Page 58 of Home Field Advantage

And it clicks that she had something to do with this. I don’t know what. I don’t know how. But I know with every cell of the blood pumping through my veins that the girl who pulverized my heart is doing everything in her power to put it back together.

I glance at the team, and they lookpissed… except for Santiago, who absolutely cannot keep the goofy smile off his face when he catches my eye. He finally wipes it clean when Sanchez spies it and glares at him, but he winks one last time, and I wink back.

Maybe we can’t win, but we can sure make the people who are here for us proud.

And that is what I’m gonna fucking do.

We huddle up and Coach gives us the usual—fight hard, do your best, make Atherton proud. Miguel and I exchange another glance, just to confirm we’re going ahead with our plans, and we break. But before we can get into formation, while the cheerleaders are still riling up the crowd, Coach says, “Walsh, c’mere a minute.”

My heart freezes up and I worry he caught that one glance, that somehow he knows everything about what we have planned. But all he says is, “Big game for you tonight.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You feeling ready?”

Am I feeling ready? I would be, if it were a normal game. If all I had to do was play and let my hands do the work. But that’s not what I’m up against tonight.

Does he know that?

“I’m feeling really grateful for the opportunity,” is what I say. “And that so many friends and family showed up.” Fuck it. “I’ve really been missing that support.”

He nods gruffly. “You’re a good player, Walsh. You are.”

“With all due respect, sir,” I bite out, “I know that. And I know this was my one shot to play and I’m grateful for it. But this isn’t what it should be. And I don’t know”—I cut myself off before I can say “what you expected out of bringing me here,” because that skirts way too close to talk of illegal recruitment—“what I expected when I came here,” I say instead, “but this hasn’t been what I signed on for.” Deep breath. “And I don’t know if I want to keep doing it.”

He gives me a jerky nod, like he’s been expecting this since that first and last two-a-day when everyone treated me like a joke. And that only makes me angrier. Because he’s seen it this whole time, and it’s been his job to fix. But he’s cared more about making a crowd of whiny babies happy so he can keep his cushy job coaching losers to failure because everyone’s given up on winning for so long, they don’t even know what to do with it when it lands in their palms after a perfect spiral.

I open my mouth to say more, to tell him that I’m going to run this game my way, but then the ref calls out, “The cointoss will take place on the center of the field!” and I let myself melt back onto our bench, kicking up a little extra dirt in my cleats as I leave him behind me.

Because he can’t even get a coin toss right, Devlin calls “Tails,” and of course we lose. Kennedy’s captain looks directly at me and says, right into the mic, “We’ll kick. I wanna see what their girl can do.”

Devlin smirks, and as I feel the frisson of glee on both sides at the expectation I’m gonna fall on my ass—literally or metaphorically, I guess—I open my mouth to snap about how I’m not “their girl,” only to have someone else’s voice cut me off.

“Yo, she can doanythingyour bitch ass can do with her eyes closed, punk.”

Miguel. Dear God. As the ref turns to control my foulmouthed teammate while the rest of the guys jeer, the urge to kick so much ass that he’ll never have to eat those words pumps fast and furious through my blood.

And with that in mind, defense lines up.

For this, at least, the team actually tries, as anxious as everyone else is to put me on display. Dan makes the catch and runs it up to the forty-yard line, so at least we’re in good field position.

He has no idea how much he’s about to regret that.

I exchange a glance with Miguel before sizing up the defense. This could go one of two ways. Either Kennedy’s going to try to intimidate me because they think I’m a wee little girl who’ll go absolutely numb at the sight of five or six big strongboys clambering in my direction, or they’ll go weak on me and focus their defense on the guys who actually frighten them.

Let’s find out.

I line up under Zach Sawyer, praying he has enough self-respect not to fuck up the snap, and call “Hike!” Thankfully, he doesn’t let himself look like a complete douchebag by messing it up, and as soon as the ball hits my hands, I drop back and see Kennedy’s chosen Option B, sending a pathetic three-man rush after me.

I roll out of the pocket and pretend for half a second like I’m searching for an open receiver, just enough to make Coach think this really was a spontaneous call, and then I tuck it under my arm and run downfield like the fucking wind, keeping the sideline in my sights for when I inevitably get plowed. By the time I take a hit to the side that knocks me out of bounds, IknowI’ve gotten a first down, and the roar of the crowd only confirms it for me.

The team, unsurprisingly, is not as thrilled. “What the fuck, Walsh?” Dan demands, coming up to crowd me. “That’s not the play!”

“Oh crap, sorry about that. Guess your girl fucked up.” Can they see my shit-eating grin behind my mouthguard? I hope they can see my shit-eating grin behind my mouthguard. “Let’s try that again. I’ll get it right this time.”

“You better,” Devlin says menacingly, and the other guys murmur their agreement, except for Santiago and, I can’t help but notice, Burke.

Is he just being quiet, or is it possible he’s not as convinced as the other guys to throw this one? He’s never treated me quite as horribly as they have, always choosing to ice me out rather than actively be an asshole. Having one more guy on our side would definitely help.

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