I’m feeling good, more than good, actually.

Everything seems to be going right. We’ve been drilling for the better part of the morning, kids’ games more than anything else, monkey-in-the-middle that’s a real pain in the ass, or a game of basically the ground is lava and the football cannot touch it, no matter what.

It’s fun, relaxed, even as it trains us to calm down in this low-pressure environment.

There’s a lot of joking around, laughing alternated with frustrated yelling as we move to play a game of volleyball, but we’re only allowed to use any limb or appendage except our hands (like in a real game, obviously).

The ball is snapped high in the air, and I keep yelling out my last name, signaling to my other teammates that the ball is mine, squinting up into the overcast sky, eyes on the ball before it drops down to my leg level, and I snap the ball back over the volleyball net towards the other side, giving it a bit of a spin so it’s harder to handle and control.

After playing around, we head inside for a team meeting where we’re going to discuss how exactly to play against Reading FC for our pre-season friendly tomorrow night, the very night where I’m going to have an audience other than Jesse in the stands.

I’m so excited I could just pee myself. Now I’m starting to sound like Aria, and I’ve only been around her for like a day.

“What’s got you grinning like a serial killer?” Abby asks, slapping me on the shoulder. I glance down at her, eyes narrowing.

“What? I’m not allowed to be happy? What the hell is this?”

Abby shakes her head and rolls her eyes so I see the whites for a few seconds. “Jesus, Maddie, it was a joke. Don’t take it so hard. I know it’s not Jesse, though. Have you moved on to greener pastures?” Abby waves a hand in the air, like she can open up time and space and show off exactly what those greener pastures look like.

I think that’s in a movie. Yeah, definitely has to be in a movie.

I shake my head at her. “Shut up. My friends are coming to our game tomorrow and I’m excited to show them what I can do.”

“Oh. Well, that’s boring.”

“Wow, Abby, just wow.”

Abby shrugs, re-doing her braid since a lot of her baby hairs have sprung out, and she tries now to smooth them back and away from her face as we head to the conference room of sorts that always made me feel like we were in a classroom.

Coach Hansen is already standing at the front, towering over everyone and everything, giving us all a tight smile, hands clasped behind his back, waiting patiently for all of us to take our seats.

We settle down, everyone getting comfortable. Some of us are sprawled over a couple of seats while still sitting up, just stretching legs and arms out to keep from cramping up, water and the electrolyte drink of choice being passed around so everyone can get hydrated after training this morning. All of us turn our attention to the screen projector and the white board with a bunch of notes and magnets on it right beside the screen.

Yup, I definitely feel like I’m in class.

Definitely, definitely.

When we’re wrapping up for the day, Coach Hansen stops me while everyone else files out, and it absolutely feels like I’ve been called to the principal’s office, especially when Abby sticks her tongue out at me, and I have to glare at her to stop.

“Yes, Coach?” I say, clasping my hands behind my back so he doesn’t see them start to shake. Have I done something wrong? Have I gotten too big of a head since the end of last season? Am I going to be benched?

What? What is it?

I gulp down hard, waiting for him to speak.

Coach nods to himself, adjusting his glasses, and I swear to all that is holy, I’m going to start screaming at the top of my lungs.

“You’re playing well out there, Madelyn,” he says.

What am I supposed to say to that?

“I’ve been working very hard, Coach.” I nod, twisting my fingers together behind my back.

Oh, shit, is this about Jesse?

“I’m glad. It shows out there. I just wanted to check in with you and see how you are doing,” he says, motioning us towards the front row seats, and I sit down on numb legs, heart still drumming hard like I’ve gone and streaked my way up the field, sprinting for all I’m worth.

“Good. I’m doing good.” How much do I tell him? How much do I let him know?

There has to be a semblance of trust between a coach and his team, there just has to be. And how many times has Coach encouraged us to talk to him, to talk to staff, to just talk it out?

“I’m a little nervous for tomorrow,” I admit, clearing my throat, keeping my chin notched high, staring at his face, and not looking away.

“It’s coming up on the one-year anniversary of your injury,” he says, nodding, and I realize now that we’re talking about two very different things. “It’s perfectly normal to be worried about getting hurt again.”

