Chapter Twenty-Two
Hours of preparation.
Hours of sweat and cursing and drills, over and over.
Marcee ran through every play and type of attack she’d seen him use, trained her girls to anticipate the moves and strategy, and it was all pointless.
As if he knew she would do it, Remy did the exact opposite.
The first half of the game was painful to watch as the girls struggled to adjust and defend.
Forget about offense—they barely even got the ball.
The second half was better, and maybe it said something about her and the team when they didn’t get the first touch, or that their passes were intercepted, but they still managed to score.
It wasn’t enough. They were outmatched in every way, and it showed. By the blow of the final whistle, they’d been defeated three to one.
She failed the girls. Their game plan and tactics were completely and decisively wrong. Because of her, the team was defeated before they even stepped foot on the pitch.
They lined up and walked, clapping hands and congratulating Alpha Ridge on their win, false sportsmanship at its best.
Marcee couldn’t look Remy in the eye as they met, and she certainly couldn’t say a word to him.
He did his job, and he did it well. That didn’t mean she wanted to admit she was outclassed.
Besides, she only had eyes for one man right then, and it was Headmaster Wilkes, who stood next to the bleachers with his arms crossed and his face pinched with displeasure.
Marcee expected the tar and feathers to happen at any moment.
“We’ll talk Monday!” he called out as they trudged past, headed for the locker rooms.
She had no doubt. She waved her clipboard at him and strode past the girls, already dreading a weekend where she wondered if she’d be fired by the beginning of the week.
The girls filed in one after another, sweaty and dirty and spent. Nicole shut the door after the last player sat.
The worst sort of adrenaline pumped through Marcee’s veins, making her hands shake until she clutched the clipboard in a white-knuckled grip. Doubt was eating her alive. Maybe she couldn’t do it after all. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for coaching.
“I’m sorry, Coach.” Harper’s voice was low and dejected. “I should’ve made those stops.”
Her watery eyes and pursed lips were almost more than Marcee could handle.
“No.” Her ponytail tickled the back of her neck when she shook her head, sticking to the perspiration on her skin. “Some goals will happen, and you can’t stop them. You gave me one hundred percent tonight, Harper, and you should be proud of that.”
“I don’t feel very proud,” the goalie whispered, head drooping. Hannah reached over and patted her back, but there were tears in her eyes, as well.
Marcee cleared her throat and shared a look with Nicole. Chewing them out wouldn’t solve anything. The girls needed support, otherwise their insecurities were going to eat them alive.
Even though she was doubting herself, she could erase that very same fear in her team.
“Listen to me. What happened on that field tonight was not a reflection of your talent or skills. We’ve worked hard since this summer to come together and play like a team capable of winning a championship.
Tonight’s game does not change that.” She took her time, making eye contact with each girl.
Cope’s face was screwed up, angry and distant.
She needed to check in with the striker soon.
“Were we ill-prepared? Yes. Is that your fault? No.” She gave Nicole an apologetic smile and turned back to the girls.
“That’s on me. I prepped you for a game that never happened.
There are things I should’ve drilled you on in practice that I didn’t. ”
The girls shared looks, eyebrows raised.
Marcee held up a hand. “Am I saying there aren’t fundamentals that fell apart tonight?
No. And we’ll work those issues out in training.
But overall, my game plan was just plain wrong.
So, I want each of you to keep your head up.
The next time we play Alpha, we’re going to show them what they missed. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach!”
“Hell yeah, Coach,” Nicole said, fist-bumping her.
“Get dressed. Your parents are waiting for you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Marcee left the locker room, the weight of their loss still perched on her shoulders. The girls might’ve felt better—as evident by the rising volume of their voices behind her—but she felt worse with each step.
She was the loser.
She was a poor excuse for a coach.
The loss tonight rested firmly on her shoulders, and she would be the one answering to it on Monday with Wilkes.
It’s on me.
She barreled into her office, dropping into the chair behind her desk until it sank beneath her weight. Nicole followed her inside, just a step behind.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Wilkes was right. I should’ve never been hired.” Marcee gasped, the weight of anxiety filling her chest. There was a steady ringing in her ears, like metal on metal down a tunnel. “I missed the forest for the trees.”
“Breathe,” Nicole said, hovering beside her. “Everyone makes mistakes. Breathe, Marcee.”
