Kickin’ It

by Van Dyken, Rachel

“Alright, dear.” April walked past me and into the bathroom. I went in search of some orange juice. Within five minutes, April was escorting me back into the bathroom and doing her physical, checking each part of me and then pulling out a tourniquet. “I need to take some blood and then we’re all through!”

  “I hate needles,” I confessed.

  “Don’t we all?” She just laughed. “You sit on the stool right there, and I’ll tell you a Matt story about when he was little and refused to get a shot for pneumonia.”

  I sat immediately. “You knew him when he was little?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Of course, he’s my grandson.”

  “Wait, what?” I almost shot out of my chair except I was so sore I couldn’t move. “His grandmother, but you work for him?”

  “Private contractor. I retired from the hospital several years ago and make house calls in my free time. I like to travel, so it works for me.” She pulled out a needle and a few vials.

  I gulped.

  “He was ornery when he was young. He’s just angry now.” Her laugh was infectious and light as she put on gloves then grabbed a cotton ball and rubbed a spot on my inner elbow. “Once, when he was fifteen, he got sicker than a dog. I told him he needed a shot in his bum and he said he’d rather die, so I told him I would give him two Snickers if he got on his hands and knees and let me stick him.”

  I burst out laughing, despite the fear trickling down my spine. “You asked to stick him?” I could only imagine what Matt thought of that, and visions of a handsome teen too cocky for his own good entered my mind. I tried to focus on that, focus on that image of innocence. I would have had the same reaction as a teen. I didn’t have time to be sick because there was soccer and friends and all the things an angsty teen focuses on instead of the real world. Spring days filled with training and laughter, the smell of fresh-cut grass, and people cheering. And then, all of those things started to get mixed in with right and wrong, and crossing boundaries, lines. They were mixed in with tears and sweat and anger and shame.

  I swallowed the soccer ball of shame lodged in my throat, and tried to keep my expression happy and my mouth wide instead of lips tightly pressed together, ready to lash out at anything and anyone who looked at me wrong. It was so much easier being angry than being afraid, wasn’t it?

  “He was mortified.” April giggled. I hoped I didn’t look like I felt: faint and probably pale. “Mainly because I did it in front of his two friends.” She shrugged. “I figured I’d get him in the exam room one of two ways: embarrassment over his crazy grandma, or chocolate.”

  “Smart,” I managed to choke out.

  “He took the shot, and I gave him a sticker with a naked chicken on it that said I’ve been shot. I think he’s kept it to this day.” She grinned wide and then patted my leg. “Alright, now I’m going to stick you.” She followed that statement with a wink. “But I’m very gentle. Tell me about yourself.”

  “I love soccer.” I started with the truth so she wouldn’t see past the forced smile on my lips or the way I shook whenever I thought about all the memories linked to soccer, the ones that made me afraid. I hated fear more than I hated the shame that was chained to it like a heavy pile of bricks with all of my insecurities scribbled across them in angry black letters.

  “Obviously you love soccer.” The first prick of the needle had my body feeling ill as I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “He put me through a lot of training yesterday.”

  “Who? Your new coach?” How much blood did the woman need?

  “What? No.” I licked my dry lips. “I meant Matt.”

  Ten vials? Was she taking ten vials?

  I swayed a bit.

  “Oh,” was her answer. “I mean, that’s interesting. In all my years, I’ve never seen Matt coach one of his clients. He typically pays a trainer . . . something about not getting involved in the specifics.”

  My eyes shot open. “Really?” Why did that make my stomach drop? What was it about me? Or was he just that concerned I wasn’t going to make the cut?

  “Maybe he just has a vested interest in the pretty ones.” I knew she meant it as a compliment, but the compliment went right past my ears, stabbed me in the heart, and whispered one thing and one thing only.

  “That’s all you’ll ever be good for . . .”

  The cruel smile.

  The smell of peppermint and antiseptic.

