Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
She wasn’t playing into his bullshit. She had nothing to lose.
“Cope is sick. You’ve seen the documentation. She’s not playing tonight.”
He took a step forward and Cope’s eyes grew wide, darting back and forth between them. She shook her head, the gesture so small only Marcee saw it. She knew she couldn’t go in.
“It’s two minutes. Her team needs her right now. She’ll be fine.”
As if he had any idea what Cope playing would mean for her health. He thought because he said something, it made it true. His privilege never ceased to amaze her.
Marcee gripped her clipboard, trying to see around the red threatening to take over.
“I said no and that’s final. I’m the coach here, at least for another two minutes, and I won’t put Cope into this game.
Her life is more important than winning—which we can do.
Cope is an incredible player, but these girls play and win as a team, even when one of them is on the sidelines. They can do this.”
If for nothing else, the look on Cope’s face was worth standing up to him. For the first time, she looked at Marcee with real respect.
Wilkes lost all pretense of civility, jabbing a finger at her. “Either you put her in or I’ll make sure you never get hired anywhere else, ever again.”
Marcee loved soccer, maybe more than anything. And she loved coaching, more than she ever thought possible. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t walk away from it to save a life.
“Giles!” she called out. Nicole ran over, eyes resting on Wilkes before waiting on her coach. Marcee passed her the clipboard. “Take over, Coach.”
Her mouth dropped open, but Nicole took the clipboard with a shaky hand.
“If this”—Marcee waved between Wilkes and the field—“is what first place means, I’m okay with second.”
“Think about this, Ackerman,” Wilkes warned.
She walked away, but not before saying one last thing.
“Don’t even think about putting Cope in. I’ll walk over to the press right now and let them know everything. I’ll make sure this entire state knows what you’re doing.”
She kept her back straight and shoulders high as she walked away, smiling reassuringly at the girls on the bench. It was the right thing to do, but damn, it hurt.
The tunnel heading to the locker rooms was empty, so she stopped inside, concealed in the shadows where she could watch the rest of the game. She let the tears fall as play resumed, minus Cope. When Marcee started the job, she never imagined an ending like this.
Pemberton was still down one to zero. Harper was the MVP of the game, making stops that would make a college team proud.
But they must score.
Pemberton’s left forward intercepted a sloppy pass and bolted down the field, dribbling into the kicking area parallel to the sideline before executing a flawless lift pass at the top of the penalty box, where her teammate waited.
“Shoot!” Marcee screamed, then clamped her hand over her mouth. Old habits die hard.
It happened in milliseconds, yet it felt like an eternity.
Alpha’s goalie dove for the ball, missing by centimeters as it skimmed the top of her gloves and crashed into the net.
She swore her heart stopped.
The girls rushed their teammate, leaping onto her back and jumping up and down, giddy with excitement. The air in the arena was electric, charged with energy and hopes and dreams.
The district championship game was going into overtime.
The referee directed everyone to their sides and explained the procedure for two five-minute overtime periods, although Marcee didn’t think the girls heard a word.
There was a haze of disbelief settling over everything and everyone.
It was the kind of game you loved to be at as a fan.
As a player, and coach, it was adrenaline overload.
Nicole had them in a huddle and her face was more animated than Marcee had ever seen.
She started crying again, overcome with pride at her friend and devastation that she wasn’t in the huddle.
Her assistant coach had to keep them roped in and focused on the task at hand.
Emotions would be running high, which could lead to sloppy mistakes.
“One, two, three—Pemberton!” The girls screamed, chest-bumping and bouncing up and down as a fresh surge of adrenaline took over.
There was only the roar of the crowd, wild with excitement and school spirit as both teams took the field.
Marcee wanted to look down the sidelines at Remy. She’d avoided it all night, too scared at how she’d feel, too scared it would shake her concentration. If she did, while already wrecked, she may never recover. Instead, she focused on midfield and her girls.
She knew from the moment his team got into position, something shifted. There was a predatory, calculated look in their eyes as they whispered amongst themselves. Whatever went down before was over and all that mattered was the win.
The first five minutes passed faster than any five minutes she’d ever experienced on a field.
Play was quick and loose, with a lot of questionable contact overlooked.
At the start of the second overtime period, Marcee’s back was drenched in sweat and her hands shook.
She leaned against the tunnel wall, bracing herself.
The girls exploded at the sound of the whistle. She didn’t know how Remy’s team had any speed left, but it was like they were fresh from the bench, and they blew past her team’s weary defense. Marcee wished she’d run them more. She wished they’d conditioned every day for hours, all for that moment.
Harper crouched, arms loose as she got ready for the shot, which was inevitable.
Marcee realized a second before it happened what they were doing, and she wanted to scream. They took aim at the uppermost corner of the left side of the net, forcing Harper to shift all her weight onto her right ankle to lunge—the same ankle she rolled earlier in the night.
It gave out, and she collapsed, the ball slamming into the net without a prayer of her ever getting it.
It was ruthless. Smart and ruthless.
Pemberton couldn’t recover after the goal. They tried, but every effort for the remaining minute or so was spent getting the ball back.
Harper leaned on her left leg as the final whistle blew, and when she crumpled to the ground, crying, Marcee’s heart broke for her. She’d carry the weight of the missed goal around with her for a long time.
The team went through the motions of shaking hands, but there was no life left in them.
As they trudged off the field, crying and holding one another up, Marcee walked away.
Headmaster Wilkes trailed behind Nicole, his face red and stormy.
She couldn’t be anywhere near their locker room.
It was what he hoped for, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of chewing her ass, especially in front of her girls.
They’d been through so much and she wouldn’t contribute to making their night worse by getting dragged off by security, even if a cheap shot to Wilkes’ weak jaw would be too satisfying.
Soccer had been her life since she was five. She lived and breathed the best sport the world had to offer, and she’d given it her all. Soccer taught her the toughest life lessons, but it also brought her immeasurable joy, giving her a home to go back to time and again.
Standing by the exit gate, she watched Remy leave the field, his face stoic as he listened to his team cheering as they made their way to the locker rooms. When he looked around, scanning the crowd and the waiting press at the edge of the field, a part of Marcee hoped he searched for her, even if it ultimately changed nothing.
The truth was, loving Remington Lockley was like nothing she’d ever known or thought she deserved—not after all the mistakes she’d made.
Everything Marcee had come to depend on was burned to ashes at her feet, and she knew the moment she walked away, she’d never be the same.