Sam forced a smile and spread his own arms. Going head-to-head against a guy who hated him was just what he needed. “Are you fucking serious right now? I made that save because you are not as unstoppable as you think.” Nikhil Amin had an ego the size of a stadium, and Sam knew how to play him. “I made that save because I’m better, Amin.”
The boys were aghast at Sam’s words, but Sam saw the anger simmering in Nikhil, and that’s all he needed.
“Bring it, if you have it.” He turned his back on Nikhil, and in just a few strides, had reached the goal. The boys followed close behind, confused by Sam’s behavior.
“At least get gloves, Coach,” Mohit whispered, his eyes slightly panicked.
Sam waved him off. That pit in his chest was starting to fill with cement.
Nikhil Amin was a technical finisher, a player that was so powerful, he was almost guaranteed to get the ball past the goalie. The only time he’d failed was last year’s championship game. Sam had been in the goal.
Sam positioned himself on the goal line, ignored the boys’ anxious pleas and focused on Nik. From the corner of his eye, he saw the boys huddle together, and then Kevin ran off in the direction of the pay phone.
Nikhil grinned at Sam, his eyes cold and metallic, as he placed the ball on the ground. He licked his lips and started his run. All of Sam’s senses were focused on the ball.
At first, Sam blocked shot after shot. The ball carried Nik’s frustration, and his shots were wild but powerful. Each sting of the ball on Sam’s bare hands matched the sting of Maya’s words.
Their summer flashed before him. Nik’s shots started coming harder and faster. Sam tried to shake off the memories.
Sam dove hard left, and remembered how she would tuck her hair behind her ear. He missed the ball and hit the ground hard. Blood oozed from a scraped elbow. His shirt was soon soaked with sweat as the sun continued to beat down on him, and as he imagined the coolness of her hands on his face before she kissed him, he dove to the right and banged his shoulder on the goalpost.
Dirt mixed with the sweat and blood on his knees. The ball came off Nik’s foot from a shot inside the box and hit Sam full in the stomach. The wind knocked out of him, Sam fell back into the goal and took a minute, prone on the ground, to catch his breath.
“Coach! Coach! Are you all right?”
Sam heard pounding feet and started to push himself up. He licked his lips and tasted the metallic tang of blood. “I’m fine!”
“Here,” Mohit said, offering him a bottle of water.
Sam slapped it away. “Again.” He spat out blood and grabbed the goalpost to help himself up. The hot aluminum scorched his already swollen hands—he just squeezed the bar harder.
Sam could still hear her voice.I don’t love you. He was on his knees, clinging to the heated aluminum, willing himself to stand when a sharp pain exploded in his face and he was forced onto his back. His world suddenly became blurred and a searing pain coursed through his face and head. Nik had kicked from the penalty line, hitting Sam in the face. He barely registered the blood dripping from his nose as everything went black.
He woke a few minutes later to find himself still in the nightmare. Mohit was yelling instructions to the other two, and Kevin was trying to keep Andy from attacking Nik.
From behind the goal, he heard a familiar voice. “It’s okay, boys. Go on home. I got him.” The voice paused, but still the angry voices pounded his head.
“Boys!” John Hutcherson boomed over them. The boys fell silent. “Don’t lay a hand on Nik.” He raised his voice slightly. “You better go, Nik. I can only hold them back so long.”
Sam felt his father kneel down beside him. “C’mon, Sammy. Let me see.” Sam forced himself to a sitting position and met his father’s gentle blue eyes. Dr. Hutcherson pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it expertly against Sam’s nose. The pain made Sam light-headed, but he refused to cry out. He held the handkerchief in place. His father laid his hand on Sam’s chest and spoke softly to his son. “It’s broken for sure.”
The sound of his father’s voice, the strength of his hand supporting him broke the last of Sam’s control. Sam felt the burn of tears from behind his eyes and deep within his stomach. A painful lump filled his throat and the tears finally came. He leaned forward on his knees and rested his head on his father’s shoulder. Sobbing made it harder to breathe.
But who needed to breathe?
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
MAYA
New York, 2013
MAYAWOKEUPextra early on Saturdays in January to roast coffee beans, as well as to blend the cloves, cardamom, cinnamon, black pepper and ginger needed for her chai masala. There was no chai-flavored syrup in her Indian-style tea; she made the spice mix the same as her mother, and her mother before her. And since chai had become all the rage, she couldn’t make the spice mix fast enough. She’d sold out over Christmas, so now was the time to replenish. The kitchen smells reminded her of childhood, and her thoughts turned to her Deepak-mama and Sejal. Her mother joined her and filled her in on her most recent “date” with Raju-kaka from the night before.
“He was a complete gentleman, Maya. Opening doors for me, pulling out chairs.” Her mother nearly glowed.
Raju-kaka had been opening doors and pulling out chairs for Sunita for thirty years, but only now had Sunita decided to notice. Maya simply smiled and nodded, glancing at the clock. Samantha was due back from Sam’s around noon, but it was only ten thirty now. She shook her head, as if doing so would get rid of her nervous anticipation at seeing Sam, and focused her attention on what her mother was saying, all the while stirring the coffee beans and checking if the spices were blended fine enough. She had barely spoken to him in the past week since he’d found out about the check.
Customers lined up, and Maya lost herself in the preparation of the chai masala and coffee, so before she knew it, Samantha and Sam were walking toward the shop.
