1. Nessa
1
NESSA
“ N essa, please take a seat,” Stella Arsenault says in the way that means it’s not a request, and anyway, I know the drill. You don’t play for the toughest coach in the league without falling in like at least a little.
Caramel highlights in her professionally dyed blonde hair are accentuated by the aggressive overhead lighting. Her hair is pulled back in her standard ponytail, her brown eyes assessing as she watches me. She’s poised and sophisticated.
And yet still swears like a sailor on the sidelines and blames us for the deep V between her eyebrows, choosing to ignore that she’ll be turning fifty soon.
“Morning, Coach.” Lowering myself into the chair, I cross my feet at the ankles, my dress pants and blouse making me feel like someone else in this moment.
“How’s the baby?”
“She’s good,” I say, trying my best not to fidget. The last forty-eight hours had been the worst kind of chaos, and I was running on an energy drink and half a graham cracker.
“And the hearing for Remi?”
Swallowing, I dig my nails into the palms of my hands where they rest in my lap, making sure to keep my face carefully neutral.
“It’s been finalized and I’ll be traveling to Blackstone Falls to bring her to her father.”
“And what’s your plan after that?”
My heart rate picks up at the intonation of her words as I try to decipher what she’s not saying. “I’ll be returning to Nashville.”
Coach Arsenault stares at me before sighing and leaning back in her chair. “You’re taking a vacation.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath as my nails dig in harder to my flesh, the bite of pain the only thing keeping me grounded in this moment.
“It’s done. We’ve minimized it the best we can and your absence will help get rid of the rest.” I open my mouth to speak but she just holds up her hand. “I already spoke to her coach, and Cardova is dealing with her own consequences. It’s a contract year, Hart.”
She says that like she has to remind me. Being a professional soccer player is all I’ve ever wanted to do, and right now renewing my contract with the Tornadoes is even more imperative because of how close I’ll still be to Remi.
“She went after my cousin. And Remi. Coach, I?—”
“Nessa, I know. It’s why you’re getting a vacation and she’s not.”
Maria Cardova and I had been pitted against each other by the media since our rookie year. Instead of celebrating the chance to play professional soccer, we’d become a frenzied campaign to drum up attention. They compared our time on the field, stats, and personal lives without a second thought. And while I hated the fabricated rivalry, Cardova leaned into it.
Hard.
She heckled me on the field and made passive-aggressive comments about me on social media, feeding reporters enough gossip to keep them coming back for more.
I was no angel, running my mouth as much as the ball and getting away with as many hits on the field as I could—it was part of the game. But yesterday had been something else entirely.
She’d gone after my family, and I’d burn the whole world down before I let that happen. We were supposed to be setting an example, showing respect for our teammates and opponents as much as ourselves.
You offered a hand when they were down or acknowledged a particularly well-placed goal. When had we let the love of the game be replaced by cattiness and disdain?
“I don’t do downtime.”
Her lips twitch, and suddenly I feel like I was woefully unprepared for this meeting.
“Lucky for you, I have a friend who’s the athletic director at Blackstone University and they’re trying to build their soccer program.” She grins. “They’re moving from club to conference, and while they have a lot in motion, everyone can use a little help.”
“For how long?”
She shrugs. “A couple months.” A couple months. “I figure you can help the baby transition and check in with the university until things die down. You’ll be back in time for spring training.”
I want to ask if she’s kidding but she’s not.
She never is.
“The university has offered to let you stay in one of their off-campus apartments for the duration of your stay.” She snorts. “Maybe try and school your expression when you meet with Coach Turner. He’s a friend of mine, and despite this being a favor of sorts, you’re still representing this team.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now go pack. They’re expecting you the day after tomorrow. We’ll pay for your hotel if you choose to go down there before that.” She looks down at her papers and then back at me. “Anything else?” I shake my head and she nods, her expression softening. “Let me know when you’re settled, and you have my number if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Coach,” I say as I stand.
“Cheer up, Hart.” Her mouth curves up on one side as she adds, “Who knows, you might like it.”
Not likely.
Not likely at all.