Chapter 8
EIGHT
LUCAS
I walk into the waiting room of the Forge’s physical therapy office to see some guy in a Hawaiian shirt wave at me.
The man appears to be in his forties, and his blond hair is thinning.
He’s lying stomach down on the exercise ball they keep in the waiting area.
He rolls off the ball onto the floor with an “oof” before scrambling up to a standing position.
“I’m Milo, your contact for Play It Forward.
I was in the area visiting my cousin’s ex in-laws and decided to stop by. ”
I blink at him and go to sign in.
He follows me. “Anyway, I’m excited to hear all about the mentorship. How are things going?”
How did this guy know to find me here? “It’s going swimmingly.” I go to sit in one of the chairs lining the wall.
“Bravo!” He claps his hands. “Tell me more. Are you able to connect with Nolan? I know he’s had some issues with his dad being out of state.”
I nod. “We’re working on it.”
Not sure how true that is, but it’s better than saying how I really feel, which is that I’m completely terrible at this mentorship.
“That’s okay. You know they always say, ‘you gotta start somewhere.’”
“I’ll probably be heading into my appointment soon.”
“Of course!” Milo says. “I’ll be leaving in a moment.”
I was beginning to think he was going to attend my appointment with me, which I’m not okay with.
“I was talking to the coach about your knee, and I had a thought that might help.”
“Okay?” I grit my teeth to hold back my sarcasm. The last thing I need is to offend this guy.
His eyes are full of hopeful excitement. “Try putting an oatmeal poultice on it with sliced ginger. It worked wonders for my sister when she had runner’s knee.”
I scoff. Since runner’s knee is just like an ACL tear.
“Make sure you do it every night and then wash it out in the shower in the morning. The ginger has to be freshly sliced each day. You can’t do a bunch of it in advance and keep it in the fridge. It won’t work as well.”
I’m not putting a breakfast option on my knee while I sleep. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You never know. It could help you turn a corner.” He points at me, a serious expression on his face. “Don’t knock these home remedies. And the other big thing is rest. Make sure you’re taking enough time off.”
Right. Since joining this mentorship has helped with my downtime situation.
Anyway, the last thing I want to do is go back to where I was last year.
In bed most of the day with my knee propped up.
Constantly changing out ice packs. It’s taken a lot of hard work to rebuild my endurance and muscle after taking a full year away from soccer.
My PT comes out, and I make my escape.
“Bye, Lucas. Good luck with your appointment! And good luck with Nolan!”
“Come on back,” Mike says, leading me through the door.
We head back to a room, and I climb onto the table. After working on my mobility, he sends me back to the gym area, and we work on my cutting drills, which I’ve been cleared to do.
Cutting drills are exactly what they sound like—sprinting in one direction, then slamming on the brakes and darting the other way like your life depends on it. Which, in soccer, it kind of does. If your knee isn’t solid, that move will tear it apart faster than a bad divorce.
This is a big step for me, but I’ve been pushing harder to get to the next level. Mike notices, too.
“If you push too hard, you can delay full clearance by months,” he warns me.
I hold back a groan. Can this get any more frustrating?
“You’re good enough to play for Roanoke, but not yet stable enough for the kind of explosive pressure you’d face in Atlanta.”
“When can I expect to be there?”
He sighs. “It’s hard to say. You’ve plateaued. But for now, we can keep working on these cutting drills.”
I nod. It’s not what I want to hear at all.
The last thing I want is to be stuck playing for the Forge.
I’ve fought my entire life for a spot on the Arsenal, and when I finally got it, everything fell into place for me.
Only to have my dream ripped from me five years into my contract.
And right before it was time to renew it.
“I want to keep you coming to the clinic two to three times per week for monitoring, testing, and conditioning.”
I hardly register his words. The word plateau keeps circulating in my mind.
I’m doomed to be stuck in this town for eternity.
I walk down Main Street after exiting the local bookstore. I found a couple of books on sports history that look interesting. You’d be surprised what you can learn from those who went before us. I still have had no breakfast, so I stop by Josie’s Coffee Shop, which is next door.
Outside the shop, planters are full of blooming daffodils.
As soon as I step inside, I’m met with a warm, cozy atmosphere and a mixture of cinnamon, espresso, and vanilla in the air.
Laid back indie music plays, and Josie stands behind the glass case of muffins and bagels.
Behind her, a chalkboard displays the menu, where she offers her own blend of coffee, a Maple Creek staple.
I step up to the register. “I’ll have your special blend. Black.” I want to taste it without interference from creamer or sweetener.
“Lucas!”
I turn, and Nolan runs toward me, eyes bright. Behind him, Anabelle is sitting at a table with drinks and food.
“You should come sit with us!” Nolan insists.
“Will that be all for you?” Josie asks.
“Uh, sure.” I shove my card in the reader. I take my coffee from Josie, and Nolan tugs my hand toward his table. “It looks like I’m having my mind made up for me.”
“You look like you really mind,” Anabelle says.
I really don’t. But I should. Because Anabelle is wearing one of those sweatsuits that are a matching set, and her hair is down in waves like she’s just come off a photo shoot. And there’s something different about her. Fresher somehow.
She’s holding an iced coffee and takes a sip. I can’t help but focus on her lips as they close around the straw.
“Come on, Lucas. Don’t just stand there. Take a seat. We have room at our table for you.”
Anabelle smiles. Her face looks like she’s wearing one of those filters from social media, only she’s just that pretty. She probably performed some kind of makeup trick, but whatever she did, she’s very good at it.
