Chapter Six
Season’s End
Saturday morning, restlessness pushed Giselle to wake up early.
To worsen matters, the encounter at Tony’s house had her mind spinning, and she didn’t get much sleep last night.
Combined with anxiety over today’s match against the Blue Crush, she might as well have stayed up all night.
She figured she had slept about three hours, tops.
In her tiny apartment kitchen, she ate a quick breakfast of dry toast and a banana, then took a cool shower to try and shake off the weariness.
Stumbling back into her room, she changed into her soccer uniform for the morning game and stared at her worn face in the full-length mirror secured to the wall.
Giselle appeared pale, the dark circles beneath her brown eyes an obvious sign of fatigue. Her hair hung in ratty strands. Wrinkled and having missed a wash, the uniform clung to her lithe body in a crumpled mess.
Still, she felt proud to have played for the Rapids during two thrilling seasons.
She had played in high school and adored the sport.
Wanting to continue, she had joined the River Rush County League that encompassed several cities and teams. Giselle had faced exciting challenges, met wonderful people, and enjoyed her time while representing the Rapids.
She sighed into the mirror, knowing this would be her final season. Larger things in life called, and unfortunately, new priorities had surfaced while spare time dwindled. Desiring to finish her degree in marketing, saving money and applying for school would be her next mountain to conquer.
But for now—time to annihilate the Blue Crush!
Giselle shoved an extra set of clothes, a towel, shoes, and personal items into her sports bag.
She also grabbed the plastic sack holding the soccer ball.
After getting home from Tony’s last night, she had arranged something special for him.
The ball had undergone a dramatic transformation, and the loss of sleep over her preparation had been worth it.
Tony would receive the ball today—and hopefully, the war between them would end in a smile.
Grabbing her keys and cleats, Giselle headed out the front door in her shin guards and socks.
Sitting on the curb, she bashed the cleats together to break off dried mud and grime.
The chore done, she laced on her footwear and threw everything into the car, then drove to the field for the ten o’clock start time.
Although the championship would occur next weekend, today marked the end of the season for several cities and teams in the losers bracket.
Fans packed all the soccer fields in the park as games for children, teens, and young adults took place for an action-packed morning.
Additional matches would take place in the afternoon, and the following Saturday, the true finals would begin.
As Giselle parked and carried all her things to the pitch, the cool temperature and patchy blue sky brought the perfect environment for a hard autumn match.
No rain forecasted for the day meant good playing conditions.
A mild breeze added to a favorable setting as wind would not affect long aerial passes.
She joined her team and warmed up on the sidelines. Stretches, light cardio, and ball drills got her loose and ready for the opening whistle as Coach Jess barked commands and encouragement.
Someone in the bleachers hollered Giselle’s name. She glanced back and saw Janice holding up her middle finger—the one Giselle had orgasmed on—and wearing a smirk. Blushing, Giselle shook her head and couldn’t help returning a smile.
She also noticed the Rapids’ fans packing the seats. A great crowd had showed wearing team colors, holding small banners, and munching on food from the busy snack bar. Beneath the mountain of support, a humble pride filled her, and she vowed to play hard and bring joy to the fans after a solid win.
Fifteen minutes before start time, Giselle looked across the field and saw Tony warming up in his black uniform and shorts. She grabbed the sack holding the soccer ball and jogged over to him.
“Chalmers,” he said in surprise when she approached. He glanced at the bag. “A hand delivery? That’s no fun. Don’t tell me you’ve given up.”
Giselle studied his worn face and dark circles beneath his eyes. After what Tony experienced last night, it appeared he hadn’t slept much, either. A fresh stab of guilt over witnessing the exchange with his father shot through her. She lowered her gaze, ashamed as if he already knew.
“Hey, I was just kidding,” he said. “You don’t have to look so glum.”
Giselle glanced back up. “Oh, sorry. I…well, here.”
She took the soccer ball out of the bag and held it out. The ball nearly shone, having been cleaned of dirt and debris. Consisting of twenty neon-green hexagons and twelve blue pentagons, the cover still appeared worn from use, but the overall status of the ball widened Tony’s eyes.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed. “So there was a usable ball under the muck after all.” He took it from her outstretched hand and smiled. “What’s this all about?”
