Page 11 of Unrivaled Love
"My flight is the day before." I tell him but thinking of the agenda for the week between now and then makes me feel like I’m walking in quicksand. Team events and appearances ease up but they don’t disappear completely. There are at least three more I’m aware of.
"Okay,” Mom heaves a sigh but she’s off the phone. “We'll see you then. Our flight leaves in a few hours so we're gonna head out." I give them sticky hugs before seeing them off.
I walk back towards the guys and Duncan is picking at his shirt collar to move some air around.
"My balls are melting down my leg." He says.
"Same." I sigh as I slyly adjust my sack to try and find a cooler sliver of fabric. It’s brutal out here but I’m glad I’m not the only one feeling the heat. Glad it isn’t only in my head.
Crosby steps over to us. "You guys going to Aces tonight?"
"Maybe." I tell him and am met with a questioning lift of an eyebrow.
“Maybe?” Cros challenges.
“Yeah, I’m not sure if I want to go.” The defensive tone in my voice isn’t helping my case. I just want to go home.
But the home I picture isn’t my condo.
My mind fills with images of hiking paths winding through tall trees. A lake that opens up out of nowhere between the slopes of a mountain. A large set of windows overlooking the scenery.
A bunk room in the basement filled with my siblings and the Hamiltons as we goof off and play stupid games.
And a mahogany ponytail swaying in front of me as I walk behind her through the woods.
Eyes the color of sunlight dappling through the summer leaves radiating affection back into mine.
It’s a dream, a fever dream maybe, but I know exactly where I need to go.
Chapter 4
Jo
Barnyard Kerfuffle
TheUSv.Venezuelaexhibition game kicked off the PSL July break but I’m not taking any time off. Salt Lake City FC holds informal practices and conditioning sessions and since I only had one goal, and one other solid opportunity, during the US match I am on the practice pitch today grinding it out.
I didn’t even bother putting on real clothes this morning. I dressed in my training jersey, drove in early, started with a few warm up laps, and went into drills right after. Footwork, ball handling, and walking myself through the set plays.
I feel good. Comfortable. The process of pushing myself to my personal limit and testing it further drives me.
But, my training would be more effective if a teammate was out here too. We could practice passes until they become seamless.
There isn’t any other way to do it. In practice, when you give it your all, your teammates learn the length of your stride, they learn your preference for trapping a pass before taking it on foot yourself. And you learn where to look for them, what angles they prefer.
There is still a lot I can do on my own. I can hone my dribbling, practice my pacing, pass off the rebound blocks, and take penalty kicks for hours to train my body to act like a machine.
My penalty shot is perfect with four strides back, a little hop, full run through, then I connect. The ball sails in a high arc until a few feet beforethe net when it falls dramatically. It finds the target hung across the net and I swear I can hear the swoosh echo through the empty practice field.
"Not bad." I turn to find Peyton walking slowly to join me.
She's in casual clothes, I notice the EPIC zig-zag logo across her shirt, and she stops about four feet from me and takes a seat on the grass.
"I had a coach once tell me bruised toes were a privilege." She says casually as she starts to put on her cleats.
I scoff a laugh. "Yeah, right. I don't think my pinky toe has been straight in the last twenty years."
Jesus have I been playing that long? I'm 28, so, fuck maybe even longer.
