Page 97 of Striking Heat
Later that night, I meet up with Nick outside the Blaze stadium, and we make our way into the game. August is standing in the box, eyes on the field. I walk over to him. I owe him an apology, and there’s no time like the present. He looks over at me like he knows why I came over while Nick hung back.
“I’m sorry I fucked things up,” I say. “I’m not sorry that I’m with her. I’ll never be sorry for that. But I betrayed you and you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”
August holds his hand out and I take it, shaking it. “Thanks, man. It’s all good. Dad is a little worried about the fallout with the media when people finally see the two of you together, but I’m not. I wish it wouldn’t have gone down like this, but it is what it is, right? Can’t change the past or unscramble the eggs. We just gotta make sure we make some good eggs or some shit like that.”
I laugh at his attempt at a metaphor. “Yeah, something like that.” I pat him on the back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But I hope you know that you have a real spitfire of a girl there. She wreaked some real havoc in Dad’s office. He called her ballsy when she left.”
I grin, thinking of her. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”
“How did things go with your editor? Was Martin pissed?”
I shake my head. “I think he was happy he got to fire me,” I admit. “He never really liked me, and this gave him the ammunition to do what he’s been wanting to do for so long.”
“Prick,” August replies, shaking his head.
“Can you blame him, though? I mean, I did put my integrity into question. He had to do it. Didn’t stop the fucker from smiling the whole time.”
“Still, he’s a prick,” August replies. The fucker is enjoying this way too much.
“We cool, man?” I ask him.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good,” I tell him, giving him a fist bump. I know some people think he’s a spoiled rich kid, but I see him differently than that. I know what it’s like to have expectations because of who your father is. And poor August is trying to work in the same industry as his dad. That can’t be easy.
The game gets underway and it’s a rough one. The girls are having trouble getting anything going. But thankfully, the defense is on fire. They’re keeping the Pride from scoring. Mac keeps running hard at the ball, trying to get a foot on it so that she can try to score a goal, but it’s not working. She’s getting pushed around quite a bit. She keeps on shaking her head, and she’s running her mouth to the other team. Every once in a while, she appears on the large screen, and I can see the anger all over her face. She’s working hard—too hard, for not having scored yet.
“Why are we scrimmaging in season? It doesn’t seem like a good idea,” I say to August.
He sighs and shakes his head. “Dad and their owner got to talking and thought it would be a good idea. It doesn’t count foranything. If someone gets hurt, it’ll be bad for either team’s season, but apparently this is a good idea.”
I’m not sure I agree with Maxwell Cromwell’s decision, and it sounds like August doesn’t either. So at least my confusion on this game isn’t just my own. I’m surprised the girls were so willing to do it, but I guess they don’t have much choice.
Mac is fighting hard to get through the Pride defense, and I wonder if they’re being so hard on them because they are the “other Florida team,” as some members of the media have called them. She finally gets tired of it and gives the girls a good shove after the play has stopped.
The stadium, which is mostly Pride fans, goes nuts. They’re calling for her to get a card. She’s just shaking her head and is bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. The ref walks over to her and talks to her. She’s just shaking her head, and then he goes into his pocket.
“Fuck, he’s carding her,” I hear August say.
“No,” I murmur. Mac has been hustling her ass off. I hate to see it end in a card.
And he pulls out a red. The stadium erupts, and so does the Blaze’s bench. The team is going nuts on the field too. Coach Watts throws the clipboard down and starts walking onto the field. Andie is doing her best to hold him back, but it’s not working. Thankfully, Jase goes over and is able to help keep him back.
Mac is just standing there dumbfounded, shaking her head.
The ref starts to speak. “Since this is a scrimmage, this is a soft red. Meaning the player must leave the field, but it will not impact her for future games.”
Mac’s face is shown on the jumbotron, and you can see the defeat in her blue eyes. Her shoulders are slumped as she makes her way over to the bench to join her team. One of the managers hands her a towel, and it immediately goes over her head, hiding her face from all the prying eyes looking her way.
I want to rush onto the field and pull her into my arms. Take care of her and tell her that it’s alright, but I can’t.
“That’s the best outcome we could have hoped for from that play,” August says, shaking his head. “She was going to get a card. She kept doing it over and over again. The fans were clamoring for it, and for whatever reason, these refs are playing into it. But at least it’s a soft red.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I’m guessing it doesn’t mean she won’t beat herself up any less because of it, though.”
August shoots me a sympathetic look. “Probably not, but at least that means she’ll get to play in our next game.” Otherwise, that card could have meant that she would be out for a game or two.”
