Chapter 32
Ainsley
Senior Year
“Stop hogging the ball, Morgan.”
I spin around and get in Landon’s face, knocking my helmet against his. “And let you throw another turnover? No, thanks.”
“Fuck off.”
I lift my right hand and stick up my middle finger.
“Get into position,” Coach yells. “Get your head in the game, both of you!”
I jog into place just in time for the draw, and sprint to the middle of the field to scoop up the ball. My defender trails half a step behind me, unable to catch me. I lower my stick to the ground but Landon scoops it up instead.
“What the fuck,” I shout.
Landon takes the ball down to the goal, but he’s surrounded. Their defense is good. It’s been hell trying to score all game. But it’s the championship game. Everything is on the line. And I won’t let anything stand in my way of victory.
“I’m open!” I lift my stick and let him know he can pass the ball.
Landon glances at me.
Our eyes lock.
He spins around and takes a shot at the goal from a terrible angle. The ball ricochets off the pipe with a loud clang. The other team recovers the ball and takes it back down the field to our side.
“Are you fucking serious?” I throw my arms out as I sprint after the ball. “Asshole!”
Landon ignores me, only fueling my rage.
Our goalie makes a save, and looks to pass. Landon lifts his stick, and the ball sails toward him. But I cut in front of Landon and steal the ball, spinning around to take it to the other side.
“You guys need to stop fucking around,” Walker, our teammate, yells.
I shut out everyone else, and focus on sinking the ball into the goal. It’s been tied for the last quarter, and we’re about to go into the fourth. We need to get ahead.
My legs burn as I pound against the turf, surging ahead of everyone else. Out of the corner of my eye, Landon comes flying up the sideline, getting into position by the goal.
He thinks I’m going to pass it to him.
Fuck that.
After I ratted him out to Coach about being hurt last week, he hasn’t spoken to me—not unless it’s on the field, and we’re hurling insults at each other.
I feel awful for getting him kicked out of the game while the UCLA scout was watching, but it was best for him and the team. He couldn’t play in the state he was in, and there was no way we’d make it into the championship game if we lost in the playoff round.
Landon doesn’t see it that way though.
Instead of passing the ball to Landon, I drive the ball straight into the corner of the net. The crowd erupts, chanting my name as the scoreboard light up with another point.
The buzzer rings, and we jog off the field to get into our last huddle of the game.
Coach’s face is tomato-red. “You’re lucky I don’t pull you both out of the game.”
Walker tears off his helmet and glares at me. “You need to pass it.”
“We don’t need another turnover,” I fire back.
“You need to stop playing solo and start acting like a team,” Landon says.
I cough out an incredulous laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“Enough.” Coach holds up a hand to silence us. “Do you want to lose this championship?”
Landon and I drop our heads. “No.”
“Then stop acting like you’re not on the same team. The game is way too close to be having these problems right now. We should be five points ahead.”
“Yeah, that turnover really cost us,” I say.
“And your selfishness is ruining this game,” Landon fires back.
“I will bench the both of you right now.” Coach’s voice booms over our bickering. “You’ve got two seconds to decide if you’re going to be able to put your shit aside and play, or if you’d rather be riding the bench.”
My eyes narrow on Landon as he glares at me.
But we remain silent, knowing better than to utter another word.
“You guys can hate each other all you want,” Patrick speaks up. “But stop screwing over the team. This is our last game together.”
Guilt burns like a branding iron in my gut. He’s right. This is the last time we’ll be together, on the same team, playing our final game of high school lacrosse.
I glance out into the stands and spot my father. This is the last game he’ll ever see me play.
I have to win.
Pulling my helmet back on, I look up at Coach. “I’m good.”
He swings his gaze to Landon. “And you?”
Landon nods. “All good.”
“Ospreys on three!” Coach shouts.
We toss our hands into the pile, and scream at the top of our lungs. “One, two, three, Ospreys!”
My focus is razor-sharp as I take my position on the field. My breathing slows, and the noise of the stadium dulls to a low hum.
As soon as the ball is live, I leave my defender in the dust. Walker passes to Landon, and he takes it down to the end. He has no clear shot with the defense shoving him, swiping their sticks at his to knock the ball loose.
“Landon, now,” I shout, raising my stick.
I’m ready.
This is it.
If he passes to me, I can make the shot.
Come on, Fletcher. Don’t be stupid.
Landon runs from the defenders and snaps the ball into my pocket, quick and seamless. I don’t have time to be surprised. I spin around and launch the ball into the back of the net, giving the goalie no time to react or adjust his stance.
The stadium explodes, but I can still hear my father above everyone else. “That’s my girl!”
My eyes burn, but I blink away the tears.
“Do that again,” Coach shouts as we take our spots. “Work together.”
I don’t spare a glance at Landon. I keep my head down and wait for the draw. Adrenaline courses through my veins, knowing we’ve only got minutes left.
The ball snaps into the air, and I take off after it.
I jump and swipe it out of the air, not giving it a second to touch the ground.
But the other team is all over me. I don’t have an inch of space to move and make a play.
I fake left and turn right, but someone shoves their stick against my chest. Hard.
I stumble backward, the wind knocked out of me.
The ball springs free as I fall onto the turf.
The ref doesn’t card the asshole who illegally shoved me. The game continues on, and I’m left behind, scrambling to get up while both teams fight for possession of the ball.
Motherfucker.
Once the other team realizes the ref isn’t calling penalties, their aggression ramps up for the rest of the quarter. I’m not strong enough to rough them up, but I’m faster on my feet and in my mind. I can outrun them and outsmart them.
I call our last time-out, and the team huddles around me.
“We need to get the ball to Landon. Set up the play like he’s taking the shot, but then pass it to me at the last second.” I glance at Landon. “It won’t look like I’m ready, but I will be. Just trust me.”
His brown eyes harden on me.
I’ve obliterated his trust. I get that. But I know what I’m doing, and this plan is going to work.
Coach nods. “Make it happen. One more goal, and we’ve won this thing.”
We had back onto the field, and I crouch into position. When the ball flies through the air, I don’t make a run for it. I don’t beat everyone to the other side of the field. I hang back, acting like I’m completely gassed and can’t keep up. I let my defender think he’s got me.
Walker gets the ball to Landon, and he sets up to shoot.
From behind my defender, I watch him.
Landon looks around, searching for a better play, searching for someone who’s open. But no one is. Landon has to pass the ball to me, and take a chance that I’ll be able to catch it.
I know I can.
He spins around, and I lunge out from behind the defender. He takes a second too long to realize that I’m no longer with him, and Landon shoots the ball to me.
As soon as the ball hits my cradle, I spin and fire it into the corner of the goal.
The buzzer pierces through the air, and the timer runs out.
We just won.
We’re state champions.
I made the winning goal.
With Landon’s assist.
Our team goes wild, tossing off their helmets and jumping on top of me.
Everyone but Landon.
I’m hoisted into the air as the guys chant, “Morgan! Morgan! Morgan!”
But all I can see is the back of Landon’s head as he walks off the field.
Away from me.
And soon, out of my life.