Epilogue
Cannibal. Someone who is fed up with people.
—Text from Eddy to Weaver
Eddy
“Hey, Coach.”
I looked up at the college recruiting scout that was sitting in the bleachers not too far from my bench and smiled. “Hey, Coach Addel. You made it.”
He nodded. “I did.”
“Enjoy the game.” I smiled and waddled off.
The girls on the bench that I was passing started to snicker.
“Hey.” I pointed at them. “Not a word.”
“Never,” one of the seniors said, miming zipping her mouth and locking it with a key.
I held out my hand. “Give that key to me.”
She mimed putting it in my hand.
I jokingly put it into the pocket of my pants and gestured to my eyes with two fingers. Then pointed at her.
She pressed her lips together to hold in her laugh.
I waddled to the coach that was next to the refs and said, “I’m sorry. I’m here.”
“Coach Grant,” the coach from all those years ago that’d gotten kicked out of the game against us said. “It’s good to see you here.”
He was clearly saying the right words, but definitely not meaning them the way they sounded.
“It’s good to be here.” I smiled.
I was forty-one weeks pregnant.
I was holding on by the skin of my teeth.
I was one jolt away from dropping this baby out of my vagina like a broken paper sack of groceries.
I was two centimeters dilated and fifty percent effaced.
I was so close to giving birth that I could taste it.
My husband was freaking out, hence why he was sitting on the bench with me scowling hard.
He was also my bodyguard.
Well, self-imposed bodyguard.
He knew that this coach and I got into it almost every single game we played together.
The tradition held strong.
And, even worse, they’d moved into our district two years ago so I now had to play them. I had zero choice.
Each time we played them, things went wrong.
Though, not nearly as wrong as the one three years ago when shit had literally hit the fan.
But still, fights on the field. Injuries that should’ve never happened. Purposefully hurting my players.
I hated this fucking coach.
I hated his players, too. But they were only a product of their coach.
“Today, we’re going to play clean and safe. I will call fouls. I will make sure to pay attention to retaliation, too.”
I listened to the center ref’s words and tried not to roll my eyes when Coach Jerkoff nodded and promised to behave.
Lies.
This was going to get out of hand.
But my girls were ready.
They had played three years against this asshole and his team. They knew his tricks and they knew not to get caught with retaliation.
I waddled back to my team and my players, and they all stood.
Bossy got in close, leaning her head against my shoulder.
Bossy’s best friend did the same on my right, and I snorted.
“Play clean. Play hard. Play Lobo ball.”
They all nodded.
“Hands in.”
Hands were in.
“On three. One, two, three.”
“’Bos!”
My sister came to stand beside me, her arms around her daughter, Margery.
“Good luck, sis.”
I smiled as they made their way to the stands.
Then stood and ignored the way my body felt for the next seventy-two minutes.
The last eighteen was a lesson in survival.
It was with eighteen minutes left in the second half that the goalie tried to take out our star player. Our star player that was, of course, Bossy.
I glanced backward at Weaver and growled. “Do not move.”
He didn’t make a move, but I could see his body tensing with each dirty hit that came her way.
One fairly hard one had me inching toward the linesman on my side. “Ref, please, watch number eleven.”
He nodded but didn’t vocalize any agreement.
It was on the fifth dirty hit that the linesman lifted his flag and started to wave it in the air.
The center ref blew his whistle and jogged over.
The linesman leaned in and spoke with the ref and nodded.
“PK!” he called out.
“Holy shit,” I heard someone say.
Bossy got up and dusted the grass off her knees and shoulder where she’d hit hard.
The team converged on her and pointed toward the ball.
Bossy shook her head.
They encouraged her more and pointed again.
Bossy, shoulders stiff, walked toward the PK line where she would take the penalty kick.
“Come on,” I heard Weaver say.
Bossy lined up and took the shot.
The goalie dove the right way, saving the ball but not catching it in her grasp. It bounced back toward Bossy and she volleyed it in the air.
The sound of the ball hitting the net was the sound of angels.
