Chapter 5
Ainsley
Present
He’s already here.
Of course, he is.
I’m early, the morning fog lingering over the field, coupled with the fishy scent of the morning tide clinging to the air.
But I should’ve anticipated Landon being earlier.
Any inch he can take to encroach on my territory.
Plus, he has this weird thing with time.
If you’re not early, you’re late. Add that to the list of things about Landon Fletcher that annoy the shit out of me.
I slam my car door as hard as I can, just to relieve some of the pent-up tension coiling my insides since yesterday.
I need a different tactic for today’s tryouts.
Squaring up with him in front of the kids isn’t a good look, and the last thing I need is a parent catching wind of it.
Knowing Landon, he’s hoping I fly off the handle and get myself fired so he can swoop in and take my spot.
Never gonna happen, buddy.
My breath clouds in front of me as I make my way onto the field, digging my hands into the pocket of my hoodie.
A handful of girls jog past me, sticks tucked under their arms. I take note of the numbers drawn onto their calves with markers so I can remember who’s here early and putting in extra effort.
They are why I’m here. These girls are my focus.
Not the irritating man calling out to them. “Middies on the right, and attackers on the left. We’ll run transitions first today.”
I reach the gate and push it open, watching as the girls scramble into lines. Landon walks backward across the field, whistle between his lips, keen eyes scanning the field like he owns it.
The only child in me rears up, and I want to ram that whistle down his throat.
“Grip that clipboard any harder and you’re going to snap it in half.”
I glance at Raymond. “Is it that obvious?”
He nods once, gazing out at the field. “You need to get your shit together. We need you out here.”
My cheeks puff as I blow out a long breath. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
Raymond Parker was my PE teacher when I was in high school. Almost two decades later and I call him a friend. He’s had my back long before I took this coaching position last year, and he saw what it was like for me being the only girl on the boys’ lacrosse team. He knows what I’m dealing with.
Who I’m dealing with.
“I’m gonna make Natalie and the others join these newbies on the field today.”
Ray nods. “Keep ‘em in line.”
I smirk. Natalie Warner is my team captain this year. She’s strong and talented. She reminds me a lot of myself when I was in high school. Which is why I need to make sure she knows that she’s not the one calling the shots, as much as I appreciate her leadership.
I cup my hands around my mouth. “Seniors, get on the field.”
Landon’s head snaps to me. “Hey, Coach.”
I offer him a tight smile, ignoring the bite in his words, and slide my sunglasses onto my nose. The less he can see my facial expressions, the better. “Gather ‘round, everyone. Let’s bring it in before we start our day.”
The girls waiting in line after Landon’s instructions glance to him before circling us.
His assistant coach, Quinn Whitaker, stands beside him. She’s a good partner for Landon. Quinn knows her stuff; I learned that working alongside her when I coached JV. She’ll help Landon’s team get into shape for the season.
As much as I hate to admit it, and never would out loud where anyone could hear and quote me on it later, Landon is a good fit for this coaching position. He’ll teach the girls and refine their skills, something they’ll need if they want a chance at playing on varsity one day.
Just because I want to run him over with my Jeep like a speed-bump doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge that he’s a good athlete.
“I figured we could start with transitions,” Landon says.
Is that what you figured? I want to bite his head off, but I bite my tongue instead. “We can. I just want to start by addressing them first.”
He takes a step back, and doesn’t dispute it.
My shoulders relax a fraction of an inch as I turn to face the group.
“We had a great day yesterday. Today is your last chance to show us what you’ve got and make an impression.
Push yourselves, and make the corrections we point out.
You all have the potential to be great, but that’s not enough.
You need to convince us that you deserve a spot on our teams.”
I raise my hands to clap, but catch myself before I do. “Uh, Coach Fletcher,” I clear my throat, fumbling over my words, “do you...have anything you’d like to add?”
God, I sound so fake it makes my skin crawl.
“Nope, I think we’re ready.” He claps twice. “Good luck, ladies.”
While everyone moves into lines, I lean in close. “Don’t call them ladies.”
Landon’s chin jerks back. “What? Why?”
“Just don’t.” I cross my arms over my chest. “They’re players. People. Don’t make it a gender thing.”
His head tilts, his eyes boring into my sunglasses before he speaks. “Understood.”
I clench my jaw to stop it from dropping open.
Really? That’s it? No argument? No sardonic laughter?
The newbies are waiting, so I don’t have time to question him. But it’s hard not to look a gift horse in the mouth when that horse is always dressed like a Trojan.
