Even the women, who I know are perfectly capable of working as a unit, fall into the trap of trying to outshine everyone around them. It’s like watching twenty individual storms colliding instead of one coordinated front. When Mitchell gets the ball again, he charges downfield like a raging bull, ignoring the open pass to Claire in favor of attempting a flashy solo shot that clangs off the goalpost.
I shake my head, pacing along the sidelines to where Coach Collingwood is lingering in the stands. He’s a middle aged man, balding and not as athletic as he used to be, but we get along well. Since I brought home the Bob Scott Award in my first year, his job has been considerably easier. We have a check in once in a while, mostly to run through risk assessments and the plans for upcoming competitions, but he’s become rather comfortable staying behind his desk whilst I rule the roost out here. The past year with me absent must have been hellish for him, actually earning his paycheck and all that.
“So, are you here to watch over them, or watch over me?” I ask, dropping all pretenses. If I know anything about Everest, I know he’ll expect a full report back.
“He doesn’t like not having full control,” Coach replies. I huff a small laugh. Leaning against the railing, I place the whistle between my lips, waiting for the next foul. My breath causes the small ball inside to rattle, my eyes tracking the heavy fall of cleats, but it occurs to me that my mind is otherwise empty.
The headache still pulses faintly behind my eyes, and my body still feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry after the weekend from hell, but the field gives me something to focus on.. Laura’s face stops flickering at the edge of my thoughts. Thiago’ssilence dulls to a manageable ache. Even Harrison’s shadow fades to a muted outline. Each command I bark, each correction I make, pushes the chaos in my head a little further away.
Out here, the rules are simple. You run. You pass. You trust the person beside you not to let the ball drop. Unfortunately, this team hasn’t learned that last part yet. As Samson barrels down the field for the third time without passing, I pinch the bridge of my nose and push an exhale through the whistle.
“Alright. New drill, because clearly none of you trust one another to have your backs.” I shout, my voice carrying across the turf. A few confused glances ripple through the group as they slow to a stop. I point toward the equipment crate by the sideline. “Dump the sticks and pair up. Preferably with someone you don’t know or like. One of you is going to close your eyes, the other is responsible for getting them to dribble the ball across the field without them breaking an ankle. No talking, no cheating, just contact and instinct.”
The hesitation lasts about two seconds before the first few players shrug and toss their gear aside, the rest following with varying degrees of skepticism. Slowly, pairs are formed, mostly men who place their hands on the woman’s hips and start to guide them forward. It’s going to be hilarious when I announce they have to switch positions to make their way back again. Beside me, Coach snickers under his breath.
“This is going to be interesting.”
“More like a fucking shitshow, but I need the laugh.” I smile openly. Ironically, if I hadn’t been on the precipice of a mental breakdown, this would have been a pretty perfect day. The best I could’ve had, if Thiago would just speak to me. If he’d let me apologize whilst knowing he’s on the other end listening. Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Coach nudges my shoulder.
“This is why Everest needs you,” he jerks his head towards the field. “He doesn’t tend to think outside of the box.” I snortbut don’t respond. Everest doesn’t need me. He needs to step down and let me do my thing, but even I can agree that I’m not in the mental state to carry this team alone. I’ll be the brains, he can be the brawn. For now.
By the time I call the end of practice, at least a few of the pairs have loosened enough to not be holding themselves stiff. Most haven’t, but they’d better get used to running trust exercises. This is just the start.
Whistling sharply, I tell them all to hit the showers whilst hanging back. A few of the girls slow their jog as they pass me, offering small, respectful nods. My chest tightens at first, expecting mockery to follow, but it doesn’t. There’s no pity, just a thread of respect. Could it be that the place I expected to find the most anger about Laura’s disappearance is the one where I actually find solace, or is that just another one of Everest’s commands?
Either way, I nod back, waiting for everyone to peel away before I wander toward the equipment crate and fish out a crosse of my own. The stadium lights buzz faintly overhead, the sky already deepening into that hazy blue that comes just before night settles in. One thing that’s painfully missing is the ache in my muscles.
