Scorched Turf

by Lilah Grey

  But now that he was here, the truth was going to come out.

  “Did you see that jawline? Those arms? How in the world am I supposed to concentrate on soccer when—” Chloe knit her brow. “You okay, Cori?”

  No. The perfect season I’d envisioned had just gone up in flames before it had started. I’d worked so hard…

  I sighed as I slid my socks off. “I’m fine.”

  “Not a fan of James?”

  “It’s not that…” Well, it was going to come out anyway. “James is—” I bit down on my lip. “He’s my… stepbrother.”

  Chloe sucked in a deep breath and then began coughing and sputtering as her hands shot to her throat.

  “Gum,” she rasped, her eyes beginning to bulge. After a few hard slaps to her back, she coughed it up, and a few moments later, she regained her breath.

  She looked at me, eyes watering as a wide grin formed on her flushed face. “Oh. My. God.” Her voice was low and raspy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I slouched against the locker, covering my face with my hands. “Just listen to everyone.” I motioned around me. “Why would I—”

  The door to the locker room slammed shut behind Coach Kay. She stood in the middle of the room, her clipboard clutched to her chest as her green eyes scanned the room. Slowly, the chatter began to die as everyone’s attention turned away from James and onto Coach Kay.

  She smiled, checked her clipboard, and said, “Before you all leave, I wanted to make a few announcements. We will be having our preseason player meetings next practice. Coach Calder will be joining me, so he can get a feel for your strengths and weaknesses and how to better assist you during the season.”

  “I know one way he could assist me,” someone whispered behind me.

  Dear Lord. What had gotten into everyone?

  Another person burst into a fit of laughter, but stopped once she noticed Coach Kay staring daggers at her. Although Coach Kay was mild-mannered in demeanor and petite in stature, she had a repertoire of terrifying glances. Each one could express, in varying degrees, her disapproval or anger more succinctly than any amount of yelling. This was one of those looks, and I was glad someone else was on the receiving end.

  Once the room became silent again, her face relaxed. “I know you’re all excited about having James Calder join us. But…” She paused, raising a finger as though to make a point. “And there is a big but here.”

  She couldn’t have picked a worse moment to pause. Or word. I peered at Chloe from the corner of my eye. She was rocking back and forth on her hands, her mouth clamped shut. It was clear what was on her mind and everyone else’s…

  Was this going to be my entire season? Just put me out of my misery now.

  “But,” Coach Kay said after a few moments; I groaned. “I want to remind you that James is just as much a part of the coaching staff as I am. And you will treat him as such. He’s not your friend. He’s your coach. And any breach of that relationship will be dealt with accordingly. Have I made myself clear?” Coach Kay lowered her chin and eyed us all with another one of her looks.

  There was a mixture of yes’s and nods, and then a hand shot up across the room.

  “Yes, Abby?”

  “Is James not playing for the Stars this season?”

  “James is still a full-time player for the Stars.”

  “Then how is he going to be able to coach us and play at the same time? Why is he volunteering?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. It’s strange that a professional player, especially one of James’s calibre and reputation, would willingly volunteer his time. Soccer consumed nearly every waking hour of my day once the season was in full swing. Add school into the mix and there was very little free time for me to do much of anything. If I didn’t have any time to spare, then James certainly didn’t either. Something was off, but Coach Kay did little to shed light on it.

  She smiled and rapped her knuckles against her clipboard. “Let’s not get bogged down by the details. All that matters is that he’s here to help, and we should be grateful for that.” She let her arms fall to her sides. “Now. Let’s bring it in and start the season off right!”

  She held out her hand toward us, and we all instinctively rose to join her.

  “Go Hawks on three: One, two, three, goooo Hawks!”

  Everyone clapped and cheered and descended into their own conversations. Coach Kay reminded us one last time about the preseason meetings, and then she left.

  I turned to Chloe. “What was that all about?”

  She shrugged, shoved her cleats into her bag, and then zipped it up. “No idea. But it’s definitely odd that she didn’t want to get into any details about James.”

  I couldn’t help but feel the same way, but I didn’t have the energy to think about it. I wanted to go home, get out of these disgusting clothes, and go to bed. If I were lucky, I’d wake up tomorrow and find out this was all a dream.

  But my gut told me that wasn’t going to happen.

  7

  James

  Jack: How’s the toe feeling, J?

  I stared at the text, blinking a few times. Am I missing something here? I slid the phone into my pocket and then hopped out of my car. It chirped as I locked it and began my slow stroll toward the field. It was my first full practice with the Hawks, and I had no idea what to expect.

  Most of the girls were on the field, kicking soccer balls around, stretching, talking—the usual pre-practice warmups. I looked for Corinne, and after a few moments of searching, I spotted her. She was on the opposite end of the field away from most of the team, practicing her shooting with one of the goalkeepers.

  Even from this distance, I could see that she had a fair amount of power and bend to her shot. In the few minutes I watched her, she hadn’t missed a single shot. Impressive.

