Kickin' It (Red Card) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,29

at him again. He was expecting me to dribble toward him.

Not to just kick the ball.

He was standing a few feet away.

I frowned.

He grinned like he knew where my head was at.

So I took a few steps, faked a kick, dribbled to the right, and kicked a perfect goal that went sailing into the net.

His applause mixed with my joy that I did it with one ball left. Without thinking, I ran full speed at him and jumped into his arms.

He swung me around like he expected it.

Then, as if he realized he was holding me, he quickly dropped me to my feet and held up his hand for a high five. “Good read, Parker. You finally saw the play. You don’t have to dribble every time. Sometimes it’s just as easy as kicking the ball.”

I put my hands on my hips as I contemplated what he said. “You were far enough away, I was just making it harder on myself.”

“You were thinking here.” He tapped my temple. “Instead of here.” He tapped my chest. It was just one finger, but I felt it. Man, did I feel it all the way down to my toes.

Every coach I’d had . . . had babied me.

He made me want to find a sharp object and aim for his man parts.

There was something to be said about a coach earning your respect, and he’d just earned mine. Big time.

“Thanks.” I looked down.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up. No way am I letting you in that SUV all sweaty.”

“Hey!”

“Hey nothing, you’re hitting the showers and then maybe I’ll feed you.”

“Best coach ever,” I grumbled. “And agent.”

“I kind of like being both.”

“Because you like torturing people?” I joked as we grabbed the extra bag of balls and walked toward the locker rooms.

He grinned over at me. “Only you, it seems.”

I handed him the balls. “Obviously.” I pushed the metal door open. “Give me ten minutes?”

“Sure.” He didn’t look back. I just shrugged and went into the women’s lockers, imagining the day I could put my gear in the shiny wood cupboards and sit in those cushy seats. When I’d see my name above one of the lockers.

It finally felt like it could happen.

That maybe I could escape my past.

I dropped my gear onto the ground and turned on one of the showers, kicked off my cleats, pulled off my shin guards and socks, then stripped, all before diving under the hot water.

It felt amazing.

I rubbed the water down my body, then quickly went over to my bag to grab one of my spare towels and soap. I always kept shower stuff in my duffel just in case. I didn’t have nice shampoo, mostly travel gear, but it was enough to get the smell of sweat out of my skull and off my body.

I wanted to stay there forever.

Probably would have been tempted.

But the lights flickered.

And then turned completely off.

Panic hit me so hard I tripped over my own feet and landed on my ass in an effort to hurl myself into the corner.

“Matt!” I yelled, my voice weak and fearful like I was too afraid to even scream. “Matt!”

Frantic, I tried standing, but my sore legs gave out on me as I wrapped my arms around them and rested my trembling chin on my knees.

“Parker?” Matt’s voice sounded worried. “Are you okay? Parker?”

“Here,” I whispered and then louder: “Here.”

The shower was still on. I was afraid to turn it off, afraid to move.

It was dark, so dark.

I rocked back and forth, teeth chattering, and not just because of the cold water.

“Parker?” His voice was closer as a body rounded the corner, cell phone high in the air. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“Yeah.”

“The power’s out because of the rain. Are you done showering?”

“Yes.” Teeth chattering, I tried to stand on unsteady legs and fell down. “Ouch!”

“Are you hurt?” His voice was more frantic this time.

“Only my ass. My pride. And my body from my masochistic coach,” I mumbled under my breath as I heard the water cut off and then saw sandals and jogger pants appear in front of me. It was too dark to see anything else, and I was afraid to look up.

Without warning, I was being helped to my feet and wrapped in the towel I had set down on the bench. “You’re okay.”

How had he known I wasn’t?

I clung to him, wet from the shower, towel barely covering my body, my mind at war with itself. Why did I trust