Giselle shrugged. “Turn the ball over.”
Tony rotated the ball and found a message on its surface she had written in red marker. “Tony,” he read. “Thank you for the ‘silent war’ and showing me a good time. I had fun.”
His smile faded as he looked back at her. “You’re really giving up?”
The disappointment on his face and in his tone made Giselle’s heart skip.
Like her, it seemed he had enjoyed their little battles.
Vandalizing personal items, following each other, the sarcastic notes…
all of it had contributed to their delight and distraction from hurtful things in life.
A drunk and abusive father rattled Tony’s world, and a foul, abusive boss crushed Giselle’s spirit every day.
“Yeah, I think it was time,” she replied after finding her voice. She held out a hand. “Congratulations, you win.”
Tony looked at her hand. He hesitated, his reluctant expression revealing he didn’t want their mischiefs to end. Once they shook, it would solidify the conclusion. Giselle didn’t want it to be over, either. However, seeing him last night had broken her heart and destroyed her will to continue.
“No winners, let’s just call it a truce,” Tony said as he finally grasped her hand in a warm shake. “I liked the war reference you wrote on the ball. But what do you mean by a silent one?”
“Well, it’s just that we haven’t talked much,” she said. “The nasty notes and the ball did the speaking for us.”
She suddenly realized their hand contact persisted.
Whether her intent or his, the mutual grip between their palms and fingers remained the same.
In that moment, he must have realized it as well—a blush passed over his cheeks.
Giselle felt her own face warm. Their hold loosened, and arms returned to their sides.
“Then we need to converse more,” Tony replied. “Grab lunch after the game?”
“Yes,” her mouth said before her mind processed the invitation. Geez, guess I really want to keep seeing him. It’s a truce, after all. Might as well become friends with the enemy.
Tony grinned. “Awesome. After the game, will you take a shower in the community center again? A long one?”
Giselle froze. Is he referring to when he snuck into the locker room to stuff the ball in my gym bag? Her face grew hot again. He really did hear me and Janice!
She narrowed her eyes. “Already trying to break the truce, Tony?”
“No way,” he answered. “I’ve seen what you are capable of on the battlefield. You make a better ally.”
“Then be a pal and watch your offsides calls today,” she warned.
“Of course. As you mentioned in one of your notes, I watched some YouTube videos and will be sure to use the proper flag technique when I call you offsides.”
Her fierce glare only resulted in his laughter. About to retort, she cringed when her coach called out in a thick Romanian accent from down field.
“Number nine, stop flirting with the ref and get your butt over here,” Jess hollered. “Game is about to start!” Rolling her eyes, Giselle turned and jogged away to the sound of Tony’s snicker.
The first half proved to be everything the Rapids feared. As Janice had observed, the Blue Crush had a weak offense despite terrific passing. However, the Rapids’ hard-charging offense could barely penetrate the Crush’s stifling defense. And their keeper? A damn wall, as Janice had also noted.
As a lead striker, Giselle only had two shots on goal during the first half.
The first kick resulted in a feeble roller as two defenders in her face made it impossible to set up a crisp shot.
The second attempt, a monster rocket that spun in a tight arc, had been blocked in acrobatic fashion by the skilled Crush goalie.
During the half-time break, a winded Rapids team clustered around Coach Jess in a tough match tied at zero.
As Giselle wiped sweat from her eyes and swigged from a sports bottle, she listened intently at her coach’s detailed analysis of the first half.
Jess had always been a fantastic leader and example of what a soccer instructor should be.
The woman didn’t just holler from the sideline and drill the players until they could hardly stand.
Every command during matches held a purpose.
Each adjustment during play showed intense calculation.
Jess displayed true passion for the sport and addicting enthusiasm that soaked into each Rapid whether at practice or during games.
Giselle nodded at the coaching and change in tactics for the second half. Everything Jess said made sense. The players rested, rehydrated, and pepped each other up to charge out strong for the remainder of the match.
Thirty minutes in, the Blue Crush found an opening on the left wing while exploiting a miscue and bad pass by the Rapids midfielders.
