Chapter 24 Otto
OTTO
The Siege is collected in the section of seats closest to the window that overlooks the parked plane being prepared for our trip to Los Angeles. According to the display behind the desk, we’re boarding in twenty-five minutes.
Most players are on their phones. A few glance up and smile, registering my return.
I walk over to where Eliza, Meg, and Nicole are huddled. I assume they’re talking strategy, until I get close enough to hear Meg complaining about her mother-in-law. They all glance up as I approach.
“Here you go.” I hand Nicole the pack of gum she requested.
“Thanks, Otto,” she tells me, smiling as she takes it.
I don’t miss the amused look that passes between Meg and Eliza. Nicole is friendly with everyone, but she’s especially friendly with me.
We’re often thrown together during practice, working with the Siege goalies. We’re roughly the same age. And Nicole told me about a bad date she went on last weekend, so I know she’s single.
I sort of assumed a coach-coach fling would be frowned upon, but no one seems to be frowning about it. I don’t know if there are any official rules prohibiting one. I don’t care if there are any official rules prohibiting one because I can’t see past Claire, who is absolutely off-limits.
My phone rings with an incoming call.
“Take it,” Eliza tells me. “We’re just gossiping.”
I smile, nod, and pick up. It’s Beck, headed to practice.
I wander over to the windows, listening to his update on the team.
Kluvberg has lost two of their past three matches.
They’re playing poorly overall, and a small part of me is relieved by it, thinking I’m not entirely replaceable.
The rest of me, invested in the club’s success and not my own issues, hates hearing it.
Beck and I would sometimes travel to training together since my flat in Kluvberg is close to his and Saylor’s place and so he could appreciate my new cars after he defaulted to his boring SUV.
Listening to him talk is a poor imitation of those trips, but closing my eyes, I can almost picture him in the passenger seat, rolling his eyes as I boasted about horsepower.
It feels like another lifetime. Like a former reality I’m already detached from.
It makes me uneasy. Has part of me already given up on returning?
Playing with Claire didn’t give me a damn clue about my former abilities.
I won’t know for months if my shoulder will fully recover, my future in flux until I receive that final verdict.
I hang up with Beck once he arrives at the facility, glancing out the windows at the workers loading luggage and really tracking her return in my peripheral vision.
A man bumps into her, not looking before he turns around from dumping something in the trash can. He says something—presumably an apology—and Claire smiles and nods in response before continuing in this direction. His eyes linger on her ass as she walks away, and my jaw clenches.
Somehow, Claire still seems oblivious to her own appeal. Unaware of the fact that she’s the most beautiful woman in any space.
She walks over to an empty section of seats, sinking down into one and pulling a pair of headphones out of her backpack. She reaches into her pocket, but pulls nothing out. Checking on her Detroit Zoo coin, I’m guessing, sure she still carries it with her.
She’s not inviting company, yet I walk in that direction anyway.
We’ve barely spoken since we practiced together on Sunday. The timing of Nicole’s interruption was terrible. Had I known another coach was about to appear, I wouldn’t have brought up Melbourne. But I did, and it’s hovered between us ever since.
Claire glances up as I approach, slipping the headphones off.
I sit, leaving an open chair between us.
“Mila?” she questions, nodding toward the phone in my hand.
I smile. “Beck. He was on his way to practice. Just checking in.” I pick up her headphones, guessing, “Fleetwood Mac?” even before I hear “Go Your Own Way” playing through them.
It’s bittersweet, discovering more similarities that exist between this Claire and the younger version I met years ago. A collision of relief and regret.
“Nice hat.”
I set her headphones down and tug the brim again. “Thanks. I went to a game with Tripp.”
“Did they win?”
“No. And I had no clue what was going on. I think Tripp invited me, thinking I would be able to explain the rules to him.”
“Not a lot of baseball fans in Germany, huh?”
“Not so much.” I glance down, rolling the water bottle in my palm. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing’s—”
I look over. “Claire.”
She plays with a string of her teal hoodie. “It’s not about football.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard someone refer to our shared sport by its proper name since I arrived, and I appreciate her using it for my benefit. “When have we only talked about football?”
Claire exhales, tugging harder on the string. “When you asked about my mom…I lied. She’s not fine. She’s sick—she’s been sick. That’s why Cassidy moved back. Why—part of why—I wasn’t in Melbourne. I’m not trying to use it as an excuse. I-I don’t have what it takes anyway.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. It takes me a minute to absorb and sort through everything she just said and reply, “I am so sorry about your mom. Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” Claire glances away, out the window. “It’s dementia. There’s nothing anyone can do. But thank you for asking.”
I process that, then recall what else she said. “You have what it takes, Claire.”
“Don’t lie to—”
“I have never lied to you.”
“Then don’t pretend I would have made the national team. Not after what happened in Paris.”
I shake my head. “You are going to let one loss define your entire career, Claire?”
“That one loss does define my career.”
“Because you are letting it.”
She leans closer, glaring at me. “You don’t get it, Otto. You win, under pressure. I…choke. I’m not cut out for big moments.”
“You think I—”
“Caldy! Last bathroom call. You in?”
Claire glances at the group of her teammates, paused along the section of seats we’re sitting in.
One—Savannah Robbe—smiles at me. “Are you a Sox fan, Coach Berger?”
“I prefer football,” I state, leaning back.
“Oh, so you’re a Patriots fan?”
Reyna Rodman laughs. “They play with their hands, Sav.”
Robbe winks at me. “Just helping Coach adapt to local culture.”
Claire stands. “Only five minutes until boarding. Let’s go.”
I relax in my chair as the women walk away. I don’t have a chance to talk to Claire again before we board.
But we wind up beating LA, 0–4, in large part because of Claire, which hopefully reinforced some of what I said.