“Wait,” he called out again as my finger hovered over the end button. “We’ll be at your next game. Maybe we can hang out after?”
“I’ll text you.”
I ended the call. As soon as I got to Fairview, I’d head straight to the rink. I needed to blow off steam; this energy was best left on the ice.
CHAPTER7
LYLA
Somehow,I’d let my father drag me to a stupid sports luncheon. He’d bribed me with money. Growing up, I’d been one of those kids who couldn’t be bought. If my parents didn’t show up and gave me a gift in lieu of their absence, I didn’t accept it. These days, I took whatever Dad wanted to throw at me and put it in savings. I’d need every penny when I moved out of here. I’d been accepted to three universities to continue my journey in sports medicine. Though I hadn’t chosen where I was going, money would be necessary no matter where I landed. I may have hated my dad now, but I had fond memories of him from childhood. In the grand scheme of things, sitting at this luncheon should have been a small price, but the verdict was out on that one.
My skin had been crawling since I walked in here, the feeling in the pit of my stomach becoming worse with each passing second. For starters, the object of my worst nightmares was sitting in this room. I’d been able to avoid him this semester, but he always found a way to sneak back into my life somehow, and since he knew he’d done a good enough job silencing me, it was something he tried to do often. Secondly, it was a sports luncheon for athletes, and I was no longer one, in large part because of him. Anger sizzled deep in my stomach, but I couldn’t let it boil over. I couldn’t react. Prescott, Mason, Lachlan, Coach Jameson, and my dad were at the table and I refused to show any emotion around them. Dad and Jameson were lost in conversation. Prescott was texting someone. Mason was openly checking me out, even though I’d made it a point to wear a loose blouse and pants. Lachlan was sitting to my right, his glare set on Mason. It was such a weird thing. I’d felt nothing all day.Nothing. And the moment I smelled him near me, I felt butterflies.
“It wouldn’t kill you to smile,” my father said.
“If you wanted someone who would smile, you shouldn’t have asked me to come,” I said through gritted teeth.
Beside me, Lachlan coughed into his napkin.
“They want to give you something,” Dad said. “You should be grateful you were invited after quitting.”
God, I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself so badly. I wanted to grab the fork in front of me and stab him repeatedly. Instead, I remained silent since I didn’t want to call attention to myself. The guys to my right started talking about their next game. They’d killed it last night. Marissa asked me to go with her, but I’d turned her down. I was considering going to the next one, though. I figured there was no harm in hanging out in an open space that held so many witnesses.
“Lyles, you’re coming to our game, right?” Prescott said, smiling at me from the other side of the table.
“Maybe.” I took a sip of water. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”
Pres rolled his eyes. “Just go.”
“You should,” Dad said. “Gina says you barely leave the house.”
I said nothing. I didn’t understand why Marissa’s mom even spoke to my dad after he allegedly cheated on Mom and moved on with his mistress right after she passed. Maybe she had to speak to him since Marissa’s dad, and mine played golf together. I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair — something my father loathed — but it took me out of Coach Jameson's line of vision, and therefore, that would be one less conversation to have.
The guys loved Jameson, though. It seemed Lachlan was Jameson’s favorite, which made me inwardly roll my eyes. Jameson had coached Lachlan for two years and led the team when they won their first championship. Lachlan was talking about the teams he’d kill to play for — his first choice was in Toronto, his second in Boston. Those were two places I hadn’t even considered moving to. Not that it mattered. When he left, would he ask me to follow him/come with him? I wouldn't have gone if he did. I almost laughed at myself. I wasn't sure if we were even friends, yet somehow, the boundaries were still blurred because of these stupid emotions that only he could pull from me.
Coach Bev tapped the microphone twice to call our attention before she started addressing the room. I missed her so damn much. She’d been the reason I chose to play soccer here, to begin with. With so many choices at my fingertips, I chose Coach Bev, and look at where that got me. She gave her usual inspiring speech, everyone clapped, and she waited for it to quiet down.
