Page 20 of On the Breakaway

“Do I?”

I open my mouth to argue back, but come up empty.

“I need to set up the drills. Are you seriously okay just sitting up there so you can give me a ride home after?”

Harper shrugs, tucking her hands deeper into her sleeves. “I like watching.”

For a second, neither of us says anything.

Harper is hands down the best soccer player I’ve ever seen play. She was an All-American in college and could’ve played for any professional team she wanted, but instead she married James and started teaching.

I should let it go, but…

“You know you could be out here, right?” I gesture vaguely toward the field.

She shakes her head, a sad smile pulling at her lips. “Aves…”

“I’m serious,” I push, stepping a little closer to the stands. “You graduated last year. That’s not that long ago. There are girls in this camp who are your age, and they sure as hell aren’t anywhere near as good.”

She looks down at her hands, rubbing her thumb along the edge of her coffee cup. “I made a choice.”

I cross my arms, already not liking where this is going. “You can unmake it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It kind of is,” I say. “If you’re not happy, you change it.”

Her gaze lifts back to mine, steady but shielded in a way I don’t see often. “I am happy.”

I don’t say anything because it’s bullshit and we both know it.

“And I like teaching,” she adds, a little more firmly this time.

“You like soccer, too.”

“I did,” she agrees.

“Do,” I correct.

“Do,” she repeats softly, but it sounds like a memory.

Before I can figure out what to say to that, a whistle blows from across the field, sharp and familiar. I glance over my shoulder, spotting Coach Bennett near the center line, gathering a group of players. Time to actually do what I came here for.

It’s our annual recruitment camp for college players and recent grads. They show up, run drills, scrimmage, and do whatever they can to stand out in a sea of people trying to do the exact same thing.

There are coaches and scouts here from multiple pro teams, but we always host. Normally, the coaches run it, but this year, Coach Bennett said she wanted them to focus on scouting.

She’d asked for volunteers to lead the drills, and I’d jumped on it because as much as I love playing, I know it won’t last forever, and coaching feels like the right path for me long term.

I’ve been here all week pushing players harder than they probably expected when they signed up for this.

I step into the mix, tucking the ball under my arm as I approach the group Coach is gathering, already slipping into that familiar rhythm.

By the time the first full group rotates through warmups, I have the cones set and balls grouped where we need them for the drills.

“Quicker feet,” I call out, clapping my hands once to get their attention.

A girl at the front hesitates before starting the drill again, and her touches are cleaner this time.