Prologue
5 Years Ago

Nathaniel — 17 Years Old

The alarm buzzed at 6:00 a.m., but I was already awake, quietly gathering my clothes from the floor.

My heart thudded with leftover awkwardness from the night before.

I slapped the alarm off.

The girl cocooned in my sheet—Stacy? Sandy? I couldn't remember.
Embarrassment burned hot. Better to slip out unnoticed.

I grabbed my shirt and sneakers, a mix of discomfort and relief pushing me toward the door.

---

Heading downstairs, I found my mother in the kitchen, still in her robe, coffee in one hand, flipping an omelet with the other.

She grinned.
“Breakfast is ready, Superstar. Don’t make me come over there!”

I grinned back, tied my sneakers, and pulled up a chair at the table.

“Big game today,” Mom said, stirring her coffee.
“You nervous, Mr. Captain?”

“Not really,” I replied with a cocky grin. “We’ve got this in the bag!”

Mom plated my omelet, sprinkled fresh-cut chives from her garden on top, and poured orange juice into a glass with practiced care.

A rush of gratitude hit me—none of my friends’ moms compared.

When she said, “Your sports bag’s ready and I packed lunch,” her calm efficiency washed away the awkwardness from earlier.

I savored the steaming omelet, and with each bite, the tension faded.

---

After breakfast at 7:00, I opened the garage door, grabbed my bike, and slung my sports bag diagonally across my shoulder.

Adjusting the strap, I pedaled into the crisp morning, condensation sparkling on my mom’s flowers in the sunlight.

Turning onto the familiar street, I spotted Markus ahead and waved him over.

---

Markus joined me as I passed his house.
We’d known each other since kindergarten—same school, same class, same soccer team.
He’s like a brother.

Markus smirked.
“Ready? Bet some girls show up.”

I shot him a grin.
“Glad we’re away—less girl drama, right?”

We laughed and talked about girls as we pedaled, the school coming into view.

At the racks, we parked our bikes. Fellow students greeted us as we entered the lively hallway.

Markus and I were both popular—I outranked him—and we soaked up the attention.

---

Since we had a game today, we skipped class and gathered at the sports field.

Coach told us Rick broke his leg yesterday.
Then he introduced Kaiden Matthews—a boy I recognized from the parallel class—who’d played soccer at his old school.

Kaiden stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes flickering between us.
The Grandchester trikot showed under his half-zipped hoodie.

I knew nothing about him, but seeing that jersey, I wondered what we might have in common.

Grandchester was a top club—where I dreamed of playing.
If Kaiden shared that goal, maybe he had real talent.

With a sly smile, I reached out.
“Hey, I’m Nathaniel. Awesome trikot—new season’s design, right?”

He low-fived me.
“Yeah, it looks better than last year’s.”

I let my arm fall; I wasn’t used to that handshake.
“Let’s hope it helps this season.”

---

After team introductions, the bus to the rival school arrived. One by one, we climbed aboard and settled into our seats.

Soon, nearly everyone had their phone out; we shared memes and videos, the bus echoing with laughter that drowned out the radio.

The driver’s relief was obvious when we arrived at the sports grounds. Cigarette dangling, he helped us unload our bags.

---

During the game, Kaiden surprised me—slipping into open spots with natural ease, even as a substitute.

That excited me; I imagined our team working together.

We left the field as winners, 5–2.
Three goals were mine.

On the bus, I nudged Kaiden.
“Join our club—if you can keep up.”

Kaiden met my eyes.
“Only if it’s tougher than this.”

I just laughed.
“So much for my warm welcome.”

Kaiden raised an eyebrow.
“How generous of you.”

---

Later that day, back at home, I tossed my sports bag at the door, opened the fridge, and grabbed a chilled Coke.

As I closed it, I spotted my mother—arms crossed, face set in that all-too-familiar look.

Relief at being home shifted instantly to dread.
I hadn’t told her about the girl who slept over.

My stomach twisted, and I dropped my gaze, uneasy.

“Do what you want, but don’t make me her therapist,” she groaned, rubbing her forehead.
“Linda was bawling downstairs. Did you even know it was her birthday?”

Linda?

“She mentioned her birthday,” I mumbled.

Mom flicked my chest, unimpressed. I tried to leave, but she grabbed my sleeve.

“I drove her home. Bought her a sweater. Told her to make smarter choices,” Mom said, voice flat, eyes sharp.

Her words stung less than she thought. I shrugged.

“You know, Nate, one of these days you’re going to meet a girl who turns your perfect little world upside down, and you’re going to love her for it,” she said, a small, knowing smile on her lips.

I knew she meant well, but I couldn’t help it—I just didn’t see it happening.

Soccer was my world.
Girls came and went, but the game was always there—loyal, demanding, and the only thing that really made sense.

Maybe one day, someone would prove me wrong.
For now, nothing was going to pull me off the field.

Not a chance.