by Melody Anne
“I don’t know, man. How do I simultaneously get revenge on a woman and win her back at the same time?”
“Don’t ask me; I’m just a goalie.”
“Now put on your goddamn proper jerseys and let’s go out there and play like we mean it!” Coach screamed, waving them out of the locker room with giant swoops of his arm. Gabe’s teammates jumped to their feet, hollering and clapping.
He needed just a little more luck to get him through the rest of the game. Risking the Coach’s wrath, he ran back to his locker and reached into the pocket of his jacket for his rabbit’s foot.
It wasn’t there. In its place, he found a handwritten note on a yellow Post-it:
Let’s see how you do without your good luck charm.
Smooches,
Lainey
20
Soccer’s a physical game, but that’s not the hard part. The hard part is waking up every single day mentally prepared to leave your guts and your heart on the field.
—Gabe Havelak, quoted in the Seattle Times
GABE SHOULD HAVE BEEN excited for today’s battle. This was the one event he was certain his team could win, seeing as beer and prattling off useless sports trivia was at the core of every one of their male-bonding sessions. All he had to do was keep his cool and smile for the camera, and his side would earn fifteen more points. But he didn’t want to be Lainey’s opponent right now. He wanted to drag her off to someplace private and force her to listen to his apology for what his mama had said at the party, then make love to her for hours.
The Channel 7 producers insisted on hosting the competition at Chester Stadium to ramp up the tension, like some gladiator-style death match. Each team was shepherded to separate locker rooms for their hair and makeup, so he hadn’t even seen Lainey yet today. He waved away the makeup artist running around the room with a giant, fluffy powder puff. He already looked like a haggard old man with a five o’clock shadow and bloodshot eyes. A little forehead shine was the least of his worries.
“You do know this is going to be televised, right?” Joe said, leaning back into his chair with his eyes shut while a stylist massaged some kind of oil into his scalp.
“And yet, they’re letting your ugly mug in front of the camera,” Gabe shot back.
Joe smiled, sinking lower into his chair while the stylist rubbed his temples. “I think the term you’re looking for is ‘ruggedly handsome.’ ”
“Sorry, dude. ‘Handsome’ is not a synonym for one too many elbows to the face.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m here for my brains.”
“I hope to god that’s true, because I’m not in the mood to lose.”
A few minutes later, they were ushered to the field, where a bright blue temporary stage with game show–style podiums was erected in front of one of the nets. A small crowd of fans was gathered in the lower bowl of the stadium, cheering as Gabe took his spot next to Joe and Aiden. As soon as they were in place, Grace Mallery announced the Falcons’ entrance to the stage into her rhinestone-encrusted microphone.
It was strange that his first reaction was excitement when the crowds cheered even louder for Lainey than they did for him. Even though she wanted nothing to do with him and had stolen his most beloved lucky charm, he couldn’t help but be sucked in by her radiant smile as she waved to the fans.
She didn’t glance his way once.
“Remember,” Joe whispered while one of the producers scurried around, clipping microphones to their shirts, “they’re our opponents. No mercy.”
“Except, I’ve never wanted to sleep with any of our opponents before,” Aiden chimed in.
Gabe leveled a hard stare at his teammate. “Who are you talking about?”
Aiden laughed. “I’m talking about you, lover boy. I’m engaged, remember?”
He tried to relax his tight shoulders, but he couldn’t get his muscles to unclench. His body ached for her. Even his fingertips tingled with the phantom feel of Lainey’s skin. Having to see her without getting to touch her or talk to her was torture.
“Welcome to the next challenge in the Battle of the Sexes!” Grace called out from the center of the stage. “It’s time for our favorite soccer players to prove they really are geniuses on the field, with our Soccer Jeopardy Contest. The rules are simple. There are six cones lined up inside the net, each marked with a set number of points between one hundred and a thousand. All you need to do is knock over the cone with the number of points you want to play for and answer the question correctly. If you give me the wrong answer, your team will lose the points. Ready? Okay. Good luck, players.”