  My phone was beginning to burn a hole in my pocket. What was Jack talking about? I pulled it out and typed my response. A few minutes later, he responded with a single link: a press release from the New York Stars.

  NEW YORK — During preseason training, James Calder sustained an injury to one of his toes. He is being treated for the injury but is not expected to return to play for at least three months.

  “It is unfortunate,” Harvey Waters, New York Stars General Manager, commented, “but we can’t take any risks. James is an integral part of our team, but we want to ensure that he’s fully recovered before returning to play.”

  What the fuck was Harvey playing at? Why did he feel the need to make up some bullshit excuse for why I wasn’t playing? My sponsors wouldn’t care. Neither would anyone else. Players get suspended all the time. How was this any better than the actual truth?

  I looked back to the field and sighed. The majority of the team had arrived by now. I should probably connect with Coach Kay. That’s what a good coach would do, a responsible one.

  But I was neither.

  I pressed Pete’s number in my contacts. He better have some good fucking news for me, or he can find a new client.

  CORINNE

  “An injured toe? That’s it?” Chloe said after taking a long drag from her water bottle.

  Practice had just finished. I was hot and sticky, gross and tired, but I was happy. Practice went much better than the last one. We finished the day with three-on-three mini games. My team went undefeated. Even though my knee gave me a few issues, I played well, which was all that mattered.

  “Yeah,” I shrugged. “I don’t get it either.”

  I took another sip of water, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and sighed. Someone found the press release from the Stars, and word spread quickly after that. Out for three months for such a small injury.

  It surprised me because James was known for his toughness on the field. I remembered one game, back in high school, when he was tackled so hard that it fractured a bone in his foot. Of course, we didn’t find out until later. He subbed out, wrapped his foot, and went back in a few minutes later. He went on to sco
re the winning goal that game.

  Chloe and I collected our things and headed to the locker room.

  I could really use a shower, I thought as I caught a whiff of myself… or something dead. I couldn’t tell the difference at this point.

  “He seemed fine during practice,” Chloe said.

  I laughed. “It’s not like he did all that much besides stand there and stare at his phone. Did you even hear him say a single word the entire practice? Or, well, do anything?”

  “He kinda was a statue.” Chloe wrapped her arm around me, pulling me into her. “All muscular and—”

  I groaned, shrugging her arm off and speeding up my pace.

  “I’m kidding!” Chloe called after me.

  Lately, nearly every conversation I’d overheard was about James. I wished the rest of the team would focus on the season in front of us and not on the physical characteristics of our new coach. Besides, if he was just going to stand around and talk on his phone, what was the point of having him here?

  Chloe caught up with me. “Have you talked with him yet?” She nodded to James.

  He paced in slow, meandering circles near the sideline, talking into his cell phone. Go figure.

  “No. We’re not really that close.” Not anymore, at least.

  “Why? What happened?”

  Life? Distance? Schedules? I didn’t really know. I stopped asking questions a long time ago.

  “I’m not really sure.” I shrugged. “It just kind of happened.”

  My mom married his dad the summer before my freshman year in high school. James was a senior. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen James. I noticed him well before my mom married his dad, back when I knew him as Number Eleven of the Crawford High Knights. It was hard not to notice someone like James. He was amazing an striker, and I guess he wasn’t all that bad to look at either. Okay, he was pretty damn hot.

  I used to watch his high school games with my friends whenever I could steal a few hours away from my mom. She would’ve flipped if she knew I was watching soccer and not meeting with the French Club or whatever after-school activity I told her that week. To her, soccer was a waste of time, a hobby that did nothing but get in the way of my education.

  I used to think that she never understood what soccer meant to me. But now I think she never really understood me.

  Eventually, she found out, and just as I expected, she flipped. Thankfully, this was back when my dad was alive. He started taking me to the games, so I didn’t have to sneak around behind my mother’s back. He did his best to shield me from her, but everything changed once he died.

  I still feel sick to my stomach sometimes when I remember he’s not here. The pain isn’t as intense as it used to be, but I don’t think it will ever go away. A part of me doesn’t want it to go away. It’s all I had left of him.

  When I found out that James was going to be my stepbrother, not long after my father passed, I was mortified; I was about to share a bathroom with one of my first crushes. In light of that, I did what any other awkward teenage girl in my position would do: I acted like he didn’t exist while at the same time dissecting every look and (non-)interaction we had.

  It went on for months.

  But then the tension that had been building for years between my mother and I finally broke. It was a painful, horrible experience, and without my dad there to diffuse the situation between us, I finally gave in to her demands.

  I told her I’d quit the team and not try out again. I didn’t want to deal with the constant fighting or lose another parent. I let it go, even though it felt like I had been gutted, my world flipped onto its head. It was a pain second only to the news of my father’s death.

  I was lost, confused, and had no idea of what I was going to do. Everything I loved had been stripped from me. I spent almost an entire week bawling my eyes out. One night, in the middle of another meltdown, I felt an arm wrap around me. James.

  He sat next to me, silently, holding me for what seemed like hours. When he did speak, he talked to me like an old friend, as though we’d had countless conversations like this before. He urged me to stick with soccer.

