Page 17 of The Knockout

I’ll never get used to British slang. There’s just something aboutknob. Not like peen or dick are much better, but really...knob?

“I do not blush. I smile. And I’ll have you know I smile whenever I get texts from back home.” I wiggle my toes. Yup. Still pain. This ice pack and I have been good friends all week. The throbbing eventually subsides, but each day it seems to last just a little longer.

Pain is an occupational hazard.

It’s a daily occurrence.

When you dance at this level, you need a higher pain tolerance than most people could ever hope to have. If you can dance through the pain, you beat it.You win.And I refuse to lose.

Lennon reaches into her ballet bag and grabs something, then holds her hand out to me. “You can lie to yourself if that makes you feel better, but you do blush when you talk to him. I mean, come on. I’ve seen what that man looks like. I’d blushtoo.” She opens her hand and offers me the small tin in her palm. “Here. Take one of these. It’ll help.”

“What are they?” I take the tin and eye the tiny pills. I’ve never had to take anything stronger than Advil or ibuprofen before. But this sprain has been killing me for days. And we’ve got a show tonight.

“They’re from a prescription I got last fall. You need to rest that foot for the show. This will help.” She says it so nonchalantly. No big deal.Here, take one.But she’s right. I need to be at my best tonight, and I’m so far from it this week, I’m surprised they haven’t threatened to cut me.

I toss it to the back of my throat, sip my water, and watch the last twenty minutes of the game. Then, as the last three seconds of the clock tick down, Ares gets the puck on a breakaway.

Go.Go.GO!

He takes it down the ice, skates behind the net to get away from the Vipers’ defender, then quickly scoops it right into the net.

Oh. My. God.

He just scored.

Holy shit.

The Revolution just won.They won the Cup! Oh . . . My . . . Ahhh . . .

They won.

I grab my phone and squeal. “They. Won!”

“Right,” Lennon looks over at my laptop, then back at me as she gets up. “And you don’t have a thing for him. Like I said, go ahead and keep lying to yourself.” She gathers her bag and pointe shoes and disappears quietly into her bedroom.

I’m not anywhere near ready to unpack that statement.

Ares and I text almost weekly. Sometimes they’re flirty. Sometimes it’s just,hey, good game.But no matter how short or long the conversation, they make me smile.

Grace

OMG. You scored the winning goal. AND WON THE CUP! So excited for you!! I’ve avoided all social media for the last twelve hours so I could see it for myself, and you won!

I close my text app and scroll social media to see what everyone is saying back home. Sometimes, he texts back right away. Sometimes, it’s hours later. Our time difference makes it hard to connect with anyone back home at decent times, and I can only imagine the partying they must have done last night.

It looks like everyone posted pictures.

Everly. Easton and Lindy. Brynlee. My friends and family at the game.

My brothers are there with my cousins losing their minds.

A heavy sense of homesickness hits me hard.

I’m missing everything.

I wish I was there.

Most days, I can push the ache away. But this... this was huge. For Everly and Cross. For Easton and Lindy. For Brynlee. For Ares...

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