Chapter Road to Lakewood （or 90 Minutes of Glory and Discomfort）
Cohen
The team bus is the perfect mix of battlefield and school field trip.
Derek is already asleep, headphones in, half a sandwich resting on his chest.
In front of him, Tayler has claimed two seats—one for himself, and, apparently, one for his biceps.
He’s staring out the window, headphones on, probably listening to something motivational like Eye of the Tiger or a powerlifting podcast.
“Blaze, I swear if you play reggaeton at seven in the morning again, I’m throwing you off this bus!” Harrison shouts toward Liam.
“Relax, Doc!” Liam fires back with his toothpaste-commercial smile. “We need rhythm, brother!”
“What we need is silence, idiot.”
Same old bickering.
I pop in one earbud but don’t play any music.
I just stare out the window, hands behind my head, watching fields, woods, and faded road signs pass by.
We’re headed to Lakewood.
A short away game—but an important one.
And for some reason the bus smells like liniment, coffee, and anxiety.
Liam pulls me out of my angel-shaped-and-maybe-too-sexy thoughts.
He’s chewing gum like it personally offended him.
“I’m scoring today,” he says, pointing at me.
“Yeah, Blaze. In your dreams.” I snort.
“First half, brother.”
“Sure. In your video game.”
From the back, someone—probably Javier—blasts the Ted Lasso theme at full volume, and everyone cracks up while staring at Coach Heart.
He is… decidedly not Lasso.
But he’s damn good. I’ll give him that.
God, I missed this chaos.
Coach Heart doesn’t even glance up from his tablet.
“Less talking, more focus. Or I’ll make you run laps until the field begs for mercy.”
Instant silence. Obviously.
I lean my head against the window, phone in hand.
I shouldn’t look.
I shouldn’t text.
And yet I unlock it for the tenth time in an hour.
No messages.
Not even a “good luck.”
Will she watch the match?
Did she watch the last two?
I did pretty well in those.
Hell… I don’t even know if she likes soccer.
Funny how thirteen days can feel like a month when she isn’t talking.
And even funnier—tragic, really—that I miss her annoyed voice.
I even miss her calling me a pain in the ass.
What the hell is happening to me?
Turbo whips around. “Uh-oh, lady-face!”
“What?”
“You’ve got the face, Becker. It’s written all over your forehead!”
Doc looks up from his notebook.
“Please don’t get yourself suspended again.”
“I’m checking the lineup, Monroe.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s the new right winger’s name—‘Hot-Blonde’?”
The whole bus bursts into laughter.
“Idiots,” I mutter, but I can’t stop the smile.
The bus turns, and the stadium comes into view.
Floodlights already blazing, grass impossibly green.
Fans waving red and white flags outside, scarves fluttering like a sea.
Lakewood.
Home.
We’re playing at home today.
It’s going to be a tough match, but I’m ready to remind the club that I’m essential—not just for the games they pick.
I know they already know that.
They wouldn’t have reinstated me otherwise.
But still—I plan to make it very clear.
Coach stands up.
“Alright, team! Remember who you are: eleven heads, one heart. Let’s take our season back.”
The bus erupts—clapping, shouting, hyping.
Adrenaline sparks in my chest like gasoline.
I feel it again—cleats ready, muscles coiled, mind sharpening.
This is my territory.
Where I know exactly who I am.
Where I don’t have to talk.
And yet, as I step off the bus, my phone vibrates.
Angel: Good luck, Becker. Don't be an asshole.
I grin.
“Impossible, Angel.”