Or even the next day.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Callaghan says from the driver’s seat. We just dropped Andi’s car off. I used her keys and let myself in to check on her. She was sleeping again, but she stirred when I shook her shoulder.
I could have sworn she mumbled something like, “Don’t touch me.” It was enough to tell me she was in her right mind. I crept quietly out, leaving the keys on the hook by the door.
Because of course, she has a hook for her keys.
“Andi doesn’t like me.”
“You call her Andrew.”
“Nicknames are a form of affection.” I don’t know why this is my response. I didn’t give her a nickname because I felt any sort of affinity. Quite the opposite, really. I did it to piss her off. It’s fun watching her get all riled up.
She doesn’t rile easily.
In fact, I’d say most of the time, she doesn’t have much of a reaction at all. But when she does ... whatever. She’s not my concern.
“I think I shocked Leora Deventhorpe with wanting to sponsor a charity event.”
“Let’s face it, you’re not usually the first in line to volunteer or shake hands. Do you even sign autographs?”
“Well, I take selfies and I even smile.” That’s a dig at Callaghan. His panties were in such a twist after he—we—blew the quarterfinals last year that he told a bunch of cleat chasers that he’d only smile when there was something to smile about.
He went viral for that, and not the good kind of viral way.
See? I’m not the only one. This social media thing really is a double-edged sword.
“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to get good publicity for once.”
“You’re on that thin ice?” Callaghan glances over at me, raising his eyebrows.
“I thought you’d be in the know, being captain and all. I’m on probation. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I’m guessing they’re not going to be super tolerant of me fucking up much more.”
“I’d guess not. That’s the problem in our field. There’s always someone else, younger, healthier, more driven, ready to take our spot on the team.”
I shrug. I have no idea what I’d do if I didn’t play soccer, but the thought of not playing again doesn’t gut me the way it does Callaghan.
And the thought of not playing gutted Xavier Henry too. I don’t know him that well, since he just joined the team, but we all know—now—that he married a stranger to be able to keep playing in the USSL.
Hell, if I’d ever do something so desperate.
On the other hand, when I try to think about life without soccer, my heart rate picks up speed. Soccer’s been the one constant in an otherwise tumultuous life, even though soccer was the cause of the chaos to begin with.
“What would you do if you weren’t playing soccer?” I ask.
Callaghan says nothing.
“Oh, come on. Your shoulder has been messed up for months. You’ve had to be thinking about it.”
“It’s all I ever think about. I’m not getting any younger. Now that I’ve had my caps with the National Team, I’m probably going to work on transitioning away. CC needs to get more experience. I’m working with Max a bit more on goalkeeping coaching. I’m not trying to push him out of a job, but it’s a logical step. I’ll probably go to another team to be their keeper coach, if I can get hired somewhere.”
I laugh. “I don’t think anyone in their right mind will hire me for a coach. I’ve got a few years to figure it out.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Really?” His eyebrows elevate. “I thought you were much younger. You act that way.”
