Page 5 of Romancing My Grumpy Goalie

As we walk through the parking lot, Jace says, “You’re limping.”

“No, I’m not. I’m fine.” I grind out the words. I’m so tired of people feeling sorry for me or trying to protect me.

“Are you still planning to go back to the Arsenal?”

“How is that even a question? Of course, I am.”

“Are you sure that’s feasible? It’s been a year since your injury, and you’re still struggling after practices.”

“I’ll address it in physical therapy this week. I’m getting better. It just takes time.” I hate that I have to defend myself likethis, but otherwise, he goes on and on about how worried he is about me. He might as well be an old woman at this point.

By the time we get to the car, my leg is throbbing. It hasn’t been this bad before. I just need to do some stretches and exercises and ice it.

My phone rings. It’s my agent, Tommy Greer.

“Hey, kid. Your coach says you had a rough practice. I don’t want you in Roanoke too long, so we’ll have to step up our game. There’s an organization called Play It Forward that pairs athletes with service opportunities. This could be the edge we need to get the Arsenal’s attention or maybe another big team.”

“What kind of service opportunities?”

“It looks to me like they’re looking for someone to mentor kids like a big brother/big sister kind of thing.”

“I don’t know about that.” The last thing I want is for some kid with daddy issues to give me attitude.

“You’re going to all your physical therapy appointments, right?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re still in pain.” He says it as a statement, not a question.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare out the window like it’s insulted me. “You don’t know that.”

“Look, kid, your coach wasn’t born yesterday. If the man says you’re in pain, I’m gonna believe him.”

“Whatever.”

“My point is you need this mentorship opportunity. You’re not exactly in a position to argue right now. See if you can’t get them to increase your physical therapy.”

“I’ll do the therapy.”

“And the mentorship?”

I clench my jaw. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

“Don’t take too long,” he warns. “You don’t want to be stuck in that nowhere place, do you?”

“You already know I don’t,” I growl out.

We end the call, and I turn to Jace. “I wasn’t in pain.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He puts both hands up, off the steering wheel, before replacing them.

“Then why do you have that smug, ‘I told you so’ look on your face?”

“I think you should do the mentorship.”

“Are you nuts?” I scowl at him. “I’m not exactly good with kids.”

“Sure you are. I heard you did great with the soccer practice,” Jace insists.

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