  “All done!” she announced, placing a blue bandage on my arm. “You can go now, careful as you get up, and for your trouble . . .” She produced a red lollipop that made me nostalgic all over again.

  It was a disorienting feeling. Wishing for the past, hating my present, terrified of the future, holding a lollipop between my fingers like it was the only thing I could trust to be real.

  I tugged the wrapper off and stuck it in my mouth before I burst into tears, and she squeezed my hand and said, “It’s going to be okay.”

  I almost confessed it all.

  Almost.

  Nobody had gotten in.

  And yet a friendly doctor almost did it with a short talk and a sucker.

  Or maybe I was the sucker in this scenario.

  I made my way back into the living room and found Matt freshly showered and on his phone again. Surprise, surprise.

  “No! I said no! No parties and I don’t care whose birthday—” He growled. “Why do you do these things to me? Fine, fine, just nothing late, I know your schedule this week. At least now I can babysit you morons.” He hung up.

  Willow was stretched across the couch with a blanket over her legs, flipping through the channels on TV, and I was suddenly frozen as a shiver wracked my body.

  Matt narrowed his eyes on me, and the beauty of them terrified me. Was he friend or foe? Enemy or worse? “You look rough.”

  “Nice.” I snorted. “At least I got a sucker for good behavior. That’s much better than a lame sticker, hmm?”

  He glared. “Using my childhood against me gets you nowhere.”

  “Fine,” I bit out. “I think I’m just going to go lie down.”

  “Good idea.” His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m going to ask you again, Parker, is there anything I should know? As your agent? As the guy saving your ass this season? Anything at all that you haven’t told me?”

  My throat all but closed up as I shook my head slowly and whispered, “Nothing you need to know.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  “It’s all you’re going to get.” I turned on my heel and walked off, then shut the door quietly behind me, lay against it, and slid to the floor as tears dripped from my face.

  Chapter Eleven

  MATT

  Lately I’d been on edge without anything to alleviate the anxiety rippling through me.

  For starters my sister was currently flirting with Jagger over a bottle of Heineken, stars in her eyes, and wearing a short dress that I’m 99 percent sure was supposed to be a tank top—for a preteen.

  Problem number two was Jagger’s bad-boy reputation paired with his grandmother, who still managed to be headline news even after charges weren’t pressed against her.

  And then there was Parker.

  She hadn’t come out of her room since April’s visit.

  And normally I wouldn’t have minded, but it was loud, very loud in the house. Music pumped out of every Bose speaker I owned, drinks were flowing. All in all, it was a controlled party but a party nonetheless.

  I burned a hole through the wall several times with my stare just willing her to get up and make an appearance so I knew she was okay.

  Which also pissed me off because she wasn’t mine to check up on.

  And I was surrounded by pretty women on a daily basis.

  But none of them played soccer the way she did.

  With pure joy.

  With die-hard focus.

  One thing was for certain: after today, I at least knew she had extraordinary talent, so why the hell throw it away over a bad attitude
? Over an asshole coach?

  I took another draw of beer just as Slade Rodriguez walked up. “Heard you just moved into coaching?”

  Great, another client feeling the need to chime in with an interest in my job. I rolled my eyes. “Short notice, we have less than two weeks to get her into shape so I took on the job.”

  He saw right through my bullshit. His creepy golden-brown eyes narrowed in on me just as his wife flashed a wave our way. “Why don’t I believe you? I mean, under fourteen days? You’re Matt Kingston, couldn’t you just pick up the phone permanently attached to your hand and make a call?”

  I gulped. “Maybe.”

  “Beep. Wrong answer. The answer is ‘Well, of course, Slade, but I like watching her run in—’”

  “Client,” I choked out, taking another swig of beer. “Also my sister’s age, so . . . off-limits.”

  “Why’s that?” He crossed his arms.