That breaks the trance. “Uh, sure.” I pull back a chair and sit. How can I deny this kid anything?
“You didn’t get anything to eat?” Anabelle asks.
I look down. I got so flustered by her being there that I forgot to order a muffin.
“We bought too much,” she tells me. “Would you like this blueberry one?”
Why not? “Sure.” I’m not a man to turn down food from a beautiful woman. I take the baked treat from her.
“Josie’s muffins are the best. And if you go down the street, you’ll find my friend Alexis’s bake shop, The Icing on Top, and they have the best cupcakes and wedding cakes.”
She immediately turns bright red.
“Wedding cakes, huh?”
She nods. “A bunch of my friends have had her bake their wedding cakes. Aubrey hosts their weddings over at the Whitmore House, and Lauren does their hair. It’s a tight-knit community.”
Hair. That’s what’s different about Anabelle. She has more blonde. A good look on her. “Did Lauren do your hair?”
Her eyes go wide like she’s surprised I noticed. “She did actually. Just the other day.”
I nod toward her drink. “Iced coffee again?”
“I’m a little addicted.”
“At least I’m not wearing it this time.”
She laughs nervously. “There is that.” She bites her lip like she’s contemplating asking me something.
“What is it?”
“Do you by chance still have my shirt?”
“Beg your pardon?” Now my face is getting hot.
Up until now, Nolan has been absorbed in his phone, but he looks up. “Gross, Mom. Why would he have your shirt?”
“Because I spilled coffee on him, and he had to use it as a rag to clean up!” she says defensively.
I take a bite of my muffin, but it sticks to the roof of my mouth. Why are we talking about the shirt? Why did I keep it when I should have thrown it out? I even washed it, and it’s sitting on my dresser like she belongs in my bedroom. Now her kid thinks I’m some creep who stole it like a souvenir.
Before I can come up with some excuse or distracting answer, Anabelle’s phone vibrates, and she flips it over. Her face goes white as she reads a new text.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Nolan asks.
“Your dad just texted me. It looks like he won’t be able to take you for your summer visitation.”
“Why not?” Nolan is putting on a brave face, but it’s clear he’s devastated.
“Um . . .” She stares at her phone. “Well, he doesn’t exactly say. Just that ‘something came up.’”
I’m sure something did. I wouldn’t be surprised if the real reason involved a woman with a set of long legs and plane tickets to go somewhere tropical.
Nolan stares down at the floor. “Can I go to the bathroom, Mom?”
“Of course.”
He gets up and rushes off.
Nolan’s dad is a real piece of work.
After another session with Nolan, I head home in my truck to unwind in front of the TV with some leftovers.
I’m pretty happy with the fully renovated home I’m renting.
It looks like something from a movie with a wraparound porch, well-maintained landscaping, and planters full of blossoms under the windows.
A porch swing and two rocking chairs finish off the vibe.
I never would have found it if it weren’t for the fact that Jace’s wife, Bex, is a top-notch realtor in Maple Creek.
As I’m turning off the engine to head inside, my phone rings. It’s my agent. “Hey, Tommy.”
“I spoke with Atlanta. The team needs video footage of you playing and performance data. You aren’t turning that in enough.”
I hold back a sigh of frustration and clench my jaw. No matter how hard I try, it’s never good enough. “I can do better with that.”
“Perfect. Also, I had a chat with Mike. It’s not looking good at all. I’m not sure you’re making enough progress to get you back to Atlanta.
“What do you expect me to do? Mike said if I push harder, I could lose months of progress. I don’t want to reinjure myself.”
“I get that, but there has to be something we can do. Are you doing all the assigned exercises?”
“I never miss.”
“What about water? Are you drinking enough?”
“I have an alarm on my phone that reminds me to drink water.” I climb out of my truck and close the door.
“Are you getting enough sleep?”
Well, until I met Anabelle, I was. Now I’m tossing and turning.
He must sense my hesitation because he says, “Make sure you’re going to bed on time and getting up at the same time every day.”
“I’ve been doing that for years.” I walk up my porch steps and unlock the front door. The downside to this house is no garage. But it barely snows in Maple Creek, so it’s not that big of a deal. Although the frost on the windshield can be annoying.
“Look, I’m trying to come up with everything I can think of. Atlanta’s scouts already have their eye on another goalie. If we can’t see some improvement, you may lose your chance.”
I go inside and toss my stuff on the couch. “What about the mentorship? I thought the entire point of it was so I can get back to Atlanta.”
“It’s part of the big picture, sure. But if we can’t get better progress with Mike, then the mentorship won’t be enough. But keep it up. Comebacks don’t wait. If you want this, you have to fight for it.”
I slump on the couch next to my pile of stuff. “Roger that.” My stomach growls. I have spaghetti waiting for me in the fridge. Maybe it’s time to clean up my diet.
I hang up with Tommy, and a text from Anabelle vibrates.
Anabelle: Thank you for being so kind to Nolan today.
I scoot my phone across the coffee table, creating distance. I can’t stomach thinking about the pain that the kid is going through.
Because it’s hauntingly familiar.
And yet here I am. Three weeks into this mentorship gig, and somehow this messy little trio has become part of my routine. Soccer practice. Boutique talk. Ice cream outings.
It’s not only Nolan who’s growing on me.
And Anabelle?
She’s becoming dangerous in all the quiet ways. The way she smiles when she thinks I’m not looking. The way she lights up when Nolan says something funny. The way she looks at me like she sees past the walls I’ve spent years building.
I don’t know how this happened.
But I do know it’s getting harder to pretend I don’t want more.