Scorched Turf Page 3

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.

  “How about apologizing for letting the team down, for letting me down? You haven’t shown a shred of remorse for your actions. You think this is a joke.”

  Not particularly, but I didn’t think it was as big of a deal as everyone else was making it out to be. I held my tongue, following Jack’s advice not because I thought it was right, but arguing would only prolong this meeting. I had a plan, but I needed to get out of here first.

  “Harvey wanted to let you go. He wanted to cut you, and who could blame him? It’s not like you’re doing anything for this team. You’re too caught up in this ‘James fucking Flame’ persona to care about anyone else.”

  I cringed when I heard my nickname; it was awful. It caught fire—pun not intended—after some offhand remark at a post-game press conference. Something, something, burning defenders, something, something, like a flame.

  And from then on, I was James “The Flame” Calder.

  “Do you even remember the last time you came to practice? Went to one of our meetings? Watched film? Or did anything that wasn’t partying or sleeping with random women? You’re lucky there are people here who still believe in you.”

  “Are you one of them?” I asked, genuinely interested; I liked Dave, respected him.

  He sighed, staring at his hands. “Some days I wonder.” He remained quiet for a few beats before speaking again. “You have two choices: This volunteer position or spend the season in the development league.”

  He slid a stack of papers across his desk to me. “I suggest you read this paperwork over carefully.”

  Effective immediately, I was suspended for three months, barred from practices and all Stars facilities during that same period, and fined $250,000. If I missed a single practice or a game for the UP women’s team, I’d be sent down to the development league.

  The fine? Whatever. That was hardly a drop in bucket of what I made in salary alone. Sponsorships and endorsements were the real moneymakers, and I had plenty of them. The clause about the development league, however, had my attention.

  The D-League was where old pros went to die. Past their prime, but refusing to retire, they were sent there to play with kids half their age. A complete embarrassment. I’d buy out my own contract, a steep fucking price, well before accepting a demotion like that.

  “How is barring me from the Stars practices and facilities supposed to help? Isn’t that why we’re here in the first place?”

  It seemed like I was about to spend $250,000 for an extended vacation.

  He shook his head. “You’re not getting it, are you?”

  Obviously not.

  “There’s a reason I added that specific clause into the contract. You’ll understand why in a month or two. At least, that’s my hope. If you don’t…” He trailed off, leaning back in his chair, his eyes still on mine.

  I waited for him to finish, but he didn’t. “Are we done here?”

  He nodded. “For now.”

  After grabbing the stack of papers, I stood up and headed for the exit.

  “Their first practice is tomorrow,” Dave said.

  I paused in the doorway without turning around.

  “Try to be on time.”

  I was on the phone with my agent before the elevator had the chance to ding.

  4

  Corinne

  “Oh. My. God. Cori. Behind you.”

  Chloe sat next to me on the sideline, but she had her back to the field. Her sweat-soaked headband did little to keep her wild, blonde hair in check. She looked like a teenager that had just spotted Justin Bieber in the wild, which now that I thought about it, wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for her.

  Chloe was easily excitable. Anything from butterflies to brightly-colored leaves tended to send her into fits of glee. I think it’s why we got along together. She was energetic and fun, and there was never a dull moment with her.

  “What is it?” I said, stretching out my sore hamstrings as I focused on the scrimmage. We were playing against a mix of potential walk-ons and a local community college team. It wasn’t the most strenuous matchup, but it felt good to finally play again. I’d been looking forward to it all summer.

  “I think… Never mind, he’s back in his car.”

  “Who?” My question was met with silence, and I continued to watch the scrimmage.

  A few minutes later, Chloe let out a series of deep guttural grunts that sounded less like they came from a 115 pound girl than from a full-grown silverback gorilla in the process of mating. She lunged at me with both hands. Rather than maneuvering me, she barreled through me, sending both of us toppling backward.

  “Chloe!” I groaned, trying to wriggle out from under her. She wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were locked on something behind us.

  “Nownownownownow!” She pointed to the parking lot.

  I tried to follow her pointing, but from this position everything was upside down. I cleared my throat.

  “Oh right, sorry.” Chloe rolled off me, and after doing the same, I was on my stomach next to her. “What am I supposed to be looking at exactly?”

  “Well, if you looked when I told you—”

  “Was that before or after you tackled me?”

  Chloe huffed. “He’s in that Range Rover.”

  I spotted the Range Rover but the glare on the glass made it impossible to see much more than an outline of the person seated inside.

  “I think he’s our new coach.”

  Coach Kay had mentioned in an email earlier in summer that Coach Booker had to take a leave of absence; his mother’s cancer had spread, and he needed to be with her.

  “Why do you think he’s Coach Booker’s replacement? We’re not supposed to have a replacement for a few more weeks.”

  “Because the person in the car is—” A whistle blew on the field, drowning out the last part of Chloe’s answer.

  “Cori!” Coach Kay yelled. “I need you!” My gaze landed on Abby. She lay flat on her back, clutching her ankle as she rocked side to side. Coach Kay knelt beside her, trying to calm her down.

