Em yelled as loudly as she could—loud enough to get her brother’s attention. When he looked her way, she and Frida turned around to show him the back of their jerseys. Finn shook his head, but Em could see the ghost of a smile on his lips. He pretended to be embarrassed, but secretly loved the attention.
“On defense, number nine, Bastian Ramirez.”
The girls continued to clap and cheer as he brought out some kids from the youth league to midfield with him.
“Also on defense, number seventy-seven, Vinny Nelson.”
Em still clapped, though she knew her brother and “The Box” didn’t have a great relationship. He was still part of the team, and she was going to support him.
“At midfield, number seven, Grant Vaughn.”
He jogged onto the field in his green jersey. After stalking him online for the last week, she was surprised at how much more attractive he was in person. When he smiled up at the stands, her clapping hands stilled. When his eyes found hers, her breath caught in her chest.
As if he knew the effect he had on her, Grant’s smile grew wider.
She pressed her lips together tightly to keep from smiling back, but Grant’s gaze didn’t move from Em. Not when the announcer called Silas and Cardosa out onto the field, not when a local singer sang the National Anthem, and not when both Miriam and Frida elbowed her in the ribs from either side.
The only thing that pulled Grant’s attention from Em was the start of the game. He jerked his chin up at her just before he broke their eye contact and jogged over to his spot on the field.
Without him staring at her, Em felt like she could finally take a deep breath—though it was shaky as she released it.
“Oh, my goodness.” Frida leaned in close. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Em’s head jerked toward her best friend. “What do you mean?”
A sly grin touched Frida’s lips. “That’s not some silly little crush. You two were peering into each other’s souls.”
Em pushed Frida away from her. “Shut up.”
“She’s not wrong,” Miriam said.
Em closed her eyes and groaned. Great, did everyone have an opinion on what just happened? “It was just a look.”
“A meaningful one,” Frida said.
Miriam nodded. “An intense one.”
“A sensu—ow.” Frida rubbed her arm, the arm that Em had punched. “I was just going to say—”
“I know what you were going to say, and I didn’t come to watch the game tonight only to have you two team up against me.”
“No, you came to watch Grant.” Frida’s voice was sing-songy as she said the midfielder’s name.
Em’s cheeks burned, and she wanted to sink down into her seat and hide from them both. She also knew that she’d be adding fuel to the fire if she did, so she straightened her back and turned her attention to the field.
The players from both teams waited for the referee to blow his whistle and start the game. They bounced on their toes to keep their muscles warm. Finn was lifting his knees and arms to keep everything loose.
When the whistle sounded, there was a flurry of movement in front of her. The Orcas had possession and drove the ball down the field toward the Storm’s goal. Finn yelled at Vinny and Bastian to clear the ball out of there.
It was difficult to hear the words, even from her front-row seat, but his tone made it obvious that he wasn’t happy that the ball was so close to him so early in the game.
The striker for Washington’s team took a shot on goal. Finn jumped to the left to block the ball, barely getting up in time for the visiting team to take another shot. When the ball went flying at goal, Finn cleared it out to midfield.
The rest of the Storm players ran toward the other goal, and Cardosa got possession. He ran it upfield toward the Orca’s keeper. He took the shot. Blocked.
“I forgot how fun these games are,” Frida said. Her gaze was on the field, and she was leaning against the boards as the players ran by right in front of them.
So had Em before attending the previous week’s game. She hated that she’d missed so many this season, and had already promised her brother that she’d make every effort to come to the rest of the home games to watch him play.
If that meant she got to watch Grant at the same time, there was no harm in that, was there?
Em had always been able to appreciate the way the guys played—Silas’ shot record, Bastian’s ability to stop the other team’s forwards.
Now, she was impressed by Grant’s energy. As the midfielder, he easily moved between the offensive and defensive roles. He knew when to shift the way he played and wasn’t afraid of passing the ball to his teammates.
Em leaned against the boards as the players fought to get possession. Even though he didn’t have the ball, her gaze went back to Grant. To her surprise, he was looking back at her. Even more surprising, Em liked that he was looking at her.
Yeah, she might be in trouble when it came to that boy, but at least she was going to enjoy it.
Grant
Grant missed the ball that Silas passed to him.
He’d been too busy looking over at Em—who looked absolutely gorgeous in her Storm jersey—and hadn’t realized that the forward was kicking it back to him. A player from the other team got to the ball first and drove it down toward Finn.
Grant ran with the rest of the players behind the opposing team’s player, but they weren’t fast enough. When the forward took a shot, it went past Finn and into the net.
“Goal for Washington.” The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, though it lacked enthusiasm and fell flat. The Storm was now losing to the other team by one point.
Grant wanted to kick himself for not paying attention. He let his team down, and even though Finn was the one who let the ball slip past, they’d made it difficult for their keeper by not being there to help guard the goal.
