Chapter Six
Friday morning was a blur of games and contests for the players, all gearing up for the banquet dinner that night when awards were given out.
Even though it was meant to be relaxing and fun, Marcee was too wound up to enjoy it.
All she could think about was the upcoming coaches versus trainers game after lunch.
If Remy was aware she had a vendetta against him, you’d never tell by his demeanor.
He sauntered through the morning, helping with the games and charming every person he came into contact with.
Not her, though. One passing, pensive glance—eyebrows flicking up at whatever he saw on her face—and nothing afterward.
Not that she was keeping track.
“You need to eat something else.” Nicole pushed a plate of fries across the table at lunch and shook her head. “It’s finally our chance to have some fun this week. You can’t show up these other coaches if you don’t have any calories in you.”
Just the sight of them made Marcee want to gag. She forced down a Cobb salad and some water when they got inside, but even that threatened to make a reappearance.
“I’m good.” She nudged the plate away and stood. “Ready? I need to stretch.”
The straps of her bag across her shoulders were a familiar, welcome weight.
You’d think she’d have permanent indentations after nineteen years of carrying one.
As it was, all her marks were hidden; internal scars old enough to be smoothed over, but fresh enough to itch occasionally and remind her they were still there.
They were the first ones on the field, so Marcee took her time lacing up her cleats and stretching her quads.
As she and Nicole took a lap, the other coaches and trainers filtered in, along with all their players.
Aside from wanting to prove to Remy she was capable of winning, she wanted to make her team proud.
She was sure it was hard enough knowing Alpha had a celebrity leading them.
Her girls needed to know they had someone badass on their side, too.
Sweat trickled down her back between her shoulder blades, soaking into her sports bra. She’d rolled the band of her shorts twice to get some air on her exposed thighs. Midday with a clear, sunny sky. They were going to bake like lobsters out there.
“Okay, Team Coach! Let’s get together on the sidelines!” Their captain, Harry, was a veteran coach from a school in Tennessee, just west of the state line. Despite his salt-and-pepper hair, his legs and arms were toned and tanned from years spent outdoors.
They filed in, coaches and assistant coaches, and listened to him give out starting positions and a general game plan.
Remy was across the huddle from her. To everyone there, he was something special—untouchable and invincible.
Nobody but her and those two other coaches at the clinic that first day knew what Remy really thought—and by the way they’d been laughing, they didn’t see anything wrong with it.
She and the soccer god hadn’t spoken at all, which was fine by her. He could watch her back the entire game, something she knew he enjoyed, no matter what he said.
The sidelines were packed with high school athletes and camp personnel. As they walked onto the pitch, their team screamed wildly, chanting, “Pemberton! Pemberton! Pemberrrrrrton!”
“Well, it’s official,” Nicole said, bumping her shoulder. “One of us is going to fall on our face in this game. There’s no way we can come out of this looking cool and unscathed in front of them.”
A laugh bubbled up and out of Marcee, loud and breathy with nerves.
“Take one for the team, Giles?” she asked, slapping her assistant on the ass as she left her in the center and took her place on the right wing.
“No promises!” Nicole called out.
Across midfield, she caught Colby’s eye and grinned. The trainer would be right in her path as she crashed the goal. She couldn’t wait.
As their referees for the day jogged into position, Marcee tightened her ponytail and snuck a peek over her shoulder. For the first time in twenty-four hours, Remy met her gaze.
And smirked.
“Keeper!” The referee had the ball lined up and was checking in with the goalies. Almost go time.
The longer she stared at him, the more she wanted to say to hell with the game and go show him the pointy end of her cleats.
“Keeper!” Second goalie signaled at the ready.
As if she had anything to apologize for.
Remy jerked his chin forward and mouthed, “Sod off.”
Well, somebody was tired of playing nice. She was so glad they were on the same page.
The shriek of the whistle pierced the air, and she forgot about everything except the ball.
It was an evenly matched game in the first half.
Marcee had a few shots on the goal that came close, but each time they were a hair off where they should be, or she’d get to the ball too slowly.
