Chapter Fifteen
Georgia ached everywhere. She ached in that heavy, satisfying way that always followed a full eighty minutes of bruises and effort. Today, it was compounded by the more than eighty minutes she and Matt had clocked up after he’d pulled her away from the sofa and into bed.
This time, he hadn’t stayed the night, slipping away before Rach got back from the steakhouse, a little tipsy and very full, a box full of leftovers in hand. As soon as he’d gone and Georgia had deposited the remains of their dinner into the bin, she’d gone right back to overthinking.
The loss still stung. Under the fluorescent flicker of the gym lights, with just the sound of the music in her headphones and the whir of the rowing machine, it was easier to pretend that defeat had shape. Could be lifted, stretched, sprinted through.
Georgia had moved on from her row and was halfway through a set of banded lunges when the door swung open. The last thing Georgia wanted was company. That’s why she was here in the gym so early the day after a match: for the quiet, the solitude.
Georgia lifted her head to glare at the intruder, forcing her face into a weak smile when she saw it was only Kamsi.
Kamsi was one of Georgia's favourite teammates, and had been ever since she'd joined Westcliffe from Manchester Forge a few years ago.
On the pitch she was pure electricity – fast, fearless, and impossible to pin down.
In the locker room, she was the spark that kept everyone laughing, the one who could turn a brutal loss into a running joke with her combination of sharp northern humour and Lagos-level swagger.
Even now, with her hair jammed under a Westcliffe beanie, she radiated an easy self-confidence that Georgia envied.
“You know it’s a recovery day, right?” Kamsi asked, swinging her water bottle absently. “Not some sort of personal punishment camp?”
Georgia huffed out a breath and changed legs. “This is recovery. Glute activation.”
Kamsi sat down on a bench next to the long rack of dumbbells. “You’re literally sweating buckets, and it’s not even warm in here. That’s not activation, Hotch, that looks like… a full-blown exorcism.”
Georgia didn’t answer. She finished the set and let the band drop to her ankles. She grabbed her own bottle and sat down next to Kamsi, wiping at her forehead with the back of her hand.
Georgia hoped she didn't smell too rank – next to her, Kamsi smelt of a mixture of cocoa butter, rain and something floral. Georgia let herself lean back against the rack, legs out in front, trying to stretch out the tightness in her hamstrings. Trying not to think.
She was thinking, of course. She'd been thinking through her cardio, through her lifting.
About Matt mostly.
About the way he’d looked at her over wings and wine like she was something just as delicious.
He’d been gorgeous, the white of his crumpled linen shirt sharp against the blue velvet of the sofa, highlighting the soft glow of his skin.
He’d distracted her from the game, pulled her mind away from how she’d struggled through the first match with her name highlighted in the programme.
From how her lungs had felt when they’d finally broken the Aegis line, when, in the dying moments, she’d felt the tide shift in their favour.
He’d just said, “You’ll get ‘em next time, Hotch,” and passed her another glass of wine.
She stretched forward, reaching past her toes, feeling the muscles along her spine stretch and pull against their soreness. She sighed.
This was why they'd lost. Their new captain was totally distracted.
“We don’t have anything to atone for,” she told Kamsi firmly. Still, she could feel the loss clinging to them both like damp kit.
Thirty minutes later, Georgia and Kamsi were locked into their own separate routines on different sides of the room when the door to the gym opened again. It was busy for a Sunday morning, not exactly the silent retreat Georgia had been hoping for.
She adjusted her headphones, turning up the volume. The cocoon of steady beats didn’t last. Georgia turned at the tap on her shoulder.
“Heard you were here,” Maggie said.
Georgia paused the music, pushed her headphones down to hang off her neck. “What’s up?”
“Not here.” Maggie held up a finger to stop Georgia in her tracks. “Get showered, get changed. I’ll be in my office.”
Across the gym, Kamsi pulled a face. Maggie never came in on a recovery day. The Westcliffe head coach was practically religious about enforcing a healthy work-life balance for her staff and her players. If she was here just because she’d heard Georgia was there…
One match as club captain might be the shortest official run ever.
After her shower, Georgia made her way down the white corridor, past the framed photos of previous teams, the rows and rows of signed shirts. Her hair was still damp, twisted up into a haphazard bun, and her trainers squeaked on the hallway’s green-painted floor.
The door to Maggie’s office was open.
Georgia paused outside for a moment, giving herself a second to close her eyes and take a breath. She pushed the door wider and stepped inside.
Maggie sat behind her desk, head down, scrolling on her phone. She didn’t look up right away, just tapped at the screen and tilted her head towards the other chair.
Georgia sat.
“So,” Maggie said, locking her phone and putting it, screen down, on the desk in front of her. “Tell me how you think it went.”
