Page 17 of Close Knit

“This team needs me to make saves,” I say. “To command my box, stop shots, take crosses, and be unbeatable. That’s why I’m here.”

Coach frowns at me; it’s the same look he had during preseason. “Why do you love being a keeper?”

There’s no grand story. At six, I scored my first goal and fell in love with the sound of the ball hitting the net. Preventing that sound turned into an obsession. “Football makes me feel in control.”

“But why do you love it?”

The question makes me uneasy. We’re all here because we love football. But my passion hasn’t been the same since I moved to the big leagues. Football here is tougher, with more at stake.

My pointer finger digs deeper into my thumb. “What are you getting at?”

“Three years ago, when you were playing for Los Angeles, you seemed to have a bond with your team. Or, at the very least, youhad chemistry on the pitch,” Coach says. “Bring some of that to Lyndhurst.”

I shudder, remembering all the unanswered text messages from my old team. I was young and naive then. I thought I could treat my teammates the way I treated my siblings.

Annoyance pricks up my neck. “I am.”

“Hastings, your team bonding skills make Roy Keane and Patrick Vieira look like best friends.” I grunt. “Do you know why Ivan has stayed with Lyndhurst so long? The team relies on him. They know his presence is indispensable. He plays to each player’s strengths. Sync with this team, or your starting position is at risk. Do you understand?”

Of course, I do. Despite our rocky start, Lyndhurst is a step up from Overton, who never won the Premier League title.

“Yes.”

“Look, kid,” Matos starts. “I’ve got a year left, and I chose to mentor you because I love this team. Lyndhurst deserves a good keeper. We don’t want to bench someone we believe in.”

Kid. A tic pierces my jaw.

I’m being lectured by a forty-year-old keeper who should’ve retired two years ago just because I don’t want to make friendship bracelets with my teammates.

“What do you want me to do?” I bite. “Tuck each player in at night? Read them bedtime stories? I’m here to play football.”

“You have everything you need to become one of the best keepers in England,” Coach replies. “But you’re playing small. You won’t help bring Lyndhurst to victory if things keep going as they are.”

I make one final plea. “The team and I barely practice together.”

My training usually involves separate sessions to hone specialized skills. We’re first on the pitch and last off, running drills for agility, reflexes, positioning, and distribution. I spendmost of my time with Coach Murphy and Matos. In the afternoons, my teammates join me for trick shots and skill plays.

“Then I’ll talk to Frank about that,” Coach says.

I glance at the nearly empty locker room through the office window.

“Great. Is that all?”

Coach stands up. “One last thing.” I raise an eyebrow. “We know your contract has clauses that are different from the rest of the players, but we’d like to make some adjustments.”

Those clauses include no press conferences, no team housing, and no appearances on club social media. I’m sticking to a non-club nutritionist after Overton’s strict diet made players pass out. NDAs for anyone handling my conditioning or physical therapy. “Talk to my agent.”

“Nothing that serious we can’t discuss here.”

I nervously glance at Matos and back to Coach. “What is it?”

“I want you to move into the Lion’s Lodge this week.”

“You’re kidding.”

Mandatory team housing? My apartment in Knightsbridge is the one slice of home I have here, and he wants me to give it up to beroomieswith my team?

“Do you want to stay in the starting lineup?”

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