I shake my head violently from side to side. “No, no. I wasn’t even thinking about that, to be honest. My friends are in from overseas, and they’re coming to the game tomorrow. I want to play well for them.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen Coach out of sorts, his eyes going wide, his mouth opening in surprise.

Shit, now that’s in my head, it’s in my head.

True, it’s almost been a year since I got hurt, right before my team debut. I can’t believe it—where did the time go?

“I swear I wasn’t thinking about that, Coach. I really wasn’t.”

“And now I’ve said it out loud, and now you’re thinking about it. I’m sorry, Madelyn, that was not my intention.”

I shrug, trying to play it off, but we’re both looking down at my right leg and wondering if it’s going to hold up, to keep holding up. “I’m worried sometimes, sure. I’d be stupid not to be, and no one wants to willingly get hurt, I know that much.” I shrug again, not really knowing what I should say next, how I want to say it. I sigh.

“Coach, I love playing football with everything I am, but I’ve slowly come to realize that maybe it’s not the only thing I’m good at, and that’s made me relax a bit more about it. Don’t get me wrong, I want to play until I’m too wrinkly to even move and get the ball, but I’m not entirely wrapped around being a footballer and just a footballer if that makes sense.” I wince. “That makes me sound ungrateful, doesn’t it?”

Coach shakes his head. “No, of course it doesn’t. This is all healthy, I assure you. Did you know I went to school for psychology?”

I laugh, because that makes so much sense, so much sense. “You’re easy to talk to whenever I or the team have any concerns.”

“Good. I’m glad. It’s not an easy thing to get a football team to the top and keep them there.” Coach nods. “I’m glad you’re doing better,” he says. “Please continue to have fun out there, and your friends will see it, too.”

I nod along, because yeah, it makes a whole lot of sense.

“Is that it, Coach?” I ask, waiting for the dismissal.

“Yes. Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Coach Hansen nods to me, standing up, and I take that as my cue to leave.

I walk back to the locker room, hearing the shouts and laughs way before I actually enter. I rush through my shower and head out towards the parking lot where I know Jesse is waiting for me, like pretty much always. I’ve talked to him about practically sprinting at the end of his day to get to his car so he can be waiting for me, but he hasn’t complained yet, and I’m grateful.

I open the passenger side door, climb in, and lean over to kiss Jesse’s cheek. “How was your day?”

He blinks at me, surprised, since I’ve been the one worried about being caught doing something as innocent as kissing my boyfriend, but the Europa Cup is coming up and there’s a lot of pressure and murmurings about Jesse playing for Team England for the men’s side.

I’m not eligible to play for Team England since I was born in Canada, and I really want to focus all of my efforts on my regular season team, but I know that Jesse has got to be feeling the pressure, even if the media hasn’t gotten involved yet.

I’m sure there’s going to be articles about me distracting him when he should be focusing on restoring the glory to English football to win the Europa Cup, but honestly, I could give a shit. I’m just happy to see my boyfriend.

“Uh, good. Good.”

“Better now?” I grin at him, settling back in my seat, and pulling on my seat belt with a click. I sigh. “Are you okay?”

“You just surprised me, that’s all.” Jesse visibly shakes himself, turning the ignition and driving us out of the parking lot, getting us on the highway and headed towards the general direction of my apartment. “I’m a little nervous about meeting your friends, actually.” Jesse says it to the windshield, navigating traffic while I just sit and stare at him.

“The Jesse Windmeier, nervous about meeting my friends? No way, no way,” I say, reaching out for one of the hands that’s wrapped tight around the steering wheel, threading our fingers together and placing our hands on top of my thigh, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand in what I hope is a soothing gesture. “They’re going to like you because I like you. I’m not really giving them a choice in the matter.”

Jesse nods, his throat bobbing. “You can’t force some personalities to mesh well together,” he says, and yeah, that’s true, too.

I shrug, laying a kiss on his knuckles. “Yes, but there’s going to be respect and decency and no one’s going to make you feel weird, I promise. Raleigh and Aria…they don’t really know anything about football, so they’re not going to lose their shit in front of you or anything like that…”

“I just want us all to get along and have a good meal, and I want to hear all the stories about you back in Montreal. That’s what I want.”