Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
She grinned from behind her face mask, accepting high fives from her teammates before returning to position.
I bent to pick up the clipboard and noted one of the other team’s players lingering near the goal. I didn’t think anything of it until Carly pulled her glove off and stepped into the other girl’s space.
Okay…this was a new one. I’d been coaching the girls’ lacrosse team at Westgate Prep for two years now, and I’d never had to break up a fight. I didn’t immediately march onto the field. These players were between sixteen and eighteen—old enough to have a word or two without resorting to a wrestling match. And they were smart. They knew both schools had a zero-tolerance policy for fighting. They wouldn’t risk missing a game or getting suspended over nothing.
Would they?
And of course, that was when the attacker threw her goggles on the grass and pointed her finger at Carly’s chest. I could practically see steam coming from my goalie’s ears, which I took as my cue to intervene. I needed Carly. She was the key to Westgate’s shot at a CIF championship. We couldn’t afford to have her sit out a single game.
I strode onto the field just as the other coach blew his whistle. He caught my eye and signaled for us to wrap up the scrimmage. I nodded, motioning for my team to pack up for the night as I continued toward the goal.
“Hey. We’re done here. Nice playin’ today.” I clapped in a no-nonsense fashion, breathing a sigh of relief when the other player retrieved her goggles and whirled on her stick. I stared after her for a beat, then turned to Carly. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing,” she grunted unhappily. “Don’t worry about it, Coach J.”
I furrowed my brow and gave her a thorough once-over. Her freckled nose and the loosely-tied dark braids peeking from under her helmet made her look like a kid, but Carly was a tough competitor. She was six feet tall and muscular with a thick build that should have warned most to play nice with her. She didn’t take prisoners, and she could be a bit on the intense side. But that was just Carly. It didn’t matter if it was a practice, a big game, or a friendly scrimmage—she left every piece of herself on the field.
She was usually quick to reset, though. I expected her to roll her eyes and give me a brief synopsis of the argument or maybe change the subject to the Dodgers’ lineup tonight.
She didn’t. A shadow hid her eyes from view, but her mouth was drawn in a tight line. Emotional displays made me very uneasy. I was king of saying all the wrong things. But I couldn’t pretend not to notice her wobbly lips and shaky hands.
“Something’s bugging you. What’d she say?” I pressed.
Carly shook her head and sighed heavily. “Let it go. Sorry I took the bait. It won’t happen again.”
I nodded and offered her a fist bump. “Okay.”
I stared after her for a long moment, scanning the field and waving absently to a couple of players before heading for the bench to grab my bag. My assistant coach, Shana, looked up when I approached.
“Yo. I sent them to the showers. Did you want to bore them with an inspirational speech first, or can I let them go home for dinner?” she asked, chomping her gum.
I gave her a light shove, then flopped onto the bench beside her. “I’m out of words. You can dismiss them.”
Shana grinned. “Thanks, Boss. I’m hungry and if I don’t get my ass home, my ten-year-old will commandeer my kitchen and make mac and cheese again. The kid is gonna turn into a block of Velveeta if I’m not careful.”
I chuckled. Shana was an energetic mom in her early thirties with short blonde hair and a take-charge attitude she claimed came naturally when trying to corral a husband, two kids, two dogs, and teach three English classes with twenty students apiece. Not to mention assistant coaching duties for the women’s lacrosse team.
She was a rock star, but technically, I was the one with the more impressive résumé. I’d been an All-American top scorer at Pepperdine during all four years of college. And that had definitely been my ticket to my head coaching gig here. The sport was in my blood.
I’d grown up playing lacrosse. That wasn’t something many people could say in my corner of upstate New York. Most of my friends had played football or hockey. I’d tried both, and had actually stuck with football for a couple of years in high school. But I was a classic late bloomer. A little too small to be considered a threat. I spent a lot of time on the bench in football and hockey, but my dad always made a spot for me on the lacrosse club team he coached.