CHAPTER 19 #3
His answer comes faster this time.
I make no promises about plants.
I bite the inside of my cheek so I do not smile in front of Ava.
Ava, who is definitely watching me through her reflection in the tactical poster glass.
“Emerging leader,” I say.
She snaps her eyes forward. “Yes, Captain?”
“Walk.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Training is modified.
I hate it.
I also respect it.
Both things can exist, apparently, which seems to be a theme this week.
No contact reps. No full-speed rotation into the left channel. Tactical walk-through, set pieces, line communication, film-board transition into movement. I stand in more than I want. Talk more than I play. Let Ava run the cover lanes while I call the read from the edge.
The first ten minutes feel like punishment.
The next ten feel like work.
By the last twenty, I can see what Coach wanted.
Ava grows louder.
Marta adjusts earlier.
The keeper calls cleaner.
The line begins to defend with the information instead of around the worry.
Good.
Annoying.
Good.
At the end of training, team media pulls me aside near the approved backdrop.
Just a quick internal clip, they say.
Team channel only.
No live questions.
The media manager, Talia, stands with her phone on a stabilizer and the expression of someone who has already fought three headline battles before lunch.
“We’ll keep it soccer,” she says.
“Bless you.”
She smiles. “I try.”
The prompt is simple.
How does Canada prepare defensively after last night’s win?
I look into the camera.
Not my favourite place.
Not the worst.
“We prepare by trusting the full picture,” I say.
“A clip can show one second. Our job is to understand the whole match. Last night, our defensive shape held because every player owned her space. Ava made a key cover. Our midfield compressed when it mattered. Our keeper organized us late. That’s what we build on. ”
Talia nods from behind the phone.
Good.
Keep going.
“We know the next match will ask hard questions,” I say. “That’s tournament soccer. We answer together.”
Clean.
True.
No health quote.
No fuel.
Talia lowers the phone. “Perfect.”
I exhale.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket.
Not Nathan this time.
Team media email.
Subject: Media Requests for Emily Smith
My stomach drops before I even open it.
I know what it will say.
I open it anyway.
The list is long.
Too long.
Tournament desk. National network. Two sports shows. Three written outlets. One feature request from a women’s sports publication I usually respect. One from an outlet I absolutely do not.
All asking for comment.
All using different language.
Availability.
Leadership.
Playing through pain.
Captaincy.
Injury speculation.
Visible discomfort.
Ava’s emergence.
Nathan Bellows reaction.
There it is.
His name again.
I close the email.
Then open it because closing emails has never solved anything except temporarily.
Talia watches my face. “You saw the list.”
“Yes.”
“We are declining most. Team availability only.”
“Good.”
“One outlet is pushing hard for a joint context piece.”
“With who?”
She hesitates.
I already know.
“With Northline,” she says. “Sienna Voss requested a fair-play tactical breakdown. No health speculation. She wants to ask about the full defensive sequence, Ava’s role, and how captains manage pressure without turning one clip into the whole story.”
Sienna.
Not the worst option.
Maybe the best one.
Still media.
Still public.
Still another person asking to enter the frame.
I look through the glass wall toward the far training pitch.
The Kings are on the adjacent field now, doing light recovery movement. Blue and gold under afternoon sun.
Nathan is easy to find.
He always is, apparently.
He is talking with Darius near the touchline, one foot on a ball, posture relaxed enough for anyone else to miss the fact that he is not looking toward our media setup.
Not once.
He is staying out of the frame.
Because I asked.
The realization settles under my ribs, close to the ache.
Talia follows my gaze, then very professionally looks at her tablet.
“Do you want to decline everything?” she asks.
I look back at the email.
Requests stacked like pressure.
Some fair.
Some hungry.
All waiting.
“No,” I say slowly.
Talia’s eyes lift.
I hear my own voice before I fully know the decision.
“We do one.”
“Northline?”
I breathe in.
The pull under my side answers.
Manageable.
Not ignorable.
Like almost everything important.
“Yes,” I say. “But only if Sienna keeps it tactical.”
Talia nods. “I’ll confirm terms.”
“And no Nathan questions.”
“I’ll make that clear.”
“Good.”
My phone is still in my hand.
The screen reflects my face faintly.
Captain functional.
Captain managing.
Captain choosing one door because hiding from all of them lets other people build the room.
Across the facility, Nathan shifts the ball under his foot and says something to Darius. Darius answers. Nathan nods.
He still does not look over.
Good.
Difficult.
Good.
Talia starts typing.
I tuck my phone away and square my shoulders.
The next public part is coming.
This time, I am walking into it by choice.
***