Shouts erupted from the Rapids defense as players scrambled to recover.
A beautiful pass by number eight on the Crush found its target.
Number eleven chested the ball, controlled it in an impressive dribble, and penetrated a defender.
Eleven’s powerful leg smashed a shot. Near midfield, Giselle held her breath.
The ball ripped toward the goal. Martha, the dependable keeper… deflected it wide!
A Rapids fullback recovered the stray ball. She dribbled and cut toward the sideline, then chipped the ball forward to Vanessa near center field. Already reading the play, Giselle sprinted into Blue Crush territory. Vanessa charged past two opposing players, then launched the ball down range.
Giselle ran to intercept the long pass. From the corner of her eye, she saw her right-wing teammate in a hard charge along the sideline.
Using herself as a decoy, Giselle planned to take control of the ball in the penalty arc and hopefully collapse the Crush defense.
She would then knock the ball wide to the dashing right wing for a diagonal penetration and shot on goal.
Vanessa’s high pass sailed in. Giselle positioned herself for the setup.
Three Crush defenders closed in, all sets of eyes on the incoming ball.
Giselle leapt for the header and collided against multiple jumping players.
A rush of sweaty jerseys swallowed her in the airborne scrum.
A tangle of arms and legs flailed. The ball ricocheted off a defender’s head, and the Crush regained possession.
As the jumble of bodies descended, Giselle’s left cleat landed on top of a player’s foot. Her ankle twisted, and a loud pop preceded a bolt of hot, excruciating pain. She screamed and writhed on the turf, her foot swollen in a crooked position.
The surrounding Crush players tried to comfort her while signaling to the sideline for help.
The field medic arrived to administer assistance, but one look at Giselle’s injury prompted him to call an ambulance.
Coach Jess and the Rapids also surrounded the scene, her teammates wearing apprehensive faces and tears wetting some eyes.
The medic did his best to manage pain and control the swelling, but Giselle knew a bad break when she saw one. Her future consisted of an emergency room, doctor treatment, and physical therapy. She hissed in pain and clenched her fists as an icepack and bandages wrapped her foot.
Vanessa squatted next to Giselle, her face pale and eyes full of worry. “I’m sorry for the shitty pass. I should have read their defense better.”
“No, Cap. That pass was a beauty. I had a terrible angle on the ball, and their defenders got to it first. It would have been a perfect execution to the right side.”
“That’s my girls,” Coach Jess commented. “The play was fantastic, just some bad luck. You rest up now and recover, Giselle. Vanessa, go to the sideline and rally the team. We still have a match to win. Number nine’s spirit and energy are with us.”
“Don’t forget beauty and brains,” Giselle said, then winced as she started to laugh.
Tony appeared and waved his flag in the air. “Obstruction on the field,” he announced. “Debris must be cleared to resume play.” After slipping the flag stick into the waistband of his shorts, he bent down and scooped Giselle into his strong arms.
“Hey!” she shouted in embarrassment as he cradled her in a walk. Adding to her chagrin, both teams laughed and whistled their approval as the crowd dispersed. “I’m not debris or a little kid. Put me down!”
“Interference from number nine,” Tony continued in a monotone voice. “Red card and immediate expulsion.”
The silly situation—and Tony’s foolishness—cracked Giselle’s armor and made her laugh. She relaxed in his grip, nothing more than dead weight wearing a useless foot.
“Is this in the soccer playbook?” she asked as they approached the opposite sideline. He carefully set her down on the grass. Her foot throbbed and seized her in a fierce ache, but she tried not to show it.
“Only when a ref likes a player,” he said in confidence.
He’s brazen, even carrying me off like a caveman. Men can be dorks sometimes, but this is cute and funny. She smiled up at him. “So much for our lunch together.”
“I’ll meet you at the emergency room later for some hospital Jello,” he said.
“Then it’s a date,” she replied.
The field medic returned carrying some additional gear.
He applied another treatment while they waited for the ambulance.
The head ref blew his whistle, and Tony said farewell before heading back to the pitch to resume play.
The ambulance soon arrived, and Giselle plopped on a gurney as the paramedics loaded her into the back of the van.