Page 117 of Hometown Halftime

But the girls are already running warmups on the field and Brooke’s yelling about somebody stealing her mouthguard again, so instead I force a breath into my lungs and nod once.

“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m fine.”

Kinsey watches me and I wait for her to call my bullshit. Then finally she says, “Okay. But if you spiral during this game, I reserve the right to bully you back to reality.”

Despite everything clawing around inside my chest, a laugh slips out of me.

“Okay.”

The whistle blows twenty minutes later and from the very beginning, everything feels wrong.

The girls are moving too fast and thinking too much, which is never a good combination in rugby. Harper misses a clean pass near midfield. Brianna overcommits on defense and leaves a gap wide enough for Harrison Grove’s wing to slice straight through. Tara gets caught flat-footed after the recycle, and by the time I yell for her to shift, it's already too late.

Harrison Grove scores first.

Kinsey claps sharply from the sideline. “Shake it off! Reset!”

My eyes keep dragging back to the bleachers.

Dad hasn’t moved. He watches with his arms crossed now, and I feel like I’m back under a microscope.

“Riley,” Kinsey says under her breath when she passes me. “You’re missing calls.”

I straighten. “I know, sorry.”

Her eyes soften despite the edge in her voice. “Just focus on the field, okay?”

The command lands exactly where it needs to.

I drag in a breath and force my attention back to the match, but the damage is already settling in. The girls are frustrated. Their timing is off. Harrison Grove plays physical and clean, forcing mistakes. We make it to halftime down by two tries, and the girls drop onto the bench looking discouraged in a way I hate.

Because they’re used to fighting back now, but today, they look like they can’t figure out the game.

Kinsey crouches in front of them first, her voice calm but firm.

“Look at me. All of you.”

The girls lift their heads slowly.

“You’re not losing because they’re better than you,” she says. “You’re losing because you’re panicking. You’re forcing passes that aren’t there and waiting for someone else to fix it. Nobody is coming to save this game for you. You want back in it, you need to work together.”

Harper wipes mud off her cheek with the back of her wrist. “We can still win.”

“Hell yeah you can, just fall back on your basics,” Kinsey says.

I step in after her, pointing to the board with more focus than I’ve had all day. “Their defense is overcommitting inside. If we draw contact and recycle the ball quicker, we can create space out wide. But you have to trust your support runners. Be a teammate, not a hero.”

Paige exhales hard. “Got it, Coach.”

For a few minutes in the second half, it almost works.

Megan breaks through on the right side and gets us within scoring range. Brooke takes a hit that makes half our sideline gasp, then pops back up and drives forward again like a freaking champ. Tara finally reads the shift and forces a turnover at the breakdown that has Kinsey yelling loud enough to startle the Harrison Grove assistant coach.

The girls score once, but then Harrison Grove answers. And after that, the game starts slipping out of our hands. It unravels bit by bit through missed tackles and tired legs and a penalty that gives Harrison Grove too much field position with only six minutes left.

By the final whistle, we’re down by twelve.

The Harrison Grove sideline erupts, their players screaming and hugging near midfield while our girls stand scattered across the pitch, muddy and breathing hard. The girls file through the postgame line, offering tired high fives and “good game” to the other team. They gather slowly at our bench, shoulders slumped.