Chapter 14 #3
“And for the record?” I lean in slightly, and Rick takes another step back.
“Colten wasn’t forced to quit the academy.
He could’ve gone pro, but he just didn’t want to.
You probably wouldn’t understand, given that you were definitely forced to quit after all your parents' money didn’t buy you a spot in the MLS. ”
Silence.
It’s thick and heavy. I feel the weight of it, just as I feel the satisfaction of Rick’s face scrunched up in outrage.
Colten looks horrified, pale where Rick is bright red.
Rick stares at me for a long second, mouth opening and closing as if he wants to argue, before finally scoffing and walking away. As he leaves, I can hear him muttering under his breath about banning me from the club.
Whoopsies.
Colten whirls on me.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he snaps. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”
“He was being a dick,” I explain, holding my hands out in front of me as if that will contain his rage.
“He’s a scout!” Colten says, just barely keeping himself from yelling. “The scout! Do you know how much money his parents have donated? You just destroyed your chance with this club!”
He’s pacing now, already spiraling and muttering to himself, “Okay, okay, we can fix this. There are other teams that could work. We just need to relocate, maybe? Build new connections—”
Colten continues, and I can’t help but notice José, who’s a few yards away and in a somewhat similar position.
An older man—his coach? Dad?—is talking to him, voice low but with an edge to it that carries. José’s shoulders are hunched up as he nods along. Every few seconds, he apologizes for something.
He looks smaller every time he does it.
“You’re better than this,” the man says, no room for argument. “We’re not here to make friends, you’re here for your future.”
José nods again. He doesn’t argue. He just accepts it.
The future.
The words settle heavily in my throat.
Suddenly, I can see it all, like I did on that date with the girl who chewed with her mouth open.
Every future meet, every interview, every mistake. Colten will be there for all of it, slicking his hair back and taking out his earrings because it looks more professional, all while worrying himself sick about anything and everything I do.
Every conversation will be about performance, every game measured only by the score, and he’ll force himself to swallow any discomfort from assholes like Rick Ashton.
The realization hits so hard it almost steals my breath.
For the first time, I can see the exact future everyone wants for me, that I’ve worked so hard for.
And even though I know I’ll disappoint people, even though I know I’m practically spitting in the face of all the support I’ve gotten for years…
I don’t want it.
“Colten.”
He’s still talking, his mind working a hundred miles an hour on how to fix this.
“The East Coast has some decent programs,” he mutters. “If we ask Coach for references and apply to a university within the same network, maybe—”
“I don’t want to go pro.”
He stops, freezing right in the middle of his rant.
“What?” His stare is blank, looking at me as if he doesn’t know who I am.
I swallow, a bit nauseous as cold sweat breaks out over my back, yet I feel more sure of this than I have of anything else.
I hate myself for failing everyone who believed in me, but I know I’ll hate myself even more if I keep going.
This isn’t just senioritis. This isn’t just a few missed practices or dragging my feet because I’m tired.
Did I ever actually want to go pro, or was it just because it’s what everyone said I should do?
So I repeat, steadier this time, “I don’t want to go pro.”
He continues to stare at me, silently blinking, as if waiting for the worst punchline of his life.
“I don’t want it,” I tell him, squaring my shoulders as I let out a shaky breath. “Not anymore, honestly, probably not since the injury, when I focused on something other than soccer for once.
“At least, not enough to—” I gesture vaguely toward where Rick disappeared. “—Deal with that. Or…any of this.”
Colten’s face changes, twisting up with confusion and hurt, his eyes sharp as they drill into me, looking for any hint of a lie.
“Right,” he says quietly, his voice tight, hard. “Got it.”
It feels like he doesn’t, though. “Colten, I—”
“Don’t,” he snarls, glaring at me. I take a step back, unprepared for the amount of not just anger, but also hurt. His eyes are wet, and he blinks hard to keep tears from falling.
“I need a second,” he mutters, and then he’s turning, walking fast toward the locker rooms.
“Colten, wait!” I start after him, but I’m held back by a hand on my arm.
“Hey,” José says, glancing between Colten and me with concern. “They’re calling us back, we gotta go.”
I look at him, then at the field, at everything I’ve been working toward my whole life.
But Colten isn’t there.
So I pull my jersey off, knowing I’ve made the right decision.
“Show them what it means to be a wildcard,” I say, pressing the jersey to his chest.
He blinks, holding onto it. “What?”
I grin, softer this time. “When you go pro, I’ll buy your cards.”
And then I turn and run after Colten, leaving my old future behind.