Despite the cheering and relaxed air on the field, her frustration kept mounting, building under the surface like a cystic pimple.
To further add to her frustration, Remy started showboating about eighteen minutes into the thirty-five-minute half, as if he couldn’t let it go on for too long without everyone remembering he’s a star.
The crowd went wild every time he pulled a completely unnecessary move for the sake of being fancy.
Any appreciation she had for his footwork prior to meeting him was blown to smithereens when he decided to push out of position every time the ball was on her side of the field.
“I’ve got it!” she yelled at him as he rushed the ball along the sidelines, well past midfield. “Get back!”
She was half turned toward him, so when the player with the ball stutter-stepped, Marcee stumbled, and the player blew past her into the center of the field.
“Doesn’t look like you’ve got it!” Remy called back before sprinting off.
It was the first of several such encounters before the whistle was blown for halftime.
“Dude, what is happening out there?” Nicole walked up beside her as they left the field, breathing heavily. She was fantastic as their center-mid, breezing in between people and making some beautiful passes.
Marcee was burning up, her tank top bunched around her waist from the perspiration.
She ripped it off with a growl. “That prick can’t stay in position to save his life.
How am I supposed to do my job if he keeps encroaching on my space?
” Her shirt landed in a heap beneath the bench as they gathered around and slugged water.
“Yeah, there’s definitely some… discord… happening on that side,” Nicole conceded, not meeting her eye.
Marcee opened her mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean, but Harry started in, going over some suggestions for the second half. It was still tied nil to nil, so he spent a few minutes discussing offense.
“Marcee, I’m going to start Byron in the second half, okay? Give you another minute or two to rest before going back in.”
Her mouth dropped open, and from the other side of the bench, Remy smiled, eyes sweeping over her as it transformed into a grin.
“Okay,” she replied, doing everything she could to maintain some self-control. Sportsmanship, Ackerman. Sportsmanship. This is a team sport… and your girls are watching your every move.
As the other players took the field for the second half, Marcee grabbed a towel and wiped off her abdomen and neck. She couldn’t sit, and her legs were too restless not to pace. She should be out there, damn it, and the only reason she wasn’t was because of Remy!
She watched from the sidelines, vindicated when she noticed he was giving Byron all the space in the world, trusting him to take care of the ball because he knew what he was doing.
It was apparent Remy wasn’t going to let her outshine him on the field, assuming she got back in, which meant the only thing she could do was give him a taste of his own medicine.
Marcee jogged to Harry’s side. “All rested, Coach.”
He tore his gaze off the field, eyes flickering over her momentarily. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
With a shrug, he motioned her to the sideline at midfield, where she waited impatiently for a stoppage in play. As soon as the whistle blew, she sprinted onto the field.
“Byron!” she called. “You’re off!”
The ball was being thrown in by the other team, so she took her position and intercepted as soon as it was in play. She kicked it to Nicole, creating space for their offense, before Nicole kicked it back.
She had room. One defender to challenge her. She could take him all day.
Instead, she backed up, drawing their defense until she knew Remy had pushed forward, just like he had the entire first half.
When she span and dropped the ball back to Alpha’s coach, he was so close she could see his eyes widen with surprise. It was beautiful.
All it took from Marcee was a quick step aside and the defender charged Remy, making a play on the ball that resulted in Remy sprawled on his ass.
Take that, pretty boy!
“What the hell was that?” Remy shouted.
She’d forgotten how fast he was until he was inches away.
“Get out of my face,” she said. She wouldn’t step back. Couldn’t. He was so close she could see the blade of grass on his forehead and the sweat glistening on top of his head like minuscule crystals in the night sky.
“Think that was funny, do you?” He was seething, shoulders rising and falling faster and faster, his chest brushing against hers.
“I said, get out of my face now!” It happened before she even realized what she was doing.
Marcee shoved at him, palms hitting his chest. She didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing him sprawled out again, though, because he grabbed her wrists as he took the brunt of the shove, pulling her down with him—on top of him.
Apparently, the game had come to a standstill while their soap opera played out, because as they hit the pitch and she fell to the side, she heard both of their names being called.