There was a knock on the door and Alex popped her head in. “Marcee?” When she saw the look on her face, Alex rushed inside and hovered over her. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I think she started having a panic attack.” Nicole stepped back, turning the situation over to the best friend. “I’m going to make sure the girls are packing up. You did fine, Coach. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Marcee?”
Hair slipped from Marcee’s ponytail when she looked up. “I couldn’t breathe, and Wilkes was standing there, like some goddamned reaper waiting to take me to the other side, and the whole thing was too much.”
Alex brushed the strand of hair behind her ear and awkwardly wrapped an arm around Marcee’s shoulders. “I knew it as soon as you walked off the field. I could tell from your shoulders. You were so stiff, like the only thing holding you together was saving face.”
“I’m scared, Alex.”
“Of what?”
The back of her throat tickled with suppressed emotion. “Monday. I’m scared when I walk into his office it’ll be the last time. I’m scared tonight was the last game I’ll ever coach and I’ll never get to show the world that I’m better than that.”
Alex shook her head, her long swath of brown hair swishing against her shoulders.
“No way. One loss isn’t grounds for termination. If he tries it, we’ll sue his ass.”
And that was why Alex was her girl.
Marcee gave her a watery smile. “What about just being bad at coaching? That’s certainly worthy of being fired. You watched the same game I did. Remy showed out. I, however… well, I showed up, at least.”
“That’s enough.” Alex grabbed Marcee’s purse from behind the desk and motioned to the door. “We are not sitting in this tiny office for another minute rehashing everything you could’ve done better. Grab your coat.”
“We’re not?” She slid the coat off the back of her chair and shoved her arms through the pockets.
“No. There’s no point. What we are going to do is engage in a time-honored tradition for when things go wrong.”
Marcee followed, switching off the lights as they left. “What’s that?”
Alex grinned over her shoulder. “We’re going to wallow at the bar.”
“I’m Meredith Grey!”
Alex leaned closer, swaying on her barstool. “What?”
“I said, I’m Meredith Grey! She’s a woman who knows tequila can fix anything!” Marcee hiccupped and slapped a hand on the bar, getting the bartender’s attention. “Two more shots, my good man!”
It was Eighties night at the Hollerback Bar and Bon Jovi played on the radio. Alex reached across her and grabbed a handful of peanuts.
“You know Meredith Grey is a fictional character, right?” A few peanuts fell out of her mouth as she talked around them.
The bartender slid them the shot glasses and Marcee fished out a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket. “It’s crumpled,” she whined.
He plucked it from her fingers with a grimace. “Spends the same. I’ll get your change.”
It wasn’t top quality, but it’d done the job. The anxiety and fear had been numbed to a manageable degree, so she floated pleasantly along for the rest of the night, just existing.
The bartender brought back her change, which she accepted dutifully. “Livin’ on a prayer, Cody, livin’ on a prayer.”
“It’s Chris,” he replied dryly, walking off with a shake of his head.
“Look more like a Cody,” Marcee muttered. She shoved the paper in her pocket, but the two quarters hit the floor, so she slid off her stool and chased them down as the room spun around her.
A blast of cold air whipped through the bar as someone came inside, and she closed her eyes, savoring the sensation as she crouched next to a table. She didn’t realize how hot it was until the cool breeze ran over her skin, eliciting goosebumps.
“Marcee?”
Well, hell.
She grabbed the two quarters and stood, swaying from the change of position until she found her center of gravity again. Thank God she wasn’t wearing high heels.
“Are you okay?”
Marcee turned around and plastered the fakest smile she could on her sweaty face. “Of course, I am, boyfriend! In fact, I’m Gucci.”
Remy’s eyes swept over her. “I’ve been texting you for hours. I was worried.”
And she’d been avoiding his texts for hours. As much as she loved him, he was the physical embodiment of her failure, and it hurt to see him.
“I’m sorry,” she managed. “Didn’t mean to worry you.” She pointed to the bar, where Alex sat, shoving peanuts into her mouth and talking animatedly with the bartender. “Just blowing off the seam.”
The corner of Remy’s mouth twitched. “Steam?”
Marcee nodded. “That, too.”
Remy tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering. “I’m sorry, too.”
“No,” she said, stepping back. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he asked.
“Try to comfort me. You did your job, and you won. I didn’t and I lost. End of story.”