Page 2 of Penalty Kick

Dash nodded, not sure what else to do. He didn’t really want to rehash all of it. He’d done nothing but think about all this since he’d woken up in that jail cell in Las Vegas just yesterday morning. He apparently didn’t get a choice in the matter though, as Cowboy pressed forward.

“The Atlanta Rising wins the Fremont Cup. The first ever expansion team to do so during their inaugural season. Pretty big deal. Cause for celebration. And while out celebrating, you, Dash, thought it would be a good idea to visit a strip club, join in on the fun by taking your own clothes off, rolling around with the performers, letting them use your body for God-knows-what. And when you were done with that, you thought you’d take the party outside and try to teach some unsuspecting tourists how to salsa dance. Naked.”

Swallowing hard, Dash nodded again. That was about the long and short of it.

Or so he was told.

Cowboy had left out that the evening had started out with the whole team celebrating—starting with a massive dinner, more food than Dash had ever seen in one place. Followed by hitting the casino floor. Their celebration had been interrupted though when Liam Daley, the team’s goalie and his roommate on road trips, had gotten a text telling him that his longtime coach and mentor, Gunnar, was about to elope and marry the team’s owner, Felicity Sutherland. That’s when the night had taken its first turn.

“We’re expected,” Liam said, turning to his girlfriend, Avery Houghton, the team’s physical therapist, and Talia Whitmore, Avery’s roommate and Gunnar’s daughter. “We better head out.”

For a split second in the moment, watching them walk away, Dash had thought about inviting himself along. Sitting here now, being given the staredown from his bosses, he was kicking himself all over again for not doing just that. Because that was one of the last things Dash remembered.

With Talia taking off, so had all of Dash’s hopes about the night being one to remember. It’d been love at first sight the second Talia had walked into their first team meeting. At least it had been on his end. Talia still needed more convincing. But she’d been warming up to him, or so he’d thought. The plan had been to finally make a move—a real move—that night. But then she was gone.

A second later, standing where Talia had been, was a cute blonde, all smiles and giggles. She’d flirted with him, egging him on as he placed losing bet after losing bet at craps. At one point she’d suggested going somewhere else, but Dash didn’t remember where. Standing with her at that table was where his memory ended. Just ended.

Next thing he knew, he was waking up in a jail cell, wrapped in a blanket.

“Did I miss anything?” Cowboy asked, the tone of his voice telling Dash that correcting him would not end well.

“I…I do not remember.”

“How fucking convenient.”

“Lucky for you, there’s video,” Gunnar added.

Dash wasn’t feeling very lucky at the moment. Whatever the opposite of luck was—that's what he was feeling.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I do not remember—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you don’t remember, Dash!” Gunnar screamed. “Do you understand just how bad this looks?”

“Does it though? American athletes act out all the time. It is not liked I killed someone,” he offered. Hell, it wasn’t just even the American athletes. Dash had spent his entire childhood in Argentina reading about all sorts of pro-footballers and other athletes and their misadventures. This was just another one of those, yes? That was how he needed to frame this.

Cowboy and Gunnar should understand. They were former players. Their other best friend, the infamous Cullen Cruz, who was arguably the greatest player ever, was always in the news for something. Just last year the man had made the headlines over a bar fight. No one held it against Cullen, so maybe they wouldn’t hold this against him.

“I’m not even going to dignify the killing someone part with an answer,” Gunnar responded, teeth clenched. “And other athletes do not play for the Rising. We have standards. And acting like this does not meet them.”

So much for that approach…

The rock in his stomach flipped somehow, making all the emotions swirling around in him rise up. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this…bad. That was the only word he could come up with—bad. Guilt, remorse, dread and so much more all rolled together to form the cloud currently surrounding him. If there were a hole in the ground, right now Dash was pretty sure he’d go and hide there for the rest of time.

“Cowboy, Coach…I do not remember. I know that sounds like—”

“Bullshit?” Gunnar offered.

Dash hung his head. It did sound like bullshit. He hadn’t even had that much to drink. Or so he’d thought. The whole night after Liam got that text was simply a black hole in his mind. Why couldn’t he remember?

“Here’s the thing, Dash,” Gunnar continued. “I want to believe that deep down, you’re a good guy. You can be a cocky little shit on the pitch, but you’re a damn good player. And I want you on my squad. But not if this is how you're going to act.”

“I—”

“Let me finish.” Gunnar held up a hand, stopping him.

Dash nodded, suddenly very self-conscious about how much he’d done that in the last few minutes. It was like moving his head up and down was the only thing he’d been able to do. Had they noticed that too? No, he was just overthinking this, feeling like every miniscule action of his was under the microscope. There was no way his bosses were watching him close enough to notice, right?