Page 30 of Hotshot

“Fucking yes!” Nat screamed in Sloane’s ears, which made her grin. There were many ways to describe the elation of scoring a goal, especially when it was your boot that was the last to touch it before it hit the net. To this day, even after nearly a decade of playing professionally, Sloane was yet to find anything that described it better than ‘fucking yes!’

Within seconds, the whole team swamped them, fists pumped. Moments later, Sloane regained her breath and retook her position at the centre circle to kick off. When she glanced to the dugout, Ella was watching.

She gave her a thumbs-up.

Warmth glittered through Sloane.

Ella was on her side.

The whistle went. They were off again.

The rest of the first half ebbed and flowed, with United hitting a post and Nat skying another good chance. Just when Sloane started to listen for the whistle – she really needed the bathroom – the fourth official put up her board. Three minutes of stoppage time. She could cope with that.

The ball zipped up the touchline towards her, but Dempsey was right on her shoulder, just like the whole of the first half. Kudos to the kid, she stuck to her job. Sloane collected the ball, and looked up. Welshy was beyond her marker. She could dart right and slide it to her. She went to pass the ball with the outside of her boot, but Dempsey put a foot in just when she was mid-motion. The ball left Sloane’s foot, but Dempsey’s boot crunched into her ankle. Sloane’s foot went one way, her ankle went the other.

A lightning rod of pain flashed up her leg as she crumpled to the grass, landing with a thud on her hip. She rolled onto her side, and everything went silent for a few seconds, her mind white. Within moments, reality seeped back in and her ankle throbbed like it never had before.

Or rather, exactly as it had before.

Her bad ankle.

Doom slithered down her.

“You okay, Sloane?”

She cracked open her eyes to see Nat’s and Welshy’s concerned faces above her.

Judging from the pain that started in her ankle and was now creeping into her eyeballs, she could confidently say she was not.

* * *

Sloane layon the physio table in United’s injury bay. The physio trotted out platitudes to make her feel better as she packed ice around her ankle. None of them were working. Maybe if she was Dempsey’s age, they might have.

Injury-wise, Sloane had been lucky. Way more than Ella. However, her ankle was her downfall. After her big injury, her old coach used to say it was made of glass and had to be treated as such. Unfortunately, glass ankles and soccer didn’t mix. Not that Sloane blamed Dempsey. Tackling was part of the game and Dempsey was playing it.

Someone knocking at the door made her look up.

Ella.

Just the sight of her made Sloane unclench her fist. “You’re missing the game.” Right on cue, the crowd outside groaned. Was that a home team miss or an away team goal? She listened further but no cheering ensued. She suspected the former.

“I thought it was worth it to come and check on you.” She walked in and pointed at Sloane’s ankle. “How’s it feeling?”

“Cold.”

Ella laughed. “I imagine.” She paused, then looked back to Sloane. “I know you have a history of ankle issues, but they wouldn’t have signed you if it was chronic. What I’m saying is, don’t go jumping to conclusions.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Well aware, but my point still counts.”

Sloane chewed the inside of her cheek. “Tell me something to take my mind off the fact that my foot feels like it might break off at the ankle any minute. Anything at all.”

Ella screwed up her face. “Anything under the sun?”

Sloane clicked her fingers. “Tell me about the best goal you ever scored in your career. Where was it. Who was it against. And did you win?”

A dreamy look crossed Ella’s face as she tried to collate her answer. It took a few moments. Time enough for Sloane to take in her pink cheeks, the cute way her thick hair stuck out of the sides of her club bobble hat. Plus, even though she couldn’t see it, she knew Ella’s training pants would be cupping her butt perfectly. Sloane let her eyelids flutter shut for a moment. Her thoughts were getting worse.

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