Georgia didn’t hesitate. She’d been rehearsing this answer over and over as she showered. “Shaky start. Better second half. Not good enough.”
Best to keep emotion out of it. Focus on the facts.
Maggie watched her steadily. She leant her chin on her fist and nodded slowly. “And how did you do?”
Georgia swallowed and looked down at her hands. She picked at a piece of skin at the edge of her thumbnail. “Not good enough.”
There it was. The plain, bald truth of it.
She hadn’t been good enough. Maybe Erin had been right, that her little pep talk had helped, but it had been Riley’s bounciness that had really turned the tide.
That’s what Matt had distracted her from so effectively.
The niggling suspicion that she wasn’t good enough to be captain.
Maggie scratched the side of her chin. “Fair enough.” She paused. “Want my opinion?”
There was nothing Georgia could do except nod, still picking at her fingers.
“You tried to do too much.”
She’d worked that out for herself, even before the match had ended. But to hear someone else say it out loud… it stung. “I thought that, as captain…”
“You didn’t trust the team,” Maggie said simply. “And it showed.”
Georgia stayed silent, clenching her teeth. She'd made a mess of her nail, pulled too much skin away from the cuticle, and now a thin line of blood was welling up along the side. She pressed it into the fabric of her blue club gym shorts, hoping it would stop bleeding before Maggie noticed.
“Early phases were a mess,” Maggie continued evenly, dispassionately. Just a tactical evaluation. “Plays broke down because you were out of position, trying to cover everyone else’s job.”
Georgia glanced up, trying to gauge Maggie’s mood.
Maggie sighed. “Hotch, you’ve been a leader all season, all last season - right up until yesterday. And leading isn’t about doing everything. It’s about knowing what not to do."
Georgia gave a tight nod.
“You’re the team’s captain,” Maggie said. “Not their drill sergeant.”
Georgia felt the words bite, hook their barbs into the soft parts of her where self-doubt still curled.
“That’s my job as head coach, right?” Maggie finally smiled at Georgia, who managed a weak twitch of her lips in return. Maggie stood up, coming round the front of her desk and leaning on the edge.
“Look, it’s only the start of the season. We’ve got plenty more matches.” Maggie pointed at the calendar pinned to the wall, each Sunday marked out.
Georgia squinted. There were nine teams in the league, and they all played each other twice. That made sixteen game rounds. Three losses in a row, when they were only at the end of October, was still recoverable.
They had a free weekend next week, a week off while other teams played. Time to get her shit in hand, under control.
Their next match would be the Halloween fixture, which was always a good one. Westcliffe’s marketing department always amped up the spooky themes around the stadium, with the bars selling pitchers of green and black cocktails and the team wear a special bat-covered kit.
They had to staunch the bleeding at some point, Georgia supposed. That would not be easy, given their next opponent. “Camden next,” she noted.
The Ironhearts never played nice. It was fast and loose, scrappy as hell and cheap shots whenever they thought the ref was looking elsewhere. At their last meeting, right at the end of the season, the Camden fans had targeted Fleur with their chants, and it had got under everyone’s skin.
“Yeah. So, we need to keep a lid on their chaos. Not get distracted.” Maggie leaned back, crossing her arms across her chest. “They’ll try to rattle the team. You, especially.”
“Why me?”
“Because,” Maggie said, “you’re new in the role. Because you get in your own head. Because if I was their coach, and I’d watched yesterday, I’d see you as the one to break.”
She said it like fact again. Nothing personal, Hotch, just cold, hard tactics. You’re the weak link, and we all know it. Maybe that should have been her game show instead. Trivia, buzzers, and ritual humiliation. Georgia, you are the weakest link, goodbye.
Georgia could feel herself shrinking, confidence vanishing into nothing. She nodded, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “I won’t let them.”
“I don’t need you unbreakable,” Maggie said. “I need you to stay smart, stay thinking. Don’t confuse leadership for control.”
Out of the window, Georgia could see the training pitch, corner flag fluttering in the cold wind. Camden would run out onto the pitch with teeth bared and fists clenched, but they made mistakes, gave penalties, got sloppy.
If she could keep the room calm, like Kamsi had said at the pier, perhaps that would be enough. It wouldn’t be pretty, but maybe Westcliffe stood a chance.
“Got it.” Georgia took a deep breath and gave a little machine-gun nod.
“Now, I’m going home.” Maggie picked up her phone to check the notifications. “Probably to complete and utter destruction as I left Robbie in charge of the kids.”
“Me too,” Georgia joked. “I left Rachel unattended.”
Maggie rolled her eyes as she shooed Georgia out of the office. “Well then. Make sure you go home too. No work till tomorrow, okay?”