A strong hand slapped his back. Grant turned his head to see Silas standing there with a frown on his face. “Get your head in the game.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
Silas’ eyes flicked to the box seats next to the home bench—the seats where Em sat. “I think I do. And listen, I get it. I’ve gotten distracted by a pretty girl in the stands, but there are a lot of reasons why you don’t want to go down that road.”
Grant didn’t ask Silas to elaborate. He knew the reasons he needed to keep his distance from Em. He’d been warned to keep away from Finn’s sister by Bastian, and to keep away from fans in general from Finn.
He was already mad at himself for missing the ball, and he didn’t want yet another lecture—not even from Silas, his mentor. It seemed like every guy on the team had an opinion about what Grant should and shouldn’t be doing. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was the rookie or if he had a sign on his back saying, “Please boss me around.”
Regardless, he was pissed. “Noted,” he said more gruffly than he intended before finding his spot on the field. The game was about to restart, and the ref had the ball in his hands at midfield.
When the whistle sounded, everyone started running around the field again. Grant was determined not to get distracted by Em or let his frustration with his teammates get in the way. He would play the best game he could, help the team win, and then he could think about everything else.
He followed the other players as they all moved upfield toward the other team’s goal. Vinny passed Grant the ball, and since he was paying attention this time, he got it. Grant started dribbling the ball down the field.
An opposing player came up beside him and started pushing against him. Grant tried to shield the ball but with the pressure from the other guy, he ended up in an awkward position. His foot landed wrong and his ankle rolled under him.
Sharp pain shot through his ankle followed by a tingling sensation. He fell to the ground and immediately turned on his side. Most of the sounds around him faded away as he curled in on himself. He vagu
ely heard someone yelling that they had a player down.
I’m that player. I’m injured.
Grant could barely think straight through the pain, but he still tried to recall if there was a popping sound when his ankle rolled. If there was, it would mean the ligament had torn completely. An injury like that would put him out for the rest of the season. Even a partial tear would put him out longer than he wanted.
A fresh wave of pain pulled a small groan from him. He’d never had an injury like this before. He was so angry. Would his teammates be upset that he couldn’t finish the game? Possibly the season?
Someone kneeled beside him, but Grant couldn’t open his eyes. It hurt too much.
“Tell me what hurts.” It was Mason, the team’s athletic trainer.
“Ankle,” he rasped.
“Can you turn on your back?”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. He twisted so that his back was against the turf and covered his eyes with his forearm.
“I’m going to touch your ankle, and it’s going to hurt.” Mason paused. “Ready?”
No, not really.
He nodded. When Mason moved his ankle, Grant bit his bottom lip to stop the cry that threatened to come out. The tangy taste of blood hit his lips as he tore through the tender skin, but any pain he might have felt in his mouth was eclipsed by what was going on with his foot.
“Stop,” Grant managed to say.
Mason pulled his hands from his foot. “Okay. Do you need a stretcher, or can you walk off the field yourself?”
“No stretcher, but I can’t do it by myself either.”
“Of course.”
He called Cardosa over to help as Grant shifted into a seated position. With a lot of help, Cardosa and Mason were able to get him up to his feet. Correction: foot. Grant bent his knee so his injured foot wouldn’t touch the ground as he hopped on the other using the two men as crutches.
The arena erupted in cheers and clapping. He knew that they were happy to see him get up and off the field without having to be carried, but this didn’t feel much better than that. He still needed help—and lots of it.
Once he was seated on the home bench, the game resumed. Not that Grant could focus on anything that was happening out there. Mason kept peppering him with questions and poking his ankle. Grant lifted his foot up on a chair and put ice on it.
“It’s already bruising and swelling, but I don’t think the ligament tore completely.”
Thank goodness. Grant let out a sigh of relief.
“But I’m afraid it might be a grade two sprain.”
He pressed his lips together forgetting how he’d cut the inside of his lip. He took a quick inhale at the sharp pain. “How long will I be out?”
Mason shrugged. “Depends. Maybe three to six weeks before you can play again.”
“No.” Grant’s heart sunk and he shook his head. “I can’t sit out for that long. It’s too much of the season.”
“The other option is to try to resume your normal activities now and make the tear worse. Maybe cause permanent damage. Want me to ask Coach what he thinks about that?”
Grant was surprised by his tone but, no matter how sarcastic the delivery, the message was clear. Grant needed to take his recovery seriously unless he wanted to stop playing soccer professionally sooner rather than later.
He rubbed his hands over his face and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Mason’s hand gripped the top of his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But you can be thankful it wasn’t worse. A full tear would be several months.”
Again, Mason was right, but that didn’t make any of this easier. There was no way Grant would get Rookie of the Year at this point. He’d most definitely lose his spot in the starting lineup. He was just a name on the roster—completely useless.
He tried not to focus on that as he sat toward the back of the team’s box while the game continued without him.
“Hey.”
Em’s voice pulled Grant from his pity-party. He looked from the field to where she stood, just on the other side of the board dividing their bench from fan seats. She gave him a small smile when his eyes met hers. Not only had he injured himself, but it was in front of the very girl he was trying to impress. “Hey.”
