“You gotta tell me later how you got back in,” she whispered into my ear.
I smacked her butt once more, but it was more because I was so amazed at how muscular it was than for any other reason. “Magic.”
Magic would be the best way to describe how the game went.
‘Complete and total annihilation’ would work too.
From the moment we stepped out on that field, I felt it in my veins and on my skin. I’d swear it was in the air. There were more people in the stands than there had ever been. Down the field was the New York team. We did some more last-minute stretching, Gardner called us for another quick pep talk, and we took the field.
Within the first five minutes, Grace scored a goal.
Three minutes later, with a wild header from one of the girls who hadn’t said a word to me in over a month, I threw myself in the air and scissor-kicked the crap out of the ball, feet well over my head. It was Harlow barreling toward me that told me the ball made it in the goal for a point. As soon as I was standing, she had her arms wrapped around my knees and she was holding me up, jumping up and down.
I was still in her arms when I spotted them in the first row. They were on their feet screaming, the white Corona cap had a seat center field with a familiar-looking man wearing a jersey with my number on it right next to him. Next to that jersey was another one of mine, smaller and in a different color. Kulti, my dad and mom.
That second rush filled my chest. I wasn’t sure how he’d done it—I definitely had no idea how he managed to score those seats, and part of me didn’t want to know. But they were there together. Three of the people I loved most in the world, and they were acting like they’d won a billion dollars. Without a doubt in my mind, I knew Marc and Simon were also there somewhere cheering me on.
In the second half, New York scored one goal right from the top.
A Piper scored a goal after that, bringing the score 3-1. By some insane miracle, I snuck up the corner of the field and accepted a pass from Genevieve. I didn’t even understand how the ball made it to me, but I nailed a kick as hard as I could. My anger was fueled by the shove and “slut” taunt Amber had given me a minute before. We were kicking ass, so she could call me a slut however much she wanted.
We finished the game with one more last-minute goal that had our fans out of their seats cheering like crazy. Sure the stadium wasn’t packed like the men’s games were, but it didn’t matter. The fans we had were beyond dedicated and that more than made up for it.
The next hour went by in a blur of hugs and congratulations, and Gardner prattling about both the good and the bad in those ninety-five minutes. I showered and got out of there as quickly as I could, not in the mood for anyone but those three people in the audience.
I walked outside following high-fives and butt pats to some of the players on my way out, there were camera crews and journalists prepared, lights bright, microphones ready.
“Sal!”
“Sal!”
Big Girl Socks, on.
“Hi,” I greeted them all with an anxious smile, taking a step back when four microphones were shoved in my face.
“Congratulations on your win, can you tell us how the Pipers managed to do it?”
I summed it up for them: teamwork, great defense and quick thinking.
There were more and more questions. What I thought about this and that.
And then… “Where was your assistant coach tonight?”
“I wasn’t told,” I replied.
“Are the rumors regarding an inappropriate relationship between the two of you affecting your game?” someone else asked.
I bristled on the inside but managed to smile. “I would be distracted if there was something for me to be distracted about, but my only focus this season, like every other season, has been winning. That’s all.”
“So you’re denying that there’s something going on with you and Kulti?”
I’m in love with him and he thinks he feels something for me, I thought to myself but instead said, “He’s my best friend and he’s my coach. That’s the only thing I’m confirming.”
All I got in return were blank faces from the people hoping for something more dramatic. If only they’d been around earlier when I’d received and given the sweetest little kisses in the world from the man in question.
“Thanks for coming,” I said and made my exit, hustling past the other family members and fans who were waiting by the press. I shook some hands, gave a few hugs and waved at people I recognized.
It was that damned Corona cap I spotted first, as far away from the media as possible; next to him were my parents, Marc and Simon. It was my dad who saw me approaching first. He came rushing toward me, his face glowing. Dad grabbed me in a big hug and said the words that he used every time I made him exceptionally proud.