“Yes!” everyone screamed, along with me.
I was jumping and screaming and…pop.
Fuck.
Water started to slowly leak down my leg.
My water had broken.
I glanced at the clock.
Five minutes left.
“All right, ladies!” I screamed. “Now you hold it!”
And they did.
For five minutes, they busted their asses to hold the 1-0 lead.
And we won.
The crowd went wild.
My man came up to hug me tight.
And more of my water leaked down into my favorite shoes.
There was no way that everyone didn’t notice that I looked like I’d peed my pants.
The team came in to get their medals and their trophy.
We gathered for pictures.
And I caught Bossy by the ponytail when she went to dart in close to her best friend.
“Nope.”
“What, why?” she grumbled, though she never stopped smiling.
“Stand right here,” I ordered as I felt more liquid running down my legs.
“Why?” Bossy asked, her smile jubilant.
“Because my water broke, and I don’t want to look like I peed my pants in all these team pictures.”
Bossy’s eyes went wide and she looked down.
Her mouth opened and closed.
“Get in,” I said through clenched teeth. “Hurry, too. I think we need to get to the hospital.”
My contractions were one on top of the other by the time we finally broke apart.
“We’re going to have to call an ambulance,” I murmured.
“Call an ambulance?” Weaver asked, surprised. “For what?”
Bossy pointed to my pants.
Weaver’s eyes traveled down my body and froze.
“Please, for the love of all that’s holy, tell me you did not ignore that for half the game.”
“Not half,” I admitted. “Maybe just eighteen minutes.”
He groaned and caught my hand. “Come on.”
I would have.
Really, I would have.
But I doubled over as pain unlike anything I’d ever felt in my life hit me like a freight train.
“Oh, god,” I breathed shakily. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Weaver dropped down to his knee beside me and caught my face in his hands. “Come on we have to…”
“Too late,” I admitted.
“Too late for…”
“Someone get that tent over here,” Weaver went into drill sergeant mode. “Get it around her now.”
They had a tent that was surrounding the camera equipment in case it rained.
Now it was serving as the drapes that kept anyone from viewing my naked ass as Weaver all but tore my pants down my legs.
When he did, he looked stunned. Mostly because there was a baby’s head between my legs, hanging there for him to see.
“She, uh, has a lot of brown hair.”
I swallowed hard. “She does?”
“Yeah,” he croaked.
Then he reached out and caught her.
Two days later, we were finally at home and Weaver was at the kitchen counter reading the paper.
“You were in the paper, darlin’.”
I refused to look.
I was in the paper.
I was also in the national newspaper.
The news.
Every soccer website in existence.
“Is it next to the dead bear like it usually is?” I wondered.
“Not this time.” He chuckled. “Great photo of you, though. Look.”
I did, and saw the exhausted woman who was holding her baby to her chest, walking across a soccer pitch with a beach towel wrapped around her waist. Smiling huge and waving at the crowd that had nearly witnessed the entire birth live and in person.
Weaver trailed behind looking freaked out.
Then there was Bossy throwing her hands in the air celebrating double.
It was a good photo.
I’d give them that.
My phone rang and I picked it up absently, not checking the caller ID before placing it to my ear and saying, “Hello?”
“I know this is a crazy time,” Coach Addel said. “And congratulations on your baby. I loved seeing that.”
I groaned. “Not you, too.”
“It was awesome.” He laughed. “What a day and way to come into the world.”
I sighed. “What is it that you needed?”
He chuckled. “I wanted to ask your daughter if she was willing to play for North Carolina. Full ride.”
My breath hitched.
“The oldest one, that is.”
I snickered. “I think she’d be thrilled. But I’ll let you talk to her anyway just in case.”
I handed the phone to Bossy who looked confused.
She placed the phone to her ear, and Weaver came up to me and wrapped his arm around me.
The baby in his other arm made a grumbling noise at the jostling.
She started to cry when Bossy started to scream.
“Shh, Cammi.” Weaver soothed her. “Your sister just had her dreams come true.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder and thought…she isn’t the only one.