  My legs ached and groaned as I pulled myself to my feet. Fortunately, my knee hadn’t given me issues apart from the flare up this morning. Throughout practice, I was able to keep up with everyone without much effort.

  “Are you alright, Abby?” I asked as I stopped next to her, Coach Kay helping her to her feet.

  She grimaced, looking down at her foot and then back up at me. “Yeah. Just a sprain. I hope.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Coach Kay said, wrapping her arm around Abby before adding in a more serious tone. “I’ve been telling them to patch up these divots since last year. I’m surprised no one’s broken a leg yet!”

  I jogged to my position and then looked back at the Range Rover. It was black and sleek and probably cost more money than four years of tuition here. No one who could afford that would take a job here. Salaries for women’s athletics was pitiful, especially at the collegiate level.

  The scrimmage resumed, but it wasn’t until the very end that I finally saw some action. It was a quick turn of possession, and I had little time to react to the ball as it landed behind the defense. It’s moments like these where I shine. The ball in the open field, a race between you and the defender. There’s no time to think; if you hesitate, you lose.

  The world seemed to blur around me as I rushed toward the ball, the defender only a few yards in front of me. With me right behind her, she’ll need to knock it out of bounds to slow the momentum and allow the rest of her team catch up. It would be too risky to dribble out of the corner.

  She reached the ball and then turned—a mistake. She hesitated, and I was able to wrestle the ball away from her before she had the chance to clear it.

  The rest of the team had nearly caught up, but I had enough time and space to make something happen. I knocked the ball into the open area next to the goal, the defender at my heels, the goalkeeper moving toward
me to cut off my angle.

  I reared my leg back, ready to strike, but I couldn’t follow through. It was as though my leg had disconnected itself from my brain. I willed it to swing, kick the ball like I had countless times before, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Cori, take the shot!” Chloe yelled, but it was too late. One of the defenders tackled the ball away and then cleared it, leaving me in a state of partial shock and disgust. I had the shot, but I squandered it, choked completely.

  The whistle blew shortly after, and Coach Kay called us onto the side to talk.

  “What happened?” Chloe whispered as we sit on the grass.

  A lump formed in my throat, and my chest tightened, making it difficult for me to breathe. It was painful to swallow, but not as painful as what just happened. A year ago, there would be no doubt that the ball would’ve been in the back of the net.

  “Nerves, I guess,” I said, finally finding my voice.

  I looked at Chloe and could tell she didn’t buy it.

  That made two of us.

  5

  James

  I wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of coaching or the bourbon from last night that made my head feel like it was being crushed by a vice. Probably a mixture of both. My stomach churned—aspirin floating in a pink sea of Pepto-Bismol—as I looked over the papers Dave had given me the day before.

  My vision blurred as I massaged my eyes. I hoped that when the papers came back into focus they’d say something else. That the past twenty-four hours had only been a dream. But I had no such luck.

  My eyes glazed over as I tried to decipher the legal jargon of the contract. There had to be some loophole, something to get me out of this. But after spending a few unsuccessful minutes rereading the same paragraph over and over I tossed it aside. The stapled papers fluttered in the air before falling to the floor.

  I was out of my depth. Pete, my agent, would find me a way out of it.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the back of my penthouse apartment. The sweeping views of the New York that once sold me on the penthouse were uninteresting and commonplace now.

  My phone rang, and I glanced back at it, the screen illuminating as it buzzed on the kitchen counter. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, but remembered that Pete was supposed to call. I crossed the room, set down my coffee, and answered the call.

  “Tell me you have good news, Pete.”

  The call was short, and after hanging up, I suppressed the urge to throw my phone through the wall of windows at the back up my apartment. Barely.

  Barring my release from the team, the only other out I had was if another team bought out the remainder of my contract. Both options were unlikely. A team could get multiple players for the amount of money they’d have to shell out for my contract.

  I was stuck.

  It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but Pete was already shopping around for interested teams; we set up a meeting for later in the week to discuss my prospects.

  I gazed absently at the Hawks’s schedule on the counter. I had no choice. It was either this or the development league. Their first practice was in a few hours. There’s no way I’d make it there on time, but I wouldn’t miss the practice entirely.

  I scanned the names on the roster for no particular reason, but was surprised to find that I recognized one of the names: Corinne Crosley.

  I rubbed my eyes, blinked a few times, and looked at the name again. Still there. It wasn’t a typo. Corinne Crosley. My stepsister.

  I set the roster back on the counter and headed to my bedroom to get dressed. When I passed the mirror hanging in my the hallway, I noticed a smile had crept onto my face. This position just got a bit more interesting.

  My phone buzzed just as I pulled into the parking lot next to the practice field

  Jack: How’s practice, coach?

  James: Fuck off.

  Jack: :)

  Jack was eating this shit up. I tossed my phone onto the seat and sighed.

  I checked the field for Cori but couldn’t find her. They were in the middle of a scrimmage. They weren’t bad, but they weren’t good. Beginning of the season, end of practice—they were probably tired and out of shape.

  My vision flitted to a brunette bending over, stretching her hamstrings on the sideline. Her legs were tanned, and even from here, I could see their musculature; she’d put in work, that’s for sure.

