Page 18 of Hotshot

“Thanks Lucy, and thanks also for your powerful story last time out, which I’ve thought about a lot since. Now, I figured it was time to share mine.” She pulled her shoulders back and put a palm to her chest. Her heartbeat surged beneath her fingertips. This was new territory.

“You know me as Sloane Patterson. You’ve probably got fixed views on who I am, based on how I play, how competitive I am, my playing record, and what I’ve won. But what you don’t know is the struggle it took to even get to play soccer. Because my parents didn’t want me to.”

She looked around the group, seeing the surprise register on everybody’s face. She’d only ever told this story to close friends. A couple of her old teammates in LA. Jess. Not even Layla knew the full extent. But if Lucy wanted them to be vulnerable, to open up to each other and make them trust each other, this is what she had to do. But the one person she avoided eye contact with was Ella. That might make her stumble.

“I grew up in Detroit in a good neighbourhood. Me, my parents, my brother. To the outside, it probably looked like we were a tight-knit family. We were always well turned out for school, we were well fed, we had a nice house, and we always attended church. Religiously, you might say.”

A few smiles at that.

“But my parents took religion to the extreme. They believed boys and girls should behave in certain ways. Having a daughter that wanted to play soccer was not part of their plan. Instead, they tried to force me into playing violin, and into dancing. But the only dancing I wanted to do was on the field. My whole childhood was a long battle to get my parents to take me to soccer. They refused, but a very kind neighbour stepped in. He was taking his daughter, and he took me, too. Without him, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

Sloane paused, then took a steadying breath before she continued.

“As I got older, I could take buses myself and get rides with teammates. Very briefly, when I started to get noticed, my parents rallied. But it didn’t last. They couldn’t contemplate me having a career as a soccer player. My mom told me it brought shame on the family.” She paused. “A young girl kicking a ball on a field. That brought her shame.”

Sloane shook her head again. She still recalled the razor-sharp slice of that comment. To this day, she didn’t understand it.

“I’ve tried to change my mom’s mind on this so many times, but I’ve learned to let it go. You can probably guess she was less than enthused when I came out to her, too. A lesbian soccer player for a daughter. Not what they ordered. But here I am. Living my dreams. Playing the game I love with people who love it just as much as me.

“Soccer gave me the family I needed when my own let me down. It gave me a home and a purpose, and it allowed me to lean into the absolute best version of me I could muster. I will always be grateful to the sport, but also to all of you. Because soccer is a team sport, and I am a team player. What I’m saying is, if you really want something, if it’s in your heart, you’ll always find a way. Even if it’s painful at first, things get easier.”

The scars might have healed over, but they were always there.

“My story is not out there in the public eye. I’ve always been able to celebrate my victories with teammates, coaches, girlfriends, and occasionally my brother. Nobody notices that my parents aren’t there. Their choice, their loss. They still never come to my games, never acknowledge the two most important parts of my life: my career and my identity. You only get one life, and my own experience has taught me to live it on your own terms and nobody else’s.”

Stunned silence descended on the room. You could honestly hear a pin drop.

“That’s it. That’s my story. I hope it helps you understand me a little more.” Sloane sucked on the inside of her cheek, then broke into a hesitant smile.

The applause that followed was deafening.

Sloane cast her eyes to the floor, embarrassed by the attention. When she looked up, her gaze collided with Ella’s. She made a fist and pressed it to her chest.

Sloane’s heart bloomed red.

* * *

After a full dayof training in super-sunny conditions, the following afternoon the team had a game against Eintracht Frankfurt, who’d finished third in the top German league last season. When they ran out onto the field, Sloane swallowed her nerves just like always, then tilted her head back as the adrenaline and excitement flooded her system.

A couple of thousand fans, most of them decked out in Frankfurt’s black shirts, made some noise in the concrete stands that flanked one side and one end of the field. This was Salchester’s first major test with new players in the starting line-up, including the new strike partnership between herself and Nat. She was determined it would start well.

Ella had organised a cooking session with them both earlier this week to build their relationship on and off the field. They’d made pancakes from scratch, with lemon and sugar, as well as the savoury type with mushrooms, spinach and cheese. Both were delicious, but it had confirmed to Sloane she should definitely turn down any offers to do MasterChef. She’d sweated enough over combining flour, milk and eggs.

Nat was quiet at first, but then she’d opened up a little. Pancakes were not a staple for her, not like in the US. Her mum was Pakistani, so Nat had showed them how to make chapatis instead. She confessed it was the one thing her mum made her learn before she left home. They went just as well with the savoury topping.

Sloane knew there was more bubbling under the surface though, as did Ella. When Sloane had shared her personal story with the team, Nat had come up to her afterwards and given her a hug. No words, just a hug. Perhaps it had resonated, Sloane didn’t know. After all, there were bigoted parents in every country, not just America. She’d heard a couple of the girls talking to Nat about the movieBend It Like Beckham, equating it to her. She was sure that got tiresome. There weren’t enough Asian women involved in UK soccer. Nat could be a trailblazer. Sloane hoped she had the support behind her.

Whether it was their bonding session with Ella, Sloane’s personal story, or the fact they were well drilled on the training ground, once the whistle went, things clicked. Sloane’s touch was like silk, every pass paying off, every twist like poetry. She hummed with satisfaction every time she touched the ball. It was one of those days when the ball simply stuck to her feet, when her shots hit the mark. She lived for this.

After a cagey opening and with 20 minutes gone, Rovers’ no-nonsense midfielder Welshy scurried down the middle, leaving a trail of stunned defenders in her wake. Sloane followed her, but Welshy delayed a little too long before releasing the ball, and the final defender blocked her pass.

However, the ball pinged out to Sloane, who took it down first time on her instep. She swept her gaze to see what was on. To her right, wingback Cally signalled for the ball, but she had a defender with her. Up ahead, Layla made a dash left, then right, taking two defenders with her. It was a clever run, and it opened up space – which Nat ran into.

Quick ball, decisive action. That was how you won games, and how you won life. With the brick wall of a German midfielder tracking her, Sloane dinked right, got the extra yard of space, then chipped a ball over the top for Nat to run on to.

They were on the same wavelength.

Nat took the ball down in the penalty area as smoothly as she’d rolled her chapati, sized up the angle in a micro-second, then rolled it smartly past the keeper with the outside of her right boot. She turned, arms aloft, mouth aghast. She’d just scored her first senior goal for Rovers, and she looked as if she could barely believe it.

---