Page 87 of Set Play

Blue Sky City United came ready to play tonight. They have matched us play for play. Every time we get a breakaway, one of their defenders pops up like a damn mole in a garden to clear the ball. Even when we do manage to sneak past them, their goalie is on fire tonight, blocking every shot that comes his way.

I thought that having an away streak of six games would’ve lessened their energy, but Calgary keeps proving me wrong with every minute that passes. Glancing up at the clock, I see we are only in the forty-third minute.

Fuck, how is it not even halftime yet?

Just when I think it’s going to be a scoreless half, the defense manages to steal the ball from Sterling who, instead of chasing after it, just stands there. Thankfully, Eli is there to pick up the slack, but Blue Sky sets up their passing lane with elite precision, sending the ball up the line to a forward before anyone is ready. Their team has learned not to go near Cillian, so the striker makes a break toward Levi’s side of the field. “Hayes, fall back! Brooks, stay center! Gray, cover!” I cry out, seeing their plan, and sprint back to offer my own support.

The striker gets the ball, managing to get around Levi and leaving only Gabriel and Cillian between him and Elliott. Ollie has fallen to the back side of the goal, ready to intercept a wide shot but I doubt it’ll be needed. If this guy shoots, he’s getting the goal.

Gabriel attempts the slide tackle, but his tell is painfully obvious, giving him away and allowing the striker to correct his path to avoid it. Fuck. Come on, Cillian. The Great Wall of Ireland looms menacingly before the forward, but there’s no fear or hesitation.

I don’t know what happens; one second, Cillian looks ready to steal the ball and the next, he’s staring beyond the Calgary player, blood draining from his face.

Mierda.

It’s like he’s been teleported to another dimension, because he doesn’t even move when the Calgary player walks past him with the ball. Literally walks.

Thankfully Elliott is the second-best keeper in the league, or he is when he’s healthy. Suddenly my mind flares with memories of his knee bothering him yesterday. I see a second forward moving in and shout to Ollie, “Kincaid, support! Now!”

I’m too late.

Elliott makes the scramble for the ball. It’s something he’s done thousands of times, and this should have been no different. But as Calgary’s player kicks it over Elliott’s hand and straight to the second striker waiting ahead of Ollie, I know they have the goal.

But that’s not what causes my heart to fucking plummet. It’s Elliott’s cry of pain. Calgary’s player doesn’t stop in time. He collides with Elliott, leaving him clutching the same exact knee he’s been struggling with for the last several weeks.

Fuck.

“SARGE! BAXTER!” I whip toward the bench, calling out for the two men who can help him right now.

They bring out the fucking cart to get Elliott off the field. No one in the stands or on the field has made a noise since the scream ripped through the night. Calgary didn’t even celebrate their goal.

I guess I wouldn’t have either, given someone got badly injured and they received a red card. Now they’re down a player for the rest of the game against a team that has someone to dedicate a win to right now.

The few added minutes go by quickly and soon, we are all rushing into the locker room, desperate for an update. Baxter’s the only one waiting when we get there. “They just left for the hospital. Sarge wanted to get some scans done sooner rather than later.”

The team is silent as Baxter’s words settle in, everyone a bit shaken up and worried about Elliott. Coach claps, startling us all, before speaking up. “Alright. We need to come back and come back hard. For Cooper. Davis, you’re up, kid. Hope you’re ready because Calgary is going to come at us hard being one man down.”

All eyes drift over to Hudson, who looks like he just swallowed a lemon, but he straightens his spine and nods.

“I know it’s hard, but we have to put the injury out of our heads and just focus on the next half. We’ll get an update later. For now, let’s just do what we do best: play soccer.”

We did it.

I don’t know how, but we fucking did it.

After a grueling ninety-eight-minute game, we managed to pull off the four-to-three win, immediately holding up a single finger to dedicate the win to Elliott. Now, I find myself in the same position I was at the beginning of the game, searching the stands for a flash of caramel brown hair.

I see a flash of red that has to be Niamh followed closely by a glimpse of rich copper skin that I am pretty sure is Reya and blonde hair that I’m ninety percent sure is Baby Hayes. The women smile and wave at me, so I head in that direction. “Mateo!” Niamh screeches, earning her more than one dirty look. I just laugh to myself and pick up my pace so that she won’t feel the need to yell.

“Hello ladies. How are you?” I don’t bother asking if they enjoyed the game. It’s clear on their faces that they did but that Elliott’s injury is on their minds.

Mine too, guys. Mine too.

We chat for a few minutes before my curiosity finally gets the best of me and I interrupt Niamh, blurting out, “Where’s Élise?”

The three of them exchange a look and snicker. I close my eyes and try not to let my annoyance show on my face; it’s not their fault I’m so on edge right now. When I open them again, I notice they aren’t looking at me, but at something behind me.

Or rather someone.