“I’m not going to insult you by asking if you’re okay.”
Grant chuckled. That was the most obvious segue into talking about what had happened, but he still liked that she wasn’t going to ask a question she already knew the answer to. “Thanks.”
There was a small stretch of silence before she asked, “Did Mason say how bad it is?”
Grant’s gaze went to his ankle where the ice pack still rested on it. “He thinks it’s a grade two sprain. If he’s right, I’ll be out for several weeks.”
“Oh, Grant. I’m so sorry.”
He slowly nodded his head. “Yeah. It sucks.”
“Want me to get you something? Since you can’t play, you could always eat a greasy piece of pizza from the concession stand and make the other players jealous.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Grant laughed again. He loved that Em was trying to cheer him up when the situation was as bleak as it was, but he shook his head. There was no way he’d be able to keep anything down right now. “Maybe I could take a raincheck? We could grab some another time.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Like a date?”
“Your words, not mine. Not that I would call second-rate pizza a date.” He shook his head. “What kind of guys do you let take you out?”
She looked away, and he wasn’t sure if she’d answer or not. “The kind that thinks that counts.”
He leaned over the best he could while having one of his legs propped up. “If you ever let me have the chance, I’d show you what it’s like to go out on a real date.”
She sighed. “Grant…I—”
Em didn’t get to finish her thought because the ball was kicked out of play and was flying right toward her. Grant didn’t think, he just reacted. He jumped up from his seat, letting his elevated leg fall as he leaned over the board and blocked the ball with his hands.
If he hadn’t, the ball would have hit her in the side of her head. Sure, players hit headers all the time, but they were ready for it and used their foreheads. Getting hit on the side of the face without warning? It would hurt much worse.
Em gasped. “That was going to hit me.”
The pain of moving his leg crashed over him, and he tried to keep his face neutral as he nodded. Grant didn’t want to let on how badly it hurt to get up.
Her hand flew to her chest. “And your foot. You should have just yelled at me.”
He shook his head. “And risked you turning your head and getting a broken nose or something? No way.”
“But you must be in so much pain.”
“It doesn’t feel great.” Grant eased back down onto his seat. “But it was worth it to make sure you weren’t hurt.”
Em’s mouth fell open, and she looked like she was about to say something, but she closed her lips.
“Oh my goodness, Em!” her friend Frida cried from her other side.
Em looked at Grant, obviously hesitating like she wasn’t sure if she should leave after he’d hurt himself.
“Go, let her fuss over you.” He lifted a corner of his mouth, but inside he was disappointed. He’d love to be the one fussing right now. “I’m sure Mason is going to have a lot to say after my stunt anyway.”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Thank you, Grant.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Emmeline
It was my pleasure.
Grant’s words echoed in Em’s mind as she hurried over to Frida and Miriam. As much as she wanted to stay with Grant, his adorable forwardness made it difficult to keep her walls up.
“Are you okay?” Frida’s hands flew to Em’s shoulders, her eyes wide. “That ball almost hit you in the head.”
Em nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Thank goodness Grant was so fast! He just jumped off that chair to save you,” Miriam said. The look of concern on her face matched Frida’s.
“Yeah,” Em said, her stomach in a tangle of knots.
“She might be in shock,” Frida said. “Let’s give her some space.”
Em wasn’t in shock, but she appreciated how Frida and Miriam both took a couple steps back.
“Do you need to sit down?” Miriam asked.
Em shook her head. She didn’t get hit. She was fine—just a little confused.
She replayed the incident in her mind. It was just a stray ball. If it had hit her in the face, it would have hurt, but it wouldn’t have been life-threatening. It definitely wouldn’t have hurt more than the damage Grant had done to himself in his attempt to protect her.
And yet, he had said it was his pleasure.
With those words, it felt bigger than just stopping the ball from hitting her. Em wasn’t sure if she was reading too much into it. Was she trying to find something that wasn’t really there? After all, they didn’t actually know each other outside of their Instagram flirtations. It wasn’t like they were dating or anything.
Em snuck a glance in Grant’s direction. His face contorted in pain as the athletic trainer manipulated his foot. Mason was speaking loud enough that Em could hear every word he said.
“What were you thinking?”
A muffled response from Grant.
“You need to stay off your foot until a doctor can take a look at it. And even then, you can’t just jump up because you want to catch the ball.”
Is that what Mason thought it was? Just an attempt for Grant to get to touch the ball even though he was injured—is that what everyone thought? It was possible they were all so focused on the game in front of them that they didn’t realize Grant was being a hero—everyone but Frida and Miriam, of course, who had both freaked out.
Grant looked over at Em. His features softened when his eyes met hers, and his lips curved into a small smile while Mason lectured him on the finer points of RICE—rest, ice, compression, and elevation.
Out of Play: A Sports Romance (Love in the Arena Book 2) Page 5