“You need a ride?”
I spin toward the question like it’s a life preserver. “Yes! I…” My voice trails, the rest of what I was planning to say getting stuck somewhere in my throat when I see who spoke.
I stare.
He grins, amused by my muteness. Or maybe it’s his typical reaction. There’s an ease to the expression, like he smiles a lot.
The entire US team has a fascination with the German men’s team, considering our captain is engaged to the captain of theirs. And the entire soccer world is aware of who Germany’s goalkeeper is. Aside from Adler Beck—Saylor Scott’s fiancé—he’s the most recognizable player on the team.
In my opinion, goalie is the most challenging position on the field. One body guarding a net that’s eight feet high and twenty-four feet long against lethal aim? It takes a rare combination oftalent and bravery to even attempt to stand in the way of a kick. At any level, let alone the very top.
The guy in front of me is colloquially considered to be one of the best in the world at it. He’ll be consideredthebest, if Germany wins the gold medal they’re predicted to.
And he’s looking at me with a familiarity that’s disconcerting, like we’re two old friends reuniting after a separation. Like he was out here, waiting for me, not the sleek sports car that another valet just pulled up.
His smile spreads wider as he holds out a hand. A dimple appears in the crevice of his left cheek.
Flutters appear in my stomach as I take it. Butterflies.
“I’m Otto.”
6
OTTO
My first introductory session with the Boston Siege is mostly spent staring at a ten-foot-tall photo of number five mid-kick.
Directly in front of it, the actual Claire Caldwell refuses to make eye contact with me. She nods in response to something the woman next to her leaned close to whisper, she twirls the end of her ponytail, she sips from a water bottle. She listens intently as Eliza Taylor addresses her team.
One thing she doesn’t do? Look at me.
Every other player stares. Some try to be surreptitious, but none succeed.
My presence is an anomaly, and there was no announcement ahead of time, if the sea of stunned faces when I walked in the room was any indication. I scrolled through the entire roster yesterday, but I couldn’t have named a single player who was looking my way when I entered.
I’m so aware of Claire; it stuns me. I’m attempting to focus on Eliza talking, on paying attention and acting professional. And it’s like there’s a leaky faucet in the back of the room, apersistentdrip, drip, dripthat makes it impossible to direct my full concentration elsewhere.
It’s a relief when Eliza dismisses her players from the media room for a brief break before today’s training session begins. The tap turns off for a minute.
That was terrible.
“That went well,” Eliza states once the entire team has left, hoisting two binders off the table.
I almost laugh at the irony. Turn it into a cough instead. “Seems like a great group.”
Something a coach would say, right? Leon Wagner, Kluvberg’s head coach, isn’t the nurturing type. His attention means you’re making mistakes while silence is a stamp of approval. He has a nonexistent tolerance for negligence and never coddles. I knew for certain how fucked my shoulder was when he showed up to the exam room as soon as that fateful match ended. Normally, he relies on trainers to relay injury updates.
“I had a feeling the team would be excited about you joining us.” Eliza’s tone is dry as she tucks the binders under one arm. “I decided it would be better to spring it on them rather than invite any speculation.”
I nod. “I’m excited too.”
I glance at the floor-to-ceiling poster of Claire one final time before walking out of the room. Her arms are raised in victory, a huge smile stretched across her face.
She looks happy. Euphoric even. I’ve existed around that vibrant version of Claire, and it’s nothing like the woman who paid attention to everything except me.
I’ve been so consumed by how I’d be affected by this change that I failed to consider how my arrival might affect her. I’m selfish, accustomed to making decisions centered aroundmyself. It also felt arrogant to assume my presence here would matter to Claire in any way.
As we walk toward the indoor field, Eliza points out a few additional areas we didn’t pass on the walk to the media room. I nod along, asking a few questions about the impressive facility.
