Page 143 of The Defender
“Call me when you land,” he murmured.
I nodded, my voice breaking. “I will.”
Then the attendant was hurrying me along, and I had to walk straight to the plane without looking back because I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I looked back, I would never leave.
VINCENT
Two weeks later
“DuBois! What the hell are you doing?” Coach yelled. “You’re all over the place. Get it together!”
It was the third time he’d yelled at me during today’s training.
“Sorry, Boss.” I shook my head and tried to focus, but everything felt like static in my brain.
We had a knockout match against Berlin tomorrow, so a win was crucial if we wanted to make it through to the next stage. Unfortunately, my concentration was shot, and the rest of training was a disaster. I missed two easy passes, mistimed my runs, and nearly collided with Asher during a corner drill. By the time it ended, Coach was apoplectic, and the team was silent.
I saw the other players exchange glances as we filed into the changing room, but no one was brave enough to say anything. Even Asher maintained his distance, though he kept throwing worried looks in my direction.
I headed straight for my locker, my jaw tight, but my steps faltered when I closed in on the bench.
That was where Brooklyn and I had sat during her last day at Blackcastle.
I’ll be back Tuesday. It’s not like I’ll be gone for a year.
Four days without you is a long time, buttercup.
Getting needy already, DuBois?
I always need you.
My heart twisted. I’d give up my left arm to go back to a time when a few days of separation was all we had to get through.
Brooklyn left two weeks ago, yet I saw her everywhere—on the pitch, in the canteen, behind my closed eyelids when I went to sleep at night. I smelled her perfume on my pillows and heard her voice calling my name when I walked through a crowd. Her presence haunted me, and even though she was only a call away, I felt every inch of the four thousand miles separating us.
I finished showering and getting dressed in record time, but Coach stopped me before I could leave.
“Let’s talk,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion.
I followed him to his office, too numb to argue or even worry about the tongue-lashing I was sure to receive after my fuckups today.
He waited until the door was closed before he spoke. “I miss her too.”
My gaze flew to his. That was the last thing I’d expected him to say. “What?”
“Brooklyn,” he clarified. “I assume she’s the reason you looked like shit at training today.”
I grimaced. “Was it that obvious?”
“Only to everyone and their dog.” Coach leaned back in his chair. “So, let’s hear it. What’s on your mind, besides the fact she’s in Chicago and you’re stuck here, living in a hotel with that gloomy new bodyguard of yours?”
“That’s it,” I admitted. Coach didn’t tolerate players who brought their personal problems onto the pitch, but Brooklyn was his daughter. Maybe he’d understand. “There’s nothing else. I’m the one who encouraged her to go, and I’m glad she’s safe, but I just…miss her. It’s fucking with my head. I know I need to shape up for tomorrow’s match, and I will. Today was just a bad day.”
The intruder hadn’t reared their ugly head again, but if and when they did, at least they couldn’t get to Brooklyn.
Now all I had to do was get my shit together, as Coach would say.
He sighed. I’d anticipated more yelling, but he sounded surprisingly sympathetic. “That’s normal. I expected you to feel that way, or we’d have a problem. I can’t tell you how to handle a long-distance relationship, but as your coach, I can tell you that you can’t let that shit affect your focus. If Brooklyn knows she’s the reason you’re messing up on the pitch, do you think she’d stay in Chicago? She’d be on the first flight back.”
