Chapter 10
Ainsley
The cool morning air hits my skin as I climb out of my Jeep.
The smell of the freshly cut grass stings my nostrils, and my shoulders relax. I made a call to Danbury yesterday to make sure the groundskeepers mowed the field before today’s games. Yet another thing the boys’ teams don’t have to worry about.
What the hell is that sound?
My head whips around as I scan the parking lot for what’s causing that gagging, sputtering sound. I thought I was alone, but there he is, hunched over, bracing his hands on his knees, as he spills the contents of his stomach on the ground.
Fucking Fletcher.
I wait for him to finish puking before I walk over to him. “Aren’t you a little old to be hungover?”
His chest heaves as he stands upright. “I was with you last night. You know I didn’t drink.”
My nose scrunches as I pinch it between my fingers. “What are you, sick?”
He shakes his head. “You remember how I get before a game.”
My eyebrows jump as the memories flood my mind. Before every game in high school, he’d be vomiting somewhere—behind the bleachers, in the parking lot—always by himself.
“You’re anxious about the game?”
His eyes narrow. “Look, I really don’t need your judgment right now, so why don’t you go back to whatever it is you were doing before I got here?”
My chin jerks back. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet of the morning before the sound of your disgusting gagging ruined everything.”
Landon turns around and swings open his back seat, reaching inside to pull out his duffle. He doesn’t snap back with a retort, and his eyes won’t meet mine.
I should head out to the field and give him his space. The last thing I need is to fight with him before the big day. I have plays to go over, and I need to be in the right headspace.
But for some reason, it bothers me that I forgot about this. “Hey, I wasn’t judging. I’m just surprised you still puke when you’re nervous.”
He slings his bag over his shoulder, and stops in front of me. His eyes tighten as they look into mine. “Anxiety doesn’t just go away.”
“They have medication for that, don’t they?”
“It’s not a cure. I still get anxious from time to time, regardless of the meds.” He steps around me and makes his way toward the field.
Whatever, dude. Why am I even bothering?
I grab my things from my Jeep and follow Landon through the gate. We move around the field in silence, and set up our things along the sidelines.
I stick in my earbuds and slide my sunglasses into place before climbing the bleachers until I reach the top. I lower myself down and sit with my back against the metal fence, gazing out at the field.
First game of the season. We need to come out swinging, and show everyone why we were state champs last year. There’s more pressure on us to defend our title. One win and people chalk it up to beginner’s luck. Two wins though, it’s a streak.
The clouds give way to a sliver of sunlight, a singular ray streaking down onto the grass, and my lips tip up.
Every once in a while, my father sends me a sign.
Whether it’s in the form of a bird tapping on my window, or a song on the radio while I’m driving, I’m reminded of him and it fills me with warmth.
Miss you, Dad. Wish you were here.
My eyes skate toward Landon, sitting alone in a folding chair down below.
I was lucky to have the kind of father I did.
He loved me, supported me, and was a positive light in my life.
We were devastated when Mom died, but he didn’t let that stop us from living.
I can’t imagine having Landon’s father, the kind of things he endured at the hands of a man who was supposed to love him unconditionally.
He didn’t deserve that.
Part of me, a part deep, deep inside me, wonders if things would’ve turned out different between us if—
No.
It doesn’t matter. None of this does. High school is in the past, and so are the people we used to be. Just because Landon is back doesn’t mean we have to rehash everything that happened, or be friends.
I reach into the front of my hoodie and pull out my phone, clicking the volume higher until it drowns out my thoughts.
It’s game day.
Get focused, Morgan.
“Come on, ref! Are you serious?”
I stalk the sideline like a caged lion, eyes on the referee like he’s my prey. That’s the third foul called on us, yet none have been called on Lacey Township’s team, despite their blatant penalties.
It’s the first game of the season, and it’s to be expected that my team makes mistakes. But this ref isn’t making fair calls, and it’s hurting the scoreboard.
I cup my hands over my mouth. “That was offsides! Open your eyes. What are you doing out there?”
The ref doesn’t even spare me a glance.
“I know you hear me!”
Raymond jogs over, covering his mouth behind his clipboard as he talks to me. “You need to calm down.”
My eyes go wide. “This dude is all over us.”
“Which is why you need to stop yelling at him. Don’t give him a reason to keep going.”
I grit my teeth and my nostrils flare as I turn to my team on the field. “Maddie, get in there and block something! Your job is to defend the goal, not help the other team score.”
She keeps her head down as she moves closer to the net.
My team is out of breath, cheeks flushed, running like their feet are stuck in cement. Maddie passes the ball to Natalie, but the other team gets in her way.
The whistle blows again.
Another turnover.
“Fuck,” I huff out under my breath.
