challenged, do you?”
“I actually love it,” I reply. “Just don’t get comfortable and start thinking you can keep up with me, ‘kay?”
The next ten minutes are chaos.
They press harder. Fouls start coming late again. The ref finally pulls a yellow. Tore gets clipped on a tackle and stays down longer than necessary, rolling once, twice, checking to see if the crowd’s still watching.
Disgusting.
As I pass him, he mutters, “You not walking off again are you Titan? The game is just getting good.”
I stop and turn. Lean down just enough so he hears me clearly.
“I walked off because I can,” I say. “You stay down because you have to.”
He gets up fast after that, all in my face.
“Piccolo sporco—”he starts but Sol separates us.
“What’d you say?”
“Woah, woah woah,” Amin pulls us away, voice calm but firm. “We don’t lose control. We don’t rush. We end this properly.”
Sol nods. I nod. Tore watches from a distance as we cool off.
In the seventy-eighth minute, I get the ball near the edge of the box with Tore on me immediately. He shoves. I hold and he clips my heel.
No whistle so I keep moving. The goal is there. I could score at any moment and break Tore’s confidence like I really want to. But for some reason, my mind turns to Frankie.
If she were here, I would show off a bit.
I’d drag this hold team down to the last player and lay them all at her feet. They’d beg and bow at her feet so that she could grant me permission to have mercy on them.
Unfortunately for me and fortunately for them, she isn’t here.
Still, I know she’s watching. I could feel it.
I cut inside, draw another defender, then stop dead and drag the ball back just far enough to create space. Tore lunges and misses.
“Too eager,” I tell him.
I square the ball to Sol instead of shooting.
Sol buries it.