  “Look, you met her, she needed my help, and if it wasn’t for your wife . . .” I smiled and waved at her. I loved her, but she had thrown me under the bus when she asked me to take on Parker as a client. “I wouldn’t be in this position.”

  My attention was suddenly stolen by a girl with auburn, honeyed locks wearing short white shorts, a black tank, and gray Converse making her way out of her bedroom and into the party, smiling.

  “Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, bro.” Slade patted me on the back. “And I’ll be here when you cry into your bottle of wine.”

  “I’m not as lame as you.” I laughed and then gulped back two more swigs. “Plus, she’s not my type.”

  He followed my gaze, seeing the same perfect tits, long muscular legs, and gorgeous hair with a makeup-free face and easy white smile as I did. “Riiight.”

  I rolled my eyes and went in search of another beer. In the kitchen I watched Jagger with murder in my eyes as he wrapped an arm around Willow and whispered something in her ear.

  “I think they’re hooking up,” came Parker’s amused voice.

  I turned slowly and pried the beer from her hands. “No drinking during training.”

  “Hey!” She put her hands on her hips while I took a long, searing sip and stupidly wondered if she’d already pressed her lips against the bottle. And as luck would have it, Slade chose that moment to wink at me from across the room.

  Was everyone against me?

  Parker scowled. “I can have one beer.”

  “Not with my training, Cheetah Girl. I bet you hurt everywhere . . .” I actually enjoyed the look of fury on her face as she tucked her hair behind her ears and stared me down.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but my muscles have muscles that are sore. You’re evil, and why are you even training me? April said you don’t train your clients.”

  Caught.

  I looked down and shrugged like it didn’t matter, like I couldn’t smell her perfume, like I wasn’t aching to feel her tan legs wrapped around me. God, I really was an asshole, wasn’t I?

  “I didn’t have time to get anyone else.” I forced a smile. “Besides, my usual trainer made the last guy cry and he was over three hundred pounds. I thought I’d give you a break.”

  “Bet you could make anyone cry,” she fired back.

  “Is that what you want?” I asked curiously. “For such crippling pain and soreness that you cry yourself to sleep?”

  She hissed out a breath. “I could take it.”

  “Bet you could,” I said, seriously watching her swollen mouth suck in a few shallow breaths as I cornered her against the pantry door. “But unless you do something to really piss me off, you won’t ever have to suffer like that.”

  “I piss you off by existing.”

  “Because you’re immature and spoiled,” I answered honestly. “Because you took an opportunity people would kill for and let your anger rule you.”

  “Wow.” She smiled brightly. It was insincere, and I hated it. “Must be nice to have all the answers, know everything. How’s that working out for you?”

  I spread my arms wide. “That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

  She bit down on her bottom lip, all traces of her smile gone. “Yeah. Totally obvious.”

  She reached past me for a bottle of water just as Willow approached. “You’re up!”

  “Yay.” Parker made a motion with her hands and popped open the water, droplets slid down her neck as she took a huge gulp. Two Sounders players behind her gawked like horny college students. I quelled them with a fierce glare. They held up their hands and looked away but not before glancing back one last time.

  Idiots.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket.

  Finally.

  I moved to the corner of the kitchen and answered. “April, what’s the verdict?”

  “Well, she’s healthy as a horse, that’s for sure.” I gripped the phone tighter.

  “Yeah, I figured that, what about everything else?”

  “Blood test checked out. She did have some higher levels of benzodiazepine in her urine.”

  Disappointment hit me in the chest, disappointment and anger. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive, but Matt, that doesn’t mean—”

  “Thanks, April.”

  I hung up the phone as red filled my line of vision.

  Did she think she could take advantage of me?

  My hospitality?

  My family?

  My time?

  My training?

  I stomped over to her. “We need to talk.”

  Parker gave me a funny look then smiled. “Okay, then talk.”

  “Not here.”

  “Matt—”

  I grabbed her by the wrist, causing her to spill water all over the kitchen floor. She stumbled behind me. “Let me go!”

