CHAPTER 20 #2
Sienna turns slightly, giving Emily the choice to speak or not. Talia watches Emily’s face, not the reporter’s pressure.
Invited.
Emily has a clear exit.
She does not take it.
She steps beside Sienna, not behind her.
Then Emily looks directly at the reporter.
I cannot hear her first words.
The facility is too wide, and a cart starts beeping near the equipment lane at exactly the wrong time.
But I can read posture.
Hers.
His.
Sienna’s.
Talia’s.
Emily’s shoulders are square. Her chin is level. One hand rests loose by her side, not near her ribs. Her face is calm in the way a match gets calm one second before a defender closes the lane.
The reporter says something else.
This time, I catch only the end.
“...young players protecting reputations instead of making hard calls.”
My vision narrows.
Ava.
He pulled Ava into it.
I feel Darius’s hand tighten on my arm before I realize I moved again.
“Breathe,” he says.
“I am.”
“No. You’re preparing for war.”
“He brought Ava into it.”
“And Emily is standing right there.”
That stops me.
Because she is.
Emily is standing right there.
Not helpless.
Not cornered.
Not a woman waiting for me to storm in and become another problem she has to manage.
She says something to the reporter.
This time, her voice carries on the edge of the wind.
“Careful.”
One word.
Every player within earshot feels it.
The reporter shifts.
Emily continues, louder now. Clear.
“If you are asking whether this team makes tactical decisions based on reputation, the answer is no. If you are asking whether young defenders are trusted to do their jobs, the answer is yes. If you are asking whether Ava made the correct read last night, I can show you the film.”
My chest expands.
Darius’s grip eases.
Emily’s voice stays level.
“What I will not do is let you turn team trust into a weakness because the clip you prefer is shorter than the match we played.”
Sienna’s mouth moves slightly.
Almost a smile.
Talia looks like she might adopt Emily on behalf of media managers everywhere.
The reporter does not recover quickly.
Good.
I recover even less quickly.
Colton whispers, “I would like that embroidered on something.”
Morgan whispers back, “You would ruin it.”
“Probably.”
The reporter says something quieter.
Emily listens.
Then nods once.
“Send the request through team media,” she says. “If the question is tactical, we’ll answer tactically. If it’s speculation dressed up as concern, we’re done.”
Then she turns to Sienna.
Not away from the reporter like she is retreating.
Toward the person she agreed to speak with.
The line is clear.
The frame is hers.
I stand there with Darius’s hand still on my arm and feel something inside me shift.
Not calm.
Not exactly.
Something more uncomfortable.
Pride with nowhere to interfere.
Awe with its hands tied.
Love, maybe, standing at the edge of the pitch and finally learning it is not always the centre back.
Darius lets go.
I look at him.
He says nothing.
He doesn't need to.
I put the water bottle down because I have nearly crushed it.
Morgan steps beside me. “That was handled.”
“Yes.”
“By Emily.”
“Yes.”
“And Sienna helped the frame without taking it.”
“Yes.”
Colton leans in. “Are we all learning together? Because I feel like I learned.”
Morgan points at him. “You learned to stretch after activity.”
“I did not agree to that being the lesson.”
Darius keeps his eyes on me. “You okay?”
I laugh once.
Short.
Unconvincing.
“No.”
“Good answer.”
“My honest answer vocabulary is expanding.”
“Useful skill.”
Across the facility, the media interaction resets.
The aggressive reporter retreats toward the equipment lane, either because he has dignity left or because Talia is now staring at him like paperwork can become a weapon.
Sienna sits again. Emily sits too, carefully enough that I catch it and hate that I catch it.
But she does sit.
She resumes the interview.
She chose the door and kept the room.
Darius follows my gaze. “She looked at him, not at you.”
“I know.”
“That bothered you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because I wanted to be useful.
Because I wanted her to know I was there.
Because some stupid, selfish part of me wanted proof that she trusted me enough to look.
I breathe in.
The answer tastes terrible.
“Because part of me still wants to matter most when she’s under pressure,” I say.
Darius’s face changes.
Not with surprise.
With respect.
Annoying respect.
“That’s honest,” he says.
“It’s ugly.”
“Both can be true.”
I nod once.
On the media side, Emily is speaking again. Sienna listens. Talia observes. Ava stands farther back with the defensive unit, watching her captain with the kind of focus that means this will become part of who she is.
That matters more than whether Emily looked at me.
It has to.
Darius taps the ball lightly with his foot. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Recovery walk.”
“I don’t need a recovery walk.”
“You absolutely do.”
Colton appears on my other side. “Can I come? My hamstring and I enjoy gossip pace.”
Morgan says, “You may walk. You may not call it gossip pace.”
“Information-sharing tempo?”
“No.”
We start walking the perimeter of the Kings training area. Slow. Controlled. Ridiculous. Four athletes and one trainer pretending this is about cooldown and not about me needing motion before I do something stupid with my hands.
The media setup stays visible across the complex.
Avoidable.
Not mine.
I keep walking.
By the time we reach the far corner, my phone buzzes.
I pull it out before I think.
Emily.
One message.
I dealt with it.
Four words.
No explanation.
No softness.
No question.
My mouth goes dry.
She does not say, Did you see?
She does not say, Thank you for staying back.
She does not say, I needed you.
She says the truth.
I dealt with it.
I type.
I saw.
Then stop.
Delete.
Too much?
No.
Not enough.
I type again.
You did. And Ava heard every word.
I stare at it.
That is the right thing.
Not you were amazing.
Not I wanted to step in.
Not he was out of line, though he was.
The point is Ava.
The point is team.
The point is Emily’s leadership doing exactly what it needed to do.
I send it.
Her reply comes after a minute.
Good.
Then:
Because I meant it.
I look across the facility.
Emily is still in the interview chair, phone down now, face turned toward Sienna. She doesn't look at me.
She doesn't need to.
The message is enough.
Darius glances at my face. “Good?”
I lock the phone. “Complicated.”
“That’s usually where the truth lives.”
“I’m starting to hate truth.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” I say, watching Emily reclaim the interview across the field. “I’m really not.”
The aggressive reporter passes near the equipment gate on his way out.
He looks once toward Emily.
Then toward me.
His eyes sharpen with recognition.
For one second, I think he will say something.
I almost hope he does.
That is the warning sign.
I stop walking.
Darius stops beside me.
The reporter keeps moving.
Good.
Bad.
Good.
I breathe through the anger and let him go.
Darius watches him disappear behind the equipment tent. “That is going to come back.”
“I know.”
“And next time, it may be closer.”
“I know.”
“Knowing is not the same as being ready.”
I look back toward Emily.
She is rising now, interview over. Sienna stands too. They shake hands, professional and clean. Talia says something that makes Emily nod.
Ava waits near the corridor.
Emily heads toward her team.
Not toward me.
Exactly as she should.
The lesson should feel noble.
It does not.
It feels like standing on the line while the striker takes a run-up and trusting the keeper to know her job.
Darius claps my shoulder once.
“Come on,” he says. “Before Colton renames walking again.”
From behind us, Colton calls, “Reflective shuffle?”
Morgan says, “No.”
I follow them toward the recovery area.
Behind me, the media frame closes for now.
But the reporter’s question stays lodged under my ribs.
Not because Emily could not handle it.
Because she could.
Because the next version may be uglier.
And because some part of me is still learning that being ready to fight is not the same as being ready to love her well.
***