But when I see him talking to Zeke, a surge of determination goes through me.
I’m going to say what I have to say, and then I’m going to go out on the field and win. There’s no one here I need to prove anything to except for myself, and I’ll prove it when I bring my best to the field.
“Troy,” I say. He’s wearing a collared shirt but no jacket and tie, and with his beard a little rougher than usual, he looks tough and handsome.
He meets my gaze, and something strong passes between us.
A few people walk by with clipboards, and we both stay silent until they pass.
“Orlando,” he says. “Ready?”
I nod. “I am. But Troy, I need to say that I’m sorry if I rushed.” He glances over his shoulder and into the loud locker room, and I wait for him to turn back before I continue. “I tried to change the terms of the contract, and I didn’t really give you time to consider. I wish I’d gone about that differently.”
It feels good to get that out directly, and right away, some of my tension eases.
“Oh,” he says. He rubs his beard. “Thank you for saying that,” he finally adds. “And sorry if I got,” he coughs, “a little gruff. Wish I had heard what you were saying better.”
I smile, warmth flowing through me. There’s so much more to say, but this isn’t the place or the time.
“I’m ready to talk whenever you are,” I tell him. “Now I gotta hit the field with my team.”
Troy nods, but catches himself. “Wait. Before you go,” he says. “I’m handing you off to a junior agent. I’ll introduce you later.”
Confused, I rock back on my heels. “Why now?”
“It’s the first step,” he says, clarifying. “In squaring this all away so we can do what you suggested.”
His words work through me.
Troy wants in. Troy wants to make our relationship work, too, and he’s taking steps in that direction.
It requires all my self-control not to throw my arms around him in the middle of the locker room. Keeping my cool, I let out a slow breath instead, holding his strong gaze.
“Cool,” I say and pivot, turning away. “Enjoy the game, Frisk,” I call out.
Immediately, Kevyn pulls me in with the rest of the team, and as our coaches get out the whiteboards to review strategy, I direct my confidence into pure focus. My blood is pumping and my senses all alert. There’s extra scrutiny on me, people doubting whether I’ll return at full strength. But with the team’s electricity humming through my veins, I go totally into the zone.
The match starts off fierce, and it stays relentless.
We tear control of the ball away from Boston only to have them overwhelm us. Each team pulls off wild, desperate moves, surprise interceptions, formations that no one was expecting.
But then I set Syed up for our first goal, and the momentum builds.
The stadium roars, and I know this is it. This is what Troy was talking about. I’m playing at the top of my game, in total alignment and synchronicity with my team, and I’m not scared of it. I’m going to meet this moment with my full potential and confidence.
We’re going to win.
Boston claws back a point, but after halftime, we take the field like we own it. Syed blows past the defense and sets me up for a long goal that I nail, and only a few minutes later, I tangle up their midfielders and sneak off a long pass that he heads in for another goal.
I cast my eyes over the massive crowd, cameras and media all trained on us. I beam, taking it all in.
You see that, Troy?
It’s a tight game, and we never earn enough of a lead to relax. Any slip-up and Boston will have us in the corner. But we hold strong, and when it’s all over, the Philadelphia Force wins the MLS Cup 5-2.
It’s like an explosion. My teammates are jumping all over each other, cameras are flashing, and the noise of the crowd is deafening. Syed has the biggest grin on his face, and Zeke has pulled two midfielders into a bear hug they couldn’t escape if they wanted to.
I’m laughing and cheering and congratulating everyone. It’s the first cup I’ve won, and it means we’re headed to CONCACAF. I’m part of the Philly Force, and I feel invincible.