His resolve crumbled, and he snuck a quick glance at Lainey. Her eyes met his briefly, mouth parting softly like a sign of guilt over his rabbit’s foot. In an instant, her steely expression snapped back into place. It wasn’t until Joe prodded his back that he realized Grace had called on him for the first question. He slapped a smile on his face, because it was easier to let his well-honed media instincts take over and set his brain to autopilot. Anything else took up too much energy.
He blew a few kisses toward the crowd and stepped into the slick white-and-blue soccer ball set at the penalty spot in front of the net, soaking up the cheers like oxygen in his lungs. He casually shot the ball toward the cone worth two hundred points. He wanted to start higher and send an early message to the Falcons that he was here to win, but he also knew that he needed to start low and ratchet up the tension to make for good television.
“Okay, first question in the World Cup trivia round. What was the first country to host and win the World Cup?”
So simple, he didn’t need to look to his teammates for reassurance. “Uruguay. 1930.”
“Correct! Two hundred points awarded to the Surge.”
Lainey stepped up to the ball next. Despite wearing ballet flats, she blasted the ball so hard it nearly tore a hole in the netting.
“Looks like the Falcons are ready to gamble tonight!” Grace chirped. “For one thousand points, how many countries withdrew from the 1950 World Cup after initially qualifying? Oh, and you have to name them.”
Joe let out a low whistle.
Gabe’s chest tightened uncomfortably as a look of panic seeped into Lainey’s face. But then he remembered that she didn’t want him feeling sorry for her. She didn’t want him feeling anything for her at all.
She looked at her teammates with wide, pleading eyes.
“Three! Turkey, Scotland, and India,” Alyssa shouted.
“O-oh,” Grace stuttered. “That is indeed correct.”
Lainey pumped a fist into the air before bounding back to the podium to wrap Alyssa in a giant hug.
It turned out that wasn’t the only obscure soccer fact Alyssa had banging around in her brain. The cheery midfielder was an entire encyclopedia of stats and trivia about every league, every stadium, and every player around the world, which meant by the end of the second round, the Falcons were ahead with 5,000 points, almost doubling the Surge’s total of 2,600.
“Time for the final round! The Falcons are far ahead, but there is still a chance for the Surge to double their points and take the lead. Each team must choose only one player to answer the final question and can gamble as many points as they would like. The theme for the final round is: How well do you know your opponents? Each team will have to correctly answer one trivia question about their competitors to earn their points. Ready to place your bets?”
Alyssa stepped up to the front of the podium. “We’ll gamble one thousand points.”
No surprise there. Just enough to secure their lead. Equally unsurprising was Aiden and Joe urging Gabe to take on the final question. He looked Lainey straight in the eye. “We’re putting everything on the line,” he said, not caring that anyone watching would understand the thinly veiled subtext.
“Okay. Ladies first. Alyssa, what club did Zazu play for when he was traded to the Surge in 2010?”
Alyssa sucked in a breath, hesitating.
�
�Stumped?” Grace asked.
“I . . . I don’t know.” Alyssa turned back to her teammates. “I’m sorry. He was technically playing for FC Porto, and I know he was on loan to one of the teams in the Bundesliga, but he never actually played any games because of a torn hamstring. I just don’t remember which one.”
“Take a guess,” Grace said.
“Stuttgart?”
Grace glanced down at the bright blue index cards in her hand and frowned. Hope swelled in Gabe’s chest, knowing Alyssa’s first wrong answer had just put his team in a position to win. “The answer is FC Köln. Too bad. Now, Gabe, if you get this question right, the Surge will sweep the challenge. Are you ready?”
He nodded.
“How many hat tricks has Lainey Lukas scored while playing for the US national team?”
The entire stadium seemed to spin around him as his focus zeroed in on Lainey, heartbeat thudding against his chest. But there was no reason for him to be nervous. He knew this. “Lainey Lukas is one of the most impressive players in this country’s history, with nine hat tricks at the international level.”