“Come on Coach, for old times’ sake,” I toss him one. The plastic clatters against his chest before he catches it with a surprised expression. I’d planned on not leaving the stadium until I’d tired myself to the point of exhaustion. It’s likely the only way I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
Just like we did when I was a freshman, Coach and I run drills long after the sun disappears behind the bleachers. It’s just the two of us tossing the ball back and forth, the familiarthwackof pocket against rubber echoing across the empty field. Vaguely, it occurs to me that this field should be the last place I feel safe. It’s the backdrop of the worst moment of my life, butI refuse to let Harrison take anymore from me. He can have my reputation, my social standing, my career prospects, but he can’t have this. He can’t stop me from drowning my thoughts in the burn of muscles and the sting of sweat in my eyes.
By the time Coach and I finally collapse on the turf, both of us breathing like dying animals, the stadium lights are the only thing illuminating the field. I ache, my lungs are raw, my throat dry, yet I’m finally finding a sense of calm within. If I’m lucky, by the time I crawl back to my dorm tonight, I’ll be too numb to remember Laura’s face or the way the interrogation room smelled faintly of stale coffee and suspicion.
“Looks like our captain is back,” Coach mutters between gulps of air, offering me a crooked grin. I look around, expecting to see Everest walking onto the field before realizing he's talking to me. I snort, staring up at the sky.
“Don’t get used to it.” Once my breathing is regulated, I push upright and offer Coach my hand. He’s a heavy lump and I let him know it, heaving him upright before hitting the showers myself. Amongst the heated spray and provided bodywash, I sense something inside me has loosened.
For a few hours, I wasn’t the girl who got kidnapped. I wasn’t the girl whose friend vanished. I wasn’t the subject of headlines or interrogations or whispered speculation in hallways. I was just Meg, captain of a team that might actually start listening to me. That feeling is enough to carry me through the walk home, even after I’ve seen there’s still no response from Thiago.
By the time I reach my dorm block, the campus has quieted into that strange evening lull where everyone is either buried in homework or getting ready to go out again. My legs feel like rubber as I climb the stairs, every step reminding me how thoroughly I abused my body tonight. I’m halfway down the corridor toward my room when a tall shape detaches itself from the shadows near the far wall. I stop short.
Everest leans against the hallway radiator, his arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed lazily over the other. There’s a rigid set to his shoulders. My brows pull together.
“Well, that’s unexpected,” I slow to a halt a few feet away. “I thought you had a family commitment, or was that just a ruse? I handled the practice well before anyone tells you otherwise.”
“I heard.” Everest’s mouth tilts faintly, though there’s no humor behind it. “I had every faith that you’d manage, and yes, I did have a family commitment.”
“Hmmm,” I drop my gym bag from my shoulder so it thuds against the carpet. “So why are you hanging around my hallway? Waiting to give me feedback on my performance?” Everest exhales through his nose, pushing himself upright. Up close, I notice he looks more tired than usual, and not the kind of tired you fix with sleep, either. “What’s happened?” I tense, dropping the façade that we’re old chums.
“I’m giving you a heads up,” Everest states and I groan.
“Oh good. I love those. You’d better come in.” Grabbing my bag, I unlock my door and enter first, leaving it open for Everest to do whatever he chooses. The door clicks shut behind me and the squeak of my desk chair follows.
“Why do you have such a nice set-up?” he questions. I follow Everest’s gaze, looking over my computer.
“Can’t I have nice things?” I reply dryly. Everest ignores me, lifting my wireless keyboard and flipping it over.
“No seriously, this is aFluxCore K-9 carbon board,” he mutters, his brows drawing together as he studies the serial plate embedded into the underside. His thumb rubs across the etched lettering like he’s checking it’s real. “They only manufactured a thousand of these for the private developer circuit. Aircraft-grade carbon chassis, optical switches, zero-latency wireless pairing.” Then his attention turns to the tower.
