Chapter 41 Joanie
Joanie
I watched the second half unfold from the bench.
Frustration gripped me. If Claire didn’t put me on soon, I wouldn’t get a chance to play.
I glanced up at the executive box. Dad would be up there.
Maybe Kieran, too. A little piece of his swagger on the pitch wouldn’t go amiss right now.
My heart raced and my body thrummed with nerves, but I had a choice.
I could let fear run my life, or I could be brave.
If Claire gave me the chance, I needed to get on that pitch today.
The women next to me had their heads bowed together, muttering.
Snippets of conversation drifted on the wind.
They weren’t happy with the ref. It was a strong opposition.
They were chasing us down like dogs. We were drawing at two goals each but clinging on with our fingertips.
I resisted attempts to drag me into the conversation.
My guts were churning. Excruciating to sit this one out when I felt ready for the first time. All this anticipation for nothing. I slumped with my head in my hands.
“Joanie. You’re on.”
What? I lifted my head to see Claire looming over me. On the pitch, two medics escorted a limping Miri off.
Gabe put his arm around his wife’s waist as she reached the sideline. “OK?”
“Don’t look so worried, Rivers.” She smiled at him as he guided her to sit. “Just a hit to the ankle. It will be fine.”
“Move it, Joanie,” Claire barked.
Fear threaded through the middle of me as though it ran along my spine. I wanted to pull it out with one sharp tug, like a bird plucking a worm from the ground, but that apprehension held me trembling and stuck.
An official held up my number. Really? This was happening.
Claire’s gaze sharpened. “Joanie? You got this?”
A sudden rush of adrenaline went through me.
It was now or never. Sometimes terrible things happened.
Sometimes you launched in the air for a kick and you fell on your face.
But you only failed if you didn’t get up again.
This was my chance to prove myself. This is how I showed the world that I was on this team, and I deserved to be here.
Not because I had a famous father, but because I’d worked my butt off for years.
Some moments in life deserved to be fully embraced.
I leaped off the bench. Claire clamped a restraining hand on my arm.
She spoke in a clear, firm voice. “We’ve got ten minutes left, and this game is getting away from us.
You’re going to sit in midfield and be ready to receive.
As soon as you get a touch on that ball, pass it back, forward, or sideways, I don’t care, but keep control of it for ten minutes.
They’ll get annoyed and lose shape. As soon as they do, we’ll push forward for the win. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
She gave me a sharp assessing glance and I held her gaze. Whatever she saw on my face made a small smile flicker across her lips. She gave a grudging nod. “Good. Get the fuck on with it, then.”
I jogged onto the pitch and relayed Claire’s instructions to my captain. Skylar’s scent of turf engulfed me. Her broad smile filled me with warmth.
“All good?” She gripped my hand and squeezed.
“I’ve got it. Let’s do this.”
Skylar gave Claire a nod. Play resumed. I didn’t have a moment’s grace to feel afraid.
The ball came flying toward me. I caught it with my chest and let it fall in front of me.
I rolled the ball under my boot and passed it back to Lana.
We just had to keep possession, but Claire’s instructions were easier said than done.
The opposition had clearly worked on their fitness pre-season, because they were relentless.
This was more like a game of basketball as each team took it in turn to attack the opposition goal.
We were losing the ball easily. With every passing second, my frustration mounted.
I glanced at the clock. Nearly done. A draw wasn’t a bad way to start the season, but I couldn’t deny I wanted a win.
Lana chipped the ball to me, but the weight of the pass was all wrong.
The opposition striker stole it from me in a flash.
She sprinted forward with the ball at her feet, darting toward the goal.
My body ached with fatigue, but I had to chase her down.
A goal in the last couple of minutes would be a disaster.
Every player on the team moved to the opposition box to defend.
The opposition took a shot on goal. Our goalie, Hannah, launched into the air for a one-handed save.
By some miracle, she got to it. The ball flew out and landed squarely at my feet.
Well then.
I turned on the ball. Every player on the field was in this penalty box.
They’d sent their entire team down to attack us, and now they were in trouble.
The only thing between me and the opposition goal was one hundred yards of turf and a goalkeeper.
A surge of adrenaline went through me. There was no time to plan or think or feel. There was only one thing to do: run.
I set off at a sprint, darting the length of the pitch.
My heartbeat pounded a drum inside my chest. Strong and steady.
The wind caressed my face, urging me on.
A hot exhilaration burst through me. The stadium and all its noise and tension faded to a blur.
There was just me and a ball and a memory of a little girl who only ever wanted to run fast. I’d spent nine months in hell because that little girl wouldn’t let me forget that this was where she’d always wanted to be.
She hadn’t let me quit. I was desperate to thank her.
I wanted to thank my body, too. I’d put it through so much, and here it was, trying hard all over again.
Every strike of my foot as I ate up the grass was a strength reclaimed, and a testament to willpower and resilience.
It hadn’t been pretty, but I’d shown up and done the work.
Kieran was right. It was enough. A strange sound like a laugh bubbled inside of me.
The goalkeeper was out of her goal. She ran toward me.
I slowed, and on instinct my body—this body once so full of pain and resistance—responded.
I chipped the ball right over the goalkeeper, and it bounced on the grass behind her.
She was too slow. I got there first and flicked it over the line.
The ball hit the back of the net. I tried to stop, but I’d run so hard my legs couldn’t.
I tumbled over the line after the ball, hitting the ground and sliding along the grass on my front.
I felt the stadium erupt. Cheering resounded through the stands.
The applause engulfed me in a loving embrace.
I rolled over. Damp earth at my back. The crowd were on their feet.
Even Claire had a smile and a hug for Gabe over on the sideline.
I’d raced the length of the field in a heartbeat.
It had been a flash of lightning. A spark of magic. The perfect counterattack.
The final whistle blew. Skylar reached me first. Beaming, she dropped down next to me and pulled me into her arms. Rough hands seized my waist, my legs, my arms, and I was being lifted upward. My team hoisted me off the ground for a victory lap, and tears of relief and joy filled my eyes.
I’d done it. I’d fought for nine months to step back onto this pitch, because I’d been born to run with a ball at my feet, and every kid in the country who had been born the same way needed to see what was possible.
Some people thought I’d only got here because of my dad.
That I was a mediocre player taking up a spot that others deserved.
Too entitled. Too quiet. Too demanding. Too vanilla.
People thought all kinds of things about me.
So what? Kieran was right. People could think whatever the fuck they wanted.