“I’ve spent the last thirty years coaching a lot of talented young ladies.” She looked around the room. “But every once in a while, one stands out from the rest. I’m not saying our current team is anything short of amazing, but this young lady is a superstar.”
Across the room, the soccer table cheered and hooted. I looked over there, and my heart sank. I should have been sitting over there right now. I’d roomed with some of them my first year here and missed them so fucking much. I still texted some of them, but it wasn’t the same. I wasn’t part of the team anymore, so we no longer shared the same inside jokes or saw each other daily. I missed having a family like that. I fucking hatedhimfor doing this to me. Loathed him.
“Now,” Coach Bev continued. “She was only able to play with us for two full years. She took us to the championship both years and helped us win,” she said, her voice excited. I stopped breathing.What was happening?The soccer girls banged against the table, making utensils clatter against plates. Coach Bev side-eyed them. “Quiet down, girls.” She looked right at me, her voice wavering with emotion. My heart dropped again. No no no no no. This could not be happening. “She’s gifted. She has a smile that can light up a room, a heart of gold. She’s a true leader. I wish she still played for us, but I understand the difficult circumstances.” She took a breath. “Not a game has gone by where we haven’t mentioned her name, so we knew honoring her with this plaque was necessary. It’ll go on the wall of our tunnel, so each time the girls run by it, she can inspire them.” She sniffled. Oh fuck. I swallowed. I felt like crying but somehow held my emotion in my throat. “Miss Lyla James Marichal, please come up here.”
I scooted my chair back and kept my eyes on the stage as I walked toward it. If I made eye contact with Prescott or Lachlan, I’d lose it. My former teammates stood up and ambushed me with hugs and kisses, making it even harder to keep my tears at bay. I kissed and hugged them back and continued until I reached Coach Bev. She hugged me tightly.
“I miss you so much,” I said, burying my face in her shoulder.
“I miss you more, and of course, I wanted you to come back. You’re the best player I’ve ever coached.” She pulled away, and I looked in the opposite direction of the crowd to wipe my face quickly. “I really wish you’d consider going pro.”
I smiled sadly and hugged her again. Playing in the USWNT had been a dream of mine. I’d idolized Michelle Akers. I’d been mentioned in conversations with some of the best players, and then, nothing. After the tragedies, I’d tried to go back, but I couldn’t without Mom watching. The weight of my guilt didn’t let me concentrate enough to dribble the ball, let alone be the striker I used to be. When we pulled away, Coach Bev showed me the plaque. It was surreal seeing my name memorialized like that. I’d won the most prestigious award in the nation, but somehow, it meant more to me, knowing that girls for generations to come would see this and be inspired by it. I ran my fingers over it and breathed, enjoying this brief moment. I pulled up the microphone and said, “Thank you,” as everyone stood and clapped. What else was there to say? I felt unworthy and wasn’t going to stand here saying it had been the honor of my life to play soccer for this school. It had been, but saying it aloud felt fucked up since I’d quit on them halfway through. We posed for a picture, and Coach Bev and I spoke a little more when we left the stage. I returned to my seat, giving high fives on the way, while a basketball player started speaking into the mic.
When I got there, everyone at my table stood. I gave Coach Jameson a quick side hug, kissed my father on the cheek, and gave the rest of them a side hug before taking my seat. Everyone kept talking. Jameson and Dad got out of their seats for something while the rest of us stayed seated. Despite the despondent look I knew was on my face, my hands shook in my lap. I felt a hand reach out and settle over them. Lachlan was terrible for my emotions. His touch felt like a defibrillator, jolting me back to life, but it also made me feel safe enough to stop shaking.
“Nightmare?” he asked quietly. I finally met his eyes and felt my mouth move into a small smile. His eyes dropped to my lips, making wings flap inside my stomach.
“The worst kind.” I turned and ignored him for the rest of the luncheon, for his sake more than mine.
* * *