Tryouts go smoother than they did yesterday, mostly because Landon lets me call the shots.
But this is the calm before the storm.
We have to deliberate over our teams next, and decide who to cut. It’s not easy, knowing someone’s dream of making the team will be cut short, being the one responsible for it. Emotions run high in the deliberation room, and that’s when the coaches like each other.
I’m pretty sure that’s why Landon and I are dragging our feet after tryouts end, taking our time collecting the equipment, prolonging the inevitable. At least Raymond and Quinn will be there with us to make sure we don’t kill each other.
The four of us settle into Danbury’s office, utilizing his small conference table. The school outside the athletic office has gone silent. No lockers slamming. No late buses idling. Just the low hum of the nearby vending machine.
Landon pushes up the sleeves of his Breakwater hoodie, and sets up three different color highlighters next to his clipboard, positioning everything just so. A rainbow of tabs stick to his notes.
I lean forward to get a better look. “You color-coded them?”
“I have a system.” Landon clasps his hands on top of his clipboard to cover them. “Where are your notes?”
I tap my index finger against my temple. “Right up here.”
He shakes his head like a disappointed father. “Let’s start with varsity. Who are your definites?”
“My seniors stay.” I glance at Raymond. “Jones made a lot of progress since last year’s tryouts. I say we give her a shot.”
Landon nods, placing a checkmark on his paper. “I was hoping you’d pick her.”
Worry about JV, dude. I turn back to Raymond. “Blake’s left is weak.”
“It won’t be by April.” He rocks back in his chair. “You’ll get her where she needs to be.”
Landon taps his yellow highlighter against his clipboard. “She’d be great on defense.”
I roll my lips together, holding back the snarky comments. “We already have a strong defense.”
“I watched last year’s tapes. If you put Blake on defense, and move Russo to midfield, you’ll have a stronger—”
“I know how to run my team. Why don’t we worry about yours right now, and Raymond and I can figure out the rest after.”
Brown eyes bore into mine, Landon’s jaw working under his skin. “I was just trying to help.”
“I don’t need it.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh and shakes his head. “You know—”
“We want Shreeya Patel,” Quinn blurts out.
My eyebrows jump. “The freshman?”
Quinn glances at Landon, and clears her throat. “She’s got a lot of potential, and I think she’d be good as an attacker.”
Landon sits up straighter. “Yes, and Jayden Morales. She’s a little chaotic, but with some fine-tuning, she’d be a beast on the field.”
I nod. Okay, this is a good start.
Landon taps his clipboard. “And we want to keep Brennan as goalie.”
I spoke too soon. “We want her.”
Landon’s chin jerks back. “You have Delgado.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I need a backup goalie.”
“On varsity, she’ll ride the bench and waste her second season. At least on JV, she can get play time.”
“She’ll learn faster on varsity.”
“If she plays.”
Silence stretches between us as we stare at each other across the table.
“She’s only a sophomore,” Raymond says, mostly to Ainsley. “Let them work their magic on her this season, and she’ll be ready next year as a starter when Delgado’s gone.”
It makes sense, but I still think she’d be better off on varsity. “Fine.” I heave a sigh, and glance at Quinn. “Brennan’s yours.”
Landon makes another checkmark on his paper, and I want to fling his stupid highlighter across the room.
We continue for the next hour, until both rosters are locked in.
I slip my laptop out of my backpack and set it on the table. “I should submit these lists to Danbury now before I change my mind.”
I’m not fully sold on two of the girls we placed, and several that aren’t making it on either team. My finger hovers over the keyboard.
Landon watches me. “If you’re not solid with these teams, we can—”
I click send and close my laptop. “It’s done.” I’m not spending another minute in this room with him.
“What time does it get posted tomorrow?” Landon asks.
Raymond pushes out of his chair and stretches his arms overhead. “Email goes out 8AM.”
Landon blows a stream of air through his lips. “Some of those girls are going to wake up so disappointed.”
I stand and sling my backpack over my shoulder. “And some are making the team. Let’s focus on the positive.”
“Says the woman who was never cut from a team in her life.”
My nose scrunches. “And you were?”
“You mean, did I ever have my hopes and dreams taken right out from under me?” He grunts. “Yeah, I think I know a thing or two about that.”
I roll my eyes. “Now look who’s still holding onto the past.”
Landon keeps his eyes narrowed on me.
I lift an eyebrow. Got something to say?