Page 19 of Count On Me

Ugh, she can go with Angie and Penny. I’m never drinking again.

Jenson

Yeah, until the next time our baby brother does something to piss you off.

Edie

He didn’t…

Penny

Edie…

Edie

There’s no point is there?

Jameson

Nope

Jenson

Nope. Nope and nope again

Penny

He’s such an idiot.

Edie

Ugh you all suck but I love you loads.

Jenson

We know and we love you too, sis.

Jameson

Always will.

Penny

Forever.

13

JAXSON

Sweat is dripping from every pore of my skin as I hunch over and spill the contents of my breakfast on the side of the pitch. As my stomach stops heaving, Coach's angry bark filters through the ringing in my ears. “When you’re finished throwing all that fucking alcohol up, I want another five times through the speed ladder. Keep your fucking knees high and your toes fast. You fall, and you’re starting the five sets again. When you’re done, you’re tidying up the equipment too.”

“That’s bullshit! We pay people to do that for us. I’m paid to play soccer, not clean up, Coach.” My head’s screaming at my mouth to shut up, but it won’t listen. It’s tired, pissed off, and feeling very sorry for itself.

“You’re paid to play soccer? It’s fucking football over here, Mr. USA. And please. Looks like the team is paying you to consume your body weight in alcohol and fuck any pussy that offers it to you, son. It’s beyond a fucking joke. And none of those ‘people’, as you so nicely put it, go out on the lash when they’re supposed to be keeping a low profile. If they had, we wouldn’t have been able to train, we wouldn’t have any kit to wear, and the team wouldn’t be where it is now. Those ‘people’ are just asimportant to this team as you and I are, and you’d do right to remember that. So you will be tidying this shit up. Now start your fucking set of ten. And before you even argue, it was five before you opened your trap. Now hurry up so I can get the hell out of here. Got better things to do with my time, Brady.”

I’m about to moan again that it just isn’t fair. Jordan was out with me, and I don’t see him here being run to death. But it appears Coach isn’t finished with his tirade, and as if he can read my mind he retorts, “And before you start whining like a whittle baby, Jordan was put through his paces too. He just turned up on time and knew to keep his fucking mouth shut and head down. Unlike you, you gobshite.” He brings the whistle to his lips, puffs his cheeks out and blows it three times.

My legs start to run through the ladder like Pavlov’s fucking dog. Knees high, toes fast. Ignoring the burning ache in my thighs and calves, I push through. I picture Edie. Her smile, her eyes twinkling, freckles glittering across her nose and her pink lips tipping up and lighting her whole face up.

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