Chapter 8 ZAYDEN
ZAYDEN
MOST DAYS, I LOVE PRACTICE.
It grounds me. Keeps me focused. Makes me feel great because I work hard and feel like I’m truly achieving something.
Then there are days like this where I just want to fall into a heap and pretend that I don’t exist, so everyone can leave me the hell alone. My muscles complain as I push myself further, running harder and faster. Sweat stings my eyes, and I swipe my face in irritation.
I wasn’t in a bad mood before. In fact, I’d been in a pretty great mood after my time with Nora.
It wasn’t until I got here and saw Leasa and her bandwagon of friends hovering on the sidelines again.
I’m over this. It might be time to confront her, because I don’t have the time and energy for her hanging around.
I have her blocked on everything, so it’d make sense seeing me in person to try to communicate, but she doesn’t even do that.
She just keeps turning up everywhere I go, like a weird stalker.
‘Zayden.’
Lifting my head, I see Coach Kennedy glaring at me. ‘Yes, Coach?’
He clears his throat, gesturing beside me. I turn, realising everyone has continued the sprints, whereas I’ve stopped to glower at the group on the sidelines. I was so in my own thoughts, I’d sort of forgotten for a second what I was supposed to be doing.
‘Little distracting having groupies, is it?’ he barks at me, bits of spit flying from the corners of his mouth.
‘Sorry, Coach.’
‘Double sprints, Zayden.’
‘Fuuuuck,’ I grumble, scowling.
‘What was that?’ he asks, stepping towards me, and the gazes of my teammates swing towards us both as everyone becomes deafeningly silent. Shit. That wasn’t supposed to come out. You do not talk back to Coach, ever.
‘Nothing.’
‘My office, once you’re finished.’
That tone never means anything good.
Biting my tongue, I continue the sprints.
I refuse to give into the anger rearing its ugly head inside me when the rest of my team is dismissed, while I’m stuck sprinting in thirty-degree heat.
Mason shoots me a sympathetic look before jogging off with the others.
Gritting my teeth, I push forward, hoping that this will be over and done with soon enough. I’m over training today.
Retiring to the locker room, I peel my sweaty clothes off and step into the shower. Leaning heavily against the tiles, I let the water wash over me. I spend a little longer than I should in there, delaying the inevitable conversation I’m about to have with Coach.
I like Coach Kennedy. He’s fair and knows what he’s talking about. He’s experienced, works us hard, and gets results. I’ve always gotten along well with him and have been cautious to never get on his bad side, but I fear I may be teetering close to achieving that right now.
I tap my knuckles against his office door a few minutes later before pushing it open.
Coach is seated behind his desk, scribbling down something in his notebook.
He doesn’t look up as I enter. Quietly sighing, I walk over to him and drop down onto the seat opposite, a sour taste building in my mouth, dreading what is to come.
‘Zayden,’ he says in that deep, no-bullshit voice of his that has the ability to command attention from anyone in his vicinity.
‘Coach.’
His eyes meet mine, and I swallow, not liking the hard expression on his face. I’ve always shown up to practice, always been on time, and always delivered. I’ve been a Grade A player for him, but I know what’s coming. It’s been building for a while.
‘You know why you’re here?’ he asks, leaning back in his chair, fixing me with a narrowed stare that has me bristling.
‘I have an idea.’
‘There is no denying you’re one hell of a player, kid,’ he says, and I slowly nod. ‘But you have to be more than that when you’re on a scholarship. I believe you’ve had a conversation regarding this already?’
‘Yes, Coach,’ I answer, my voice stiff and unlike my usual, casual tone.
I hate these kinds of conversations, and I hate feeling like I’ve let people down.
Especially when it comes to something like this.
Academically, I struggle, and I don’t know how to improve. It’s always been a challenge for me.
‘Look,’ he says with a deep breath, adjusting in his seat.
‘I get it. Completing any sort of schoolwork with ADHD is difficult. It means you have to work hard. I know it’s a lot, on top of just regular life, but you need to get something sorted.
Every single class is slipping, and even today …
’ he trails off, pressing his lips together.
‘I’m starting to notice how easily distracted you get. ’
Heat prickles my scalp. I want to defend myself.
I want to get angry, but I can’t. It won’t do me any good, and it will achieve nothing.
Swallowing, I look down at my lap, unsure what to say to him.
Shame fills me to the point my eyes sting and I quickly blink away the emotion threatening to take over. I can’t break down, not right now.
