Chapter 6
Six
In my eight years as a professional soccer player, I have never been so distracted.
I jump up, then down. I’m in position as our game is just about to begin—yet I am jumping …
loosening my muscles and searching the crowd for Stella.
I wished I’d asked where she was sitting.
I wish she were right next to Callum’s Franny, who always sits next to the team tunnel.
I hope Stella stays after the interviews.
I need to talk to her again. I need to ask when she leaves and find out if things are really as dire as her friend made them out to be.
The whistle blows, but I haven’t found her yet. I blink away from the crowd just as Zev barks my name.
Four seconds in and I’m not paying attention. The ball has already flown past my feet, but thankfully Zevulun has my back.
I shake my head, attempting to clear Stella from every corner of my mind. This game is important—for multiple reasons. We aren’t moving on without it. I’m not getting into my cabin without a clean game.
But how can I concentrate? Stella isn’t just being evicted from her home, but this country. My mind reels as I attempt to think about options that would allow Stella to stay while keeping my eye on the ball.
But I don’t know a lot about immigration.
Or anyone who works in government who might be able to help.
She doesn’t have a boyfriend or fiancé. Doesn’t that equal a green card?
I think there are medical exceptions, but that wouldn’t work for Stella.
I’m certain there are employment exceptions, too, but if she’s lost her job, that isn’t going to do her any good.
I just don’t know enough. What can I do?
My brain is giving its full attention to try and solve a problem that I’m not equipped to answer. With the overstimulation, I am megged. Some Atlanta Rhino has kicked the ball right through my legs and to his teammate.
“Gah!” I growl. I’ve got to get my head out of the stands.
Time to play.
Time to focus.
Forty-five minutes in and we are down one to nothing. I’m listening to Jacobson’s halftime speech, but it’s like wind whistling in my ears. None of what he’s saying is getting through. I can’t help it. My head is back on Stella.
She’s not fifteen anymore, and I wonder if all those threats Brice made when I noticed his sister—his baby sister—still count.
Not that I’m noticing her now.
No. I’m simply thinking about her situation. That’s it.
The thing is, I’m a man—a normal, human man, and Stella has definitely developed into a woman. It’s hard not to notice all that … development.
“Graves, are you going to start showing up?” Jacobson says, ending my Stella trance.
“Excuse me?” I growl, earning myself a glare from Coach.
Lucca leans my way. “Yeah, man. He’s been talking to the midfielders. And you’ve been in lala land.”
“I said, do you plan to show up this half? Or are you so worried about cabins in the woods that you don’t plan to play to your full potential?” Coach’s nostrils flare and his jaw clenches. His eyes bore into me, never straying from my face.
“Woods? What’s he talking about?” Lucca whispers.
I ignore him, but just past Coach, Callum is mouthing, “Cabin?”
Zev’s brows are low. He’s studying me too. In fact, every Red Tail might be staring at me.
Great. Just what I need—the attention of every person in this locker room.
“Graves,” Coach says again.
“Yeah. I hear you.” I ball my hands into fists. “And I’m showing up.”
“No,” Jacobson says. “You’re distracted.”
Okay … maybe I am. Every pulsing thump in my neck and wrists speaks Stella’s name. Yes, I am very distracted. I never imagined my best friend’s sister showing up after an almost nine-year absence. I never imagined seeing any of the Everlys again.
“I’d rather you focus up and get carded than play with your head in the woods.”
“You mean the clouds, Coach?” Lucca says in his slight Brazilian accent. “It’s an American saying. Right? Head in the clouds.”
Jacobson swivels his unhappy gaze from me to Cruz. “Let’s all get our heads out of the clouds and put one in the net. Yeah?”
Lucca grins like an idiot and claps his hands together. “Let’s do this.”
I’m the last man out of the locker room—Coach makes sure of it, nodding for me to stay put.
“Roman,” he says at the door. “Are you really so obsessed with this cabin? Do you want out of Lakeview so badly that you’d shift your play?”
“Shift?”
“Yes. I don’t want you reckless, but your aggression is what challenges the other team.” He plants a hand on my shoulder. “You pressure them into making quick decisions as well as mistakes, and we need that right now.”
It’s not an insult. It’s not a crack at my temper. It’s an actual compliment, a reason why he needs me to be me.
“I won’t let you down, Coach,” I say, like any distracted fool.
Famous last words.
I run out of the tunnel and onto the grass. The early November sun shines down with a brisk chill in the air. The seasons in Tesoro have turned. I peer up from the grass like a puppet with some distracted fool controlling its strings. I take two seconds to search the crowd.
And there she is.
First try.
Blonde hair. Rosy cheeks. Bright green eyes—too far away to see, but they’re there.
Stella.
And my body is on the field, my eyes and head are drawn to that lower tier, second section, mid row.
The whistle blows and someone—Zev, Callum, maybe Coach—roars my name. An Atlanta Rhino forward dribbles the ball, moving around me as if I were standing still. I might as well be.
Coach was right—I can’t alter myself. I mentally shake myself awake and attack. I throw myself into a slide, low to the ground, aiming for the ball, preparing to knock it to Zev.
And yet, blood pumping, pulse thumping, adrenaline coursing, I take that Rhino out. I don’t see his number, his face, or any physical feature on the guy. I move. I slide tackle. And in two beats, he’s on the ground. Rolling around as if I’ve injured him for life and he’ll never recover.
Pansy. Get up and play.
It wasn’t that bad.
A whistle blows, the ref rushes us, and—card.
Crap.
He’s carding me. And it’s not just a yellow.
Nope, that’s a straight red.
A curse falls from my lips.
I’ve lost my cabin and I’m being removed from the game. My team will play a man down because I couldn’t decipher between taking out the ball and taking out the man.
“Get up,” I growl as I step around the world-class acting Rhino and make my way off the field.
I reach the sidelines, then the bench. Sitting, head in my hands, I huff out a breath.
I’ve lost my cabin.
One dumb move and it’s gone.
“Remove yourself from the pitch, Graves. No arguing, no lingering. You know the rules,” gripes Blane Landry, our assistant coach.
I lift my head just in time to see Jacobson shake his. This isn’t what he asked me to do. This isn’t how his faith in me was supposed to pan out.
Yep, I’ll be lucky if I get to call myself a Red Tail come January.