The crowd went eerily silent. He searched Lainey’s face for a reaction. Despite the tight line of her mouth, her eyes softened like she was finally seeing through the bullshit of these last few days. Seeing him again.
“That is . . .” Grace said dramatically, “incorrect!”
“What?” Gabe shouted.
“No, he’s right,” Lainey said.
Grace shrugged her shoulders. “The card says eight, and the card is never wrong.”
“But—” Lainey’s protest was cut short by the celebratory theme music blasting through the stadium sound system.
Gabe stood frozen with shock watching Jaime and Alyssa hug an equally staggered Lainey.
“I can’t believe we just lost,” Aiden said.
Gabe nodded, but the loss wasn’t what made his stomach feel like it was being crushed by an invisible weight. It was not knowing if he’d gotten through to Lainey at all. This was the first time he’d seen her since the party, and he couldn’t pass up the chance to explain himself. He strode across the stage toward her.
“Congratulations, ladies,” he said, voice rough and low. Jaime and Alyssa immediately released her from their grip and backed off slowly. “Lainey—”
She shook her head. “Not now.”
“When?”
“Later.” She spun around and jogged offstage. He took after her down the stadium tunnel and didn’t catch up to her until she was steps from the exit.
“I won’t let you walk away from us, Lainey. We’re too good together.”
She froze with her hand on the glass door. He was close enough to touch her, and the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss away her defenses was overwhelming, but he knew he needed to let her come to him first.
Her body stiffened and she let out a shaky breath. For a moment, he thought she’d turn around. But she didn’t. She pushed the door open and walked out without another word.
TWO DAYS AFTER THE trivia contest, Gabe answered the knock at his door in ratty sweats and with three-day-old stubble on his chin, not caring if it was a reporter prepared to hound him about the disastrous turn of events in the Battle of the Sexes.
“Dad?” he said, startled when the face registered.
His father lifted a six-pack of Coors Light and proceeded toward the loungers in front of his flat-screen. They were seventeen minutes into the third Premier League match of the day, and already Chelsea was up 2–0 over Liverpool. Gabe and his dad settled into their seats in stoic silence. It wasn’t unusual for his dad to show up unannounced to catch a game whenever his mama decided it was time to polish the silver. After the first half, though, Gabe realized his dad wasn’t here to escape his mama’s quirks. His dad’s thick mustache twitched erratically, his telltale sign of wanting to say something. It took another ten minutes before Gabe finally heard what it was.
“Son, some things come easy in life. They flow toward you. Like beer.” His dad took a swig, as if to prove his point. “Nice and smooth. Other things . . . they come at you like a flying rock. Hard, fast, difficult to catch.”
Growing up, these cryptic analogies were ever present whenever Gabe and Tessa needed to learn a life lesson. Most of the time they made no sense, but once in a while there were a few accessible glimmers of their dad’s brilliance. Not yet knowing where this was going, Gabe tilted back his bottle and let the amber liquid flow. “I’ll gladly choose the beer every time.”
“Yes. You always do.”
“What?” Gabe said. Before he knew it, his dad had leaned over and dumped a glug of pale ale over Gabe’s left hand, leaving a sticky mess. He contemplated wiping himself off with one of the dish towels in the kitchen but decided it was futile. He’d just lost his woman, his good luck charm, and his lead in the competition and spent the last two days in the same clothes. A little beer stain would only add to the overall ambience of depressed, heartbroken loser he was cultivating.
“Beer flows away from you as easily as it comes, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. A rock, though, is rough and very difficult to catch when thrown your way,” his dad continued while staring intently at the TV, oblivious to the absurdity of each word coming out of his mouth. “But if you do catch one, you either use the rough edges as a grip to hold on tight, or you let it drop because it hurts too much.”
Gabe paused for a few beats, trying to decipher his dad’s coded message. “Are you saying my girlfriend is a rock?”
His dad grumbled something in Czech.