‘I’m dealing with personal things,’ I say thickly.
Coach raises an eyebrow. ‘And you think that’s going to fly when scholarships are reviewed at the end of semester? When recruiters are watching our top players every week?’
My mouth goes dry. I glance at the floor, then back up. ‘I’m dealing with it. I’m getting back on track.’
He leans forward, arms folded on the desk. ‘Zayden. You’re a leader on this team. People look up to you, whether you want them to or not. I need you to get it together in every area of your university life, otherwise I’ve got no choice but to start rotating in other players.’
That lands like a punch to the gut. I shift in the chair, trying to keep my voice level. ‘So what, I’m benched?’
‘Not yet,’ he says, which doesn’t make me feel any better. ‘But you’re on notice. I’ve seen guys with your talent ruin their chances because they couldn’t get their heads straight off the field.’
I nod, jaw clenched. ‘Got it.’
‘You’ve got the skills. You’ve got the instinct. But none of that matters if you don’t get your shit together. Whatever’s going on – deal with it. Now.’
I nod again, tighter this time, and my voice cracks. ‘Yes, Coach.’
‘Zayden,’ he says, softly this time, looking like he may regret how harsh he was being just now.
‘I’m trying, Coach.’ My voice breaks again and I flinch at the sound of it. There’s a long, weighted silence, and Coach’s eyes burn holes into my skin as he stares hard at me. I’ve never shown any sort of vulnerability to him before.
‘Is there something I can do to help you?’ he asks softly, and honestly, I think the sympathetic tone in his voice is worse. I almost wish he would yell at me. ‘What do you need?’
‘I’m working on it. I have a tutor lined up. I think that’s going to help a lot.’
When I glance back up, Coach’s eyebrows are raised, as if he’s surprised I’ve acted on this. He nods. ‘Good. That’s great.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Let’s check back in with each other in a couple of weeks and see how you’re going.’
‘Sure.’
‘Please come to me, Zayden. You’re one of my best players. I don’t want to see this happen to you.’
Shoving to my feet, I nod yet again, still unsure what to do or say. There’s a lump in my throat and I’m dangerously close to letting my composure slip. I feel like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to get myself out of this deep water.
I step out of the office, the door clicking shut behind me. The air’s cooler out here, but my skin still feels hot. I pull my phone from my pocket, rubbing the back of my neck.
Nora: My editor just reached out asking if we can bring forward my deadline.
This means full emotional breakdown incoming. Hope ur still alive after practice
I stare at it for a second, unsure whether I should banter back or be honest with the shitshow I just endured. I don’t think a fake relationship is exactly grounds for emotional support, but I trust Nora, and I feel like she’s the one person right now who I can talk to freely about what’s going on.
Zayden: Coach just threatened to bench me. Might need emotional support too
Her reply comes instantly.
Nora: Wanna call tonight?
Zayden: I’d love that
Nora: Call when you’re free. Fake couples must help each other in times of crisis x
I pocket the phone, frowning at her words.
I don’t know why all of a sudden the reminder that this is fake has annoyed me so much.
I manage to make it to my car before I let out a growl of frustration, punching my hand into the steering wheel.
The familiar anger courses through me, stampeding over everything else.
I could be an idiot and drive myself to a bar to drink away my worries. I’m tempted to do that, but instead, I head in the direction of home. All I want to do right now is hang out with my best mates and forget about all of this for a little while.
Swinging into the driveway, my shoulders sag when I see Mason throwing bags into the back of his truck.
That’s right. He and Anya are going on a road trip.
There are a few art museums that now feature her work, so they’re driving to visit each and camping in between.
They’ll be gone for about a week. I’m going to go nuts living here on my own.
All I do is hang out with them. Not having them here, I’m going to be totally lost.
‘Hey,’ Mason greets me as I climb out of the car.
‘Hey.’
‘Are you all good?’ he asks, pausing his packing. He rests his forearm against the back of his truck as he studies my face, concern lining his features.
‘Yeah.’
He raises a dark brow at my short reply. ‘What happened?’
‘Coach just tore into me for being distracted and said I need to keep my shit together.’
‘Ah,’ he says, grimacing. ‘What’s the go with Leasa watching you practise? It’s a bit creepy.’
‘I know.’
Scrubbing a hand down his jaw, he leans back, eyeing me. ‘You sure you’re all good?’
‘I’m all right,’ I say, forcing a smile onto my face. ‘Have a great trip away. You both deserve to have some fun.’
‘Thanks, man.’