Low murmurs spread behind me. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I know parents aren’t happy with the way this game is going. We don’t look anything like the team who won state last season. We’re down by five, and the only two goals we scored were by Natalie.
For the final quarter, I call a quick huddle. “For the next fifteen minutes, just get the ball to Natalie. Set her up and keep the defenders off her. We won’t win, but at least we can put a few more points up on the board.”
I swing my eyes to defense. “You gotta protect your goalie. You’re leaving Tori wide open out there.”
Then I look at Dominique, my newbie. “You’re fast but you have to stop hesitating. It’s killing us.”
Her chin drops. “Yes, Coach.”
“I know this ref isn’t on our side, but you’re not playing your best either. You can do better. So go out there and show us.”
“Yes, Coach!” they chant before running back out onto the field.
The whistle blows, but this period starts no different than the last three. Natalie scrambles for the ball, but it’s knocked out of her possession and returned for another goal.
Jesus. I toss my clipboard onto the table and yank my ponytail tighter. So much for starting off strong this season.
When the game ends, the team collapses onto the grass in a semi-circle, chugging their water bottles as they catch their breath. The scoreboard glows above their heads.
2-9
I plant my hands on my hips. “What happened out there today cannot happen again.”
“We never beat Lacey,” Natalie says.
Annoyance spikes in my veins. “And maybe that’s why. You can’t win if you assume you’ll lose.”
“I’m just saying, they’re a tough team, and—”
“And you weren’t playing tough enough.” My gaze sweeps around the group.
“You’re going to have to practice more, and play harder.
You’re tired? This is nothing. You should be crawling off this field by the end of a game.
Leave it all out there, give it everything you’ve got. This wasn’t your everything.”
“Coach Ainsley.”
My head whips around at the sound of my name, my eyes landing on Mrs. Russo, Maddie’s mom. She’s leaning over the half-gate separating the bleachers from the field.
“Stop berating them. It’s the first game of the season.”
My chin jerks back, and my pulse thumps faster against my neck. “I’m not berating them. I’m coaching them. They lost. They need to understand why.” I swivel back around to address my team, but her shrill voice pipes up again.
“Your negativity will only bring the team down. They already feel bad enough. Let them go lick their wounds, and come back for a fresh practice on Monday.”
Several other parents nod in agreement.
If this lady thinks she’s going to tell me how to coach my team, she is sorrily mistaken.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Your daughter is a senior, as are many of your daughters on this team. A college scout isn’t going to want to recruit a soft player who doesn’t take this game seriously. This is varsity. They need to step up.”
Mrs. Russo mimics my stance. “We didn’t have issues like this with our last coach, and those seniors got recruited just fine.”
Ah. So that’s what this is about.
She doesn’t have a problem with my coaching. She has a problem with me.
I open my mouth to fire back at her, but a deep voice cuts through the air.
“With all due respect,” Landon says, walking to stand beside me, “sometimes a team needs some tough love. If they put in the work to understand where they went wrong now, they won’t make the same mistakes the remainder of the season.”
Mrs. Russo’s eyes soften as she glances at Landon. “I just don’t think she needs to be so abrasive about it. They’re just girls.”
I let out a sardonic laugh. Of course. I’m abrasive because I’m a female. But if Landon were coaching their kids, they wouldn’t bat an eye because he’s a man and it’s expected—allowed—for a man to be a tough coach.
Girls are bossy. Men are leaders.
I’m too loud, too intense, too much.
Tale as old as fucking time.
“Coach Ainsley is the best person for this job. She’s holding the team to a standard, and—”
“And I’m the coach, whether you like it or not,” I blurt. “I will coach this team how I see fit, and these athletes will play to the best of their ability. If you can’t handle that, then you can sign them up for a less competitive, demanding sport.”
Without waiting to hear another complaint, I spin around to face my team. “Anybody want to quit?”
A few of them gasp while the rest shake their heads.
“Good, then sit here and cheer on your JV friends.”
“Yes, Coach.”
I stride to the table, just far enough away from parents’ earshot, with Landon and Raymond hot on my heels.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Landon says.
I jab my pointer finger into his chest, my voice a low hiss. “Don’t ever interrupt me when I’m talking to my team.”
His eyebrows hit his hairline. “I was defending you—”
“I don’t need you coming to my defense.” My hands shake, adrenaline coursing through me. I’m hit with déjà vu so hard, it’s as if I’m sixteen all over again. “It only makes me look weak. I can hold my own against those parents. I don’t need you smoothing things over for me. I’ve got this.”
Raymond lays a hand on Landon’s shoulder. “Go get ready for your game.”
Landon walks backwards a few steps, his eyes locked on mine. “I was just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need your fucking help.”
“How could I forget?” He holds his hands up, turns around, and walks away. Under his breath, I catch him mutter, “You don’t need anyone but yourself.”