  After she finished the stretch, she returned upright, and I could see her number: eleven. Excellent choice. I’d worn number eleven since I was a kid. My lucky number.

  Still facing the field, she resumed stretching. My cock twitched as it pushed against my jeans.

  I’d fucked my fair share of models and actresses—ballerinas, too—but this girl had a body that rivaled the best of them. I couldn’t help but imagine those legs wrapped around my waist. The things I’d do…

  Fuck, what was I doing? I’d been here for a grand total of five minutes, and I was already checking out the players. I thought of Harvey; he’d been betting on this, trying to set me up for failure. Maybe Jack’s right. Maybe I don’t have any self-control. The thought leaves me uneasy.

  I hopped back into my car, trying to force myself to watch the game and not Number Eleven. It was painful, not only the level of play on the field, but the pull Number Eleven exerted on my mind. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had this effect on me.

  I grabbed the roster off the passenger seat, scanning the list until I found her. My gut clenched when I read the name. You’ve got to be shitting me.

  Corinne.

  Fuck me.

  I swallowed hard and watched Corinne as she ran onto the field, replacing an injured player. My stomach knotted into a ball of nerves, twisting and turning and tightening with each passing second.

  6

  Corinne

  The air was stagnant and humid and uncomfortably hot as I sat crosslegged on the grass with the rest of the team. I was only vaguely aware of Coach Kay addressing us. I picked at the grass around me as a moment-by-moment recap of me clamming up on the field replayed in my head.

  It wasn’t until Chloe jabbed me in my ribs that I broke from my trancelike state.

  “What?” I snapped in a tone a little more forceful than I intended.

  Chloe hadn’t seemed to notice; she wasn’t even looking at me. Her pupils were so dilated that the light pools of blue that usually filled her eyes had retreated into a slender outline.

  “Oh. My. God,” she mouthed, pointing over my shoulder. At that same moment, a low buzz of whispers and giggles swelled around me.

  “That’s enough,” Coach Kay warned.

  I tried to follow Chloe’s direction, but my view was obstructed by the rest of the team. They craned their necks as they chattered away. I caught a few glimpses of a man walking toward us. He wore bright white sneakers, blue jeans, and a plain white tee.

  Adrenaline spiked through my chest when he finally came into view. My limbs went cold, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fill my lungs with enough air. My head spun, and my core trembled as though I’d just completed a grueling ab workout.

  It can’t be him. Why would it be him?

  Coach Kay cleared her throat, but it did little to stay the buzz of excitement.

  I continued to pick and pull the grass, adding to the pile, refusing to acknowledge the man standing next to Coach Kay. If I didn’t look up and see him standing there, then he wasn’t there, right? That’s how it works. That’s how I wanted it to work, anyway.

  “As you all know, we’ve been searching for a replacement for Coach Booker. I’m excited to announce that we’ve found one.”

  Cheers, applause, and whistles. Hooting. Hollering.

  “We were lucky to have the New York Stars reach out and offer us one of their best players.”

  Heat rose in my chest and neck as I tried to ignore the person standing only a few feet away from me.

 
; “I’d like you all to join me in welcoming your new assistant coach, James Calder.”

  The whistles and applause began to fade as though I were slowly sinking underwater. Pressure built in my head as I reeled from the sudden realization that James, my stepbrother whom I hadn’t seen in years, was about to become my coach.

  “He’ll be with us until we can find a more permanent replacement,” Coach Kay added.

  When I finally found the courage to look up, his eyes were already locked onto mine. His gaze seared my skin, knocking the wind out of me. I wanted to look away, ignore him, but I couldn’t.

  He’d changed since I’d seen him last. Intricate patterns of dark ink covered his left arm. Dark stubble peppered his cheeks and sharp jawline. But those piercing green eyes hadn’t changed. I’d always felt naked under their penetrating gaze, as though he could see through me. Like all my deepest secrets were on display. And years later, they still hadn’t lost their effectiveness on me.

  A half-smile formed on his lips as he ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, sending a fluttering sensation through my chest and stomach. I forced myself to look away and focus on Coach Kay, but her voice seemed muffled and distant.

  My mind raced as I rubbed the back of my flushed neck.

  “Is this a dream?” Chloe asked. “Because if it is, keep me sedated.”

  I wish.

  “I’ve always wondered how far down that tattoo on his stomach went,” Alicia said to no one in particular.

  “Come on. His nickname is ‘Flame.’ How could he not be good in bed?” Someone else burst out from across the locker room.

  “He can set fire to my bed any day of the week,” Mia deadpanned during a lull in conversation.

  I wanted nothing more than to curl up and die.

  No one knew James was my stepbrother. I never mentioned him to anyone because I didn’t want any special treatment or extra attention for having a star soccer player as my stepbrother. Not to mention, I didn’t want to deal with the questions that started with ‘What’s it like…’

  Watching everyone go gaga over James reinforced my decision to keep it quiet. Even Coach Kay, who was stony and stoic, seemed to have fallen under his spell. Her cheeks were nearly the same shade of red as her hair as they interacted with each other at the end of practice.