“Are you saying she’s not a rock?”
“I’m saying she is not your girlfriend, is she? When things got difficult, you chose the easy path. You let her go without much of a fight. You are a good man, son. You make me and your mother very proud. But you have had much come to you easily. Money, fame, soccer. The hard things, though, they are important, too. Eventually, you will have to learn that you can’t have everything you want in life.”
“We’re talking about my career and the woman I love.”
“What else?”
“Huh?”
His dad shrugged. “You like many things. How will you keep them all? At some point you run out of hands to hold on to all the things you want to keep.”
“I don’t want to have to choose.”
“So don’t. Fight for it all, son.”
“Now you’re saying I can have it all?” He pressed the cold butt of his beer bottle against his temple to ward off a headache.
“No, you can’t. I’m saying you have to try to have as many wonderful things in life as possible. That is what your mother and I always wanted for you. But at some point you will be forced to make a sacrifice for something you love.”
He sighed. “I don’t want to.”
“And that is why you are sitting around in wet pants instead of talking to your girlfriend.”
“How am I supposed to fix this? Lainey won’t even speak to me, and even if I apologize, there’s still the fact she stole my rabbit’s foot. She’s the reason I’m going to be stuck practicing on Cricket Field. She was right. It’s not meant to be between us. Don’t you understand? I know you and Ma are happy, but isn’t there any little part of you that regrets not having a soccer career?”
“Did I ever tell you the truth about how your mother and I fell in love?”
“Yeah, yeah. You fell in love because of the spell. And when you found out about it, you decided nothing mattered more than love.”
“We both know that’s not the truth,” his dad said, picking at the label on his bottle.
“What do you mean?” The story of his parents’ relationship had been an immutable truth in their family legacy. Even if he and Tessa had their doubts, his parents had never wavered from the tale.
“I was in love with your mother long before Irina ever cast that spell. I remembered her from junior high. She was a few years younger than me, but she had the prettiest long blond hai
r I’d ever seen. I never had the guts to talk to her until I was a soccer star, but by then I had moved away. The spell, well, it did not change how I felt about her, and the hex did not, either.”
Gabe picked at the edge of the label curling from the condensation. “Does Ma know this?”
His dad shook his head, with a sly smile. “Do you think in thirty-five years of marriage that woman has ever let me get a contrary word in?”
Gabe settled back into his seat, fixing his eyes on the television while he gathered his thoughts. A part of him always knew the superstitions were nonsense, and that they gained their power by the strength of the belief poured into them. But Gabe had also spent the entire thirty-four years of his life steeped in these bizarre beliefs. Letting go was harder than it sounded.
“By the way, your mother has already phoned your girlfriend to apologize. She knows she was wrong. Your mother, she is an impulsive woman but a good one. A rock.”
Gabe leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his short, messy hair. “Shit. What am I supposed to do now?”
“You start by helping your family accomplish an important task.”
“What’s that?”
Though it was a rare sight, in moments like this there was no denying that Gabe got his mischievous grin from his dad.
“NO!” GABE BELLOWED WITH as much intimidation and force as he’d ever tried to muster in his entire life. “Something else. Anything but that.”
Tessa put her hands on her hips and groaned. She turned around to inspect herself in the long mirror. “It’s not that bad.”
Oh, it was that bad. The dress she had on was black and short and way too adult for a fourteen-year-old girl. It made her look almost ten years older. “What about something pink and frilly? Something more fun?” Something more innocent.
“You sound like Mom and Dad!” With a pout on her face, she stomped back into the dressing room.
His parents were on the extreme overprotective side—as in turtlenecks and long sleeves to a dance. Maybe even a snowsuit, though at least they recognized this flaw within themselves. That was why Gabe’s dad had asked him to take Tessa prom-dress shopping. Yet, as he watched his sister parade around the Macy’s fitting room in a series of elegant dresses meant for women in their twenties and thirties, he was beginning to appreciate his parents’ wisdom.