  “Stop being so unreasonable!” I snapped.

  “Please, I can’t, please, just please . . .” The only thing that made me let her go was the fact that she sounded afraid, not angry or unreasonable, but afraid. I released her, chest heaving as I pressed her body against the wall.

  She squeezed her eyes shut like I was going to hit her.

  What the hell was going on?

  I backed up, tried to cool myself down, and then said through clenched teeth, “You lied to me.”

  Her eyes flashed open. “Excuse me?”

  “You. Lied.”

  “About what?” By the pale look on her face, I knew I was right. I knew she’d been hiding shit, but drugs? Really?

  “You. Tell. Me.” People were starting to stare. I could feel their eyes on my back as I held her in the corner, judging her, needing her to tell me it was a false positive, needing her to tell me she wasn’t just going to throw away her entire career for quick, happy, feel-good moments.

  She gulped. “I really don’t know.”

  “Stop fucking lying to me! If you can’t trust me, I can’t help you! Your drug test popped positive!”

  I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’d like to think it was disappointment raging, but it was more than that, it was being let down by someone I wanted to succeed, someone who gave me a reason to believe that everyone else was wrong and she was right. And I hated that I trusted and was wrong. I hated fucking being wrong.

  Her eyes widened. “That’s it?”

  “What the hell do you mean that’s it?” I threw my hands in the air. “You can’t just pop positive on a drug test and play professional ball!”

  “I’m on antianxiety meds, you jackass!” she snarled. “I’ve never popped positive on a drug test because I haven’t needed them until this last year! I didn’t even think about it, okay?”

  “What?” I backed up.

  Tears filled her eyes as the party fell tense and quiet.

  “I have anxiety.” A tear spilled over her cheek. “I take Xanax when the panic attacks get really bad, but as long as I train really hard I’m usually okay. Except lately . . .”

  “Lately I’ve been pushing you too hard?” I wondered out loud. �
��Lately . . . what? You have to communicate with me!”

  She started to walk away.

  Seriously? Who parented this woman!

  I followed her all the way into her bedroom, not caring who saw. It didn’t matter. She was a client, and I’d done worse with other clients. Hell, I used to follow Slade into the bathroom.

  “You can’t just walk away from me the way you do your problems!” I yelled, slamming the door behind us. “I’m the only person on your side right now. If you need pills, tell me why. If you need help, tell me you need it. If you need ice, you yell at me to get you fucking ice. You can’t just run, Parker. Not here. Not now.”

  She sat down on the bed, bowing her head, defeated. “Running’s the only way to escape . . . did you know that?”

  “Why the hell would you want to escape all of this?”

  “How old are you?”

  “What the—”

  “Just answer the question. I know it’s stupid, just answer.”

  “Thirty,” I breathed out and knelt in front of her. “What’s this all about? I know I’m tough on you, but if you think shit is hard now, try when you have a million cameras in your face, when you’re on a Wheaties box with an Olympic gold medal and you have little girls looking up to you wanting your autograph, when you have people saying they want to grow up and be just like you, that’s when shit gets hard. This, this is easy.”

  She was quiet, and then, “I’m afraid.”

  “It’s okay to be afraid.”

  “Not of fame.” She finally met my gaze. Her pretty brown eyes were filled with tears threatening to spill over, her hands were clutched together in her lap, and her jaw was clenched. “I don’t like dark rooms. They set me off. So does the smell of peppermint. And older guys looking at me like they want me to take my shirt off. Actually, these days any guy looking at me makes me panic. I just . . . I’m okay with the soccer stuff. But being touched, being stared at, cornered, anything that makes me feel unsafe . . . So yes I’ve been taking a lot of Xanax lately, to sleep. To keep me from dark places with hollow laughter, rough hands, and the smell of gum.”

  I ran my hands through my hair and then placed my hands on hers. “There’s more to this than I know?”

  She nodded.

  “Does Willow know?”