  I fell asleep in his arms that night, and when I woke up, I was tucked into my bed as though I’d dreamed the entire thing. But I hadn’t dreamed it. It had happened. I knew that because a few moments later James popped his smiling face into my room and said, ‘Good morning.” He’d never done that before.

  My puffy, red eyes also confirmed it.

  I confronted my mom that morning with my newfound voice. She responded about as well as I thought she would, locking herself in her room for the rest of the day. I didn’t care anymore; I knew what I wanted, and I wasn’t going to stand down. James gave me the courage.

  We stopped ignoring each other and started having little conversations. They were mostly about soccer or random things that happened at school, but it was enough for me.

  He left for Europe not much later, so we never had much time to make a deep connection. We wrote letters to each other. It lasted for a few years, but eventually, he stopped responding. And I stopped sending them. I wish I could say it didn’t hurt, but it did. And it still does.

  I looked back one more time at James and my heart fluttered. Even after all these years he still had an undeniable effect on me.

  And I hated that.

  8

  James

  Eleven.

  That’s the number of teams that had turned down my agent’s offer. Over half the number of teams in the US Pro League.

  Fun fact: Eleven was also the number of times I’d caught myself nodding off during these player meetings. Since I’d started counting, at least.

  I stared at the girl sitting across from Coach Kay and me. She’s seated in an uncomfortable wooden chair that would be more appropriate in a library or doctor’s office. I had no idea what her name was, what position she played, or anything about her except that she can’t seem to stop fidgeting. I wanted to reach out and grab her hands.

  Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. After a few more moments of listening to Coach Kay speak, nodding along, and throwing a few furtive glances in my direction, she shoved them under her legs.

  “—I—Uhh—I’m not really sure? I would like to—”

  Twelve.

  This was my own special version of hell.

  Coach Kay had given me a notepad before the meetings started, so I could jot down notes about the players. It was a good idea, in theory, but asking me to take notes was like asking a kid to floss or eat brussels sprouts. Or a dog to bag its own shit. Not going to happen.

  I wrote down the first player’s name—Amanda—and even had a few notes to go with that name: Has long hair. A Face. Nice shoes.

  Super helpful, I know.

  Other than those few words, my pad was filled with a variety of squiggles, shapes, and patterns, as well as terrible doodles of dogs, monkeys, ninjas, pirates, and rocket ships. I was just about to finish off the space pirate’s hat when Coach Kay interrupted me.

  “Isn’t she nice?” Coach Kay said from the doorway.

  I looked up and found the chair in front of me empty.

  “James?” Coach Kay said, an expectant look on her face.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Real high energy.”

  Coach Kay smiled and left to grab the next player. My arms fell to my sides, sending my notepad and pen to the floor.

  Just end me now.

  I leaned back in my chair and sighed, staring at the quote on the motivational poster pinned to the door. Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. Thanks, Rousseau…

  Thirteen.

  I’d prefer a job watching paint dry, because with any luck, the paint fumes would get me high enough to forget how shitty my life had become.

  My mind drifted to Corinne. Even though I’d only watched her for one full practice so far, I could see the improvements she had made on the field over the past few years. She was more confident in her abilities and had
more control over her body, more so than that gangly teenager I remembered.

  I smiled as one of the last images I had of her flitted into my mind: long, spindly limbs moving in awkward, uncoordinated fashion as she somehow dribbled through defenders; untamed hair; braces. The image dissolved, replaced by one that had been burned into my mind’s eye since yesterday: Corinne stretching. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the image. It kept reappearing.

  I leaned over and grabbed the miniature soccer ball on Coach Kay’s desk. I bounced it a few times on the ground and then leaned back in my seat, bouncing it off the ceiling as I willed the images of Corinne to leave my head.

  Thump! Thump! Thump! Thu—oh shit—pksssh!

  Instead of hitting the ceiling, the ball struck the fan which launched the ball across the room and into a shelf filled with pictures, baubles, and who knows what else, sending a framed photograph crashing to the ground.

  I froze, gaping at the ball still spinning on the top shelf and then down at the shattered mess of glass on the floor. It was a little sad that this was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in the past few days. Maybe more than a little sad. Pathetic, really—but I didn’t have much time to wallow because at that moment I heard muffled sounds of laughter and talking from outside the office; I had a crime scene to cover up.

  I leapt out of the chair and rushed over to the shelf, grabbing what was left of the frame and then placed it in the empty space. There was just enough time for me to cover the shards of glass with a rug I dragged from the middle of the room and sit back in my chair before Coach Kay opened the door.

  If Jack could see me now… Sweeping messes under rugs now. Fantastic idea, James.

  The door opened and in walked Coach Kay, along with another player.

  “This is—”

  “Rylee.” The girl finished, flashing a bright smile.

  My eyes widened as I took her in. She had dark green eyes and straight, black hair that contrasted sharply with her pale complexion. Her clothing was a bit more revealing than the rest of the players, but I wasn’t one to complain.