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And then he went on to explain exceptions can be made for anxiety and time restraints, but his primary concern was that the team carry an equal share of the work so that everyone gets an opportunity to grow the team.

It was amazing. And while a few of the guys griped and groaned about the changes, it was all just complaining. No one, not even Kean, put up a fight with Sharma’s new methods, and we were a better team for it. Training went by smoother, we had time to try out new plays, we got new equipment, I wasn’t the only one doing press conferences and post-game interviews. Every single aspect of the team had improved with this transition.

I should be relieved everything turned out so well, that we had a coach who pushed us forward, that I didn’t have to spend every waking hour thinking about the team.

But instead I felt … listless.

Since I signed on five years ago, my life revolved around the Dastards. Boyd had relied on me to do practically everything that was under his job description, even offseason. And now that I didn’t have to do all that, I was lost. My responsibilities were cut in half and I didn’t know what to do with myself.

“You all right?” Kean asked, knocking his elbow into my arm as we reached the locker room.

“Yeah, why?” There’d been a shift in the team during the worst of Coach Boyd’s … lackadaisical tenure, where the guys got closer by helping Kean romance his childhood friend. At first I loved seeing the team act like a family, it’s the exact team dynamic I dreamed of. But once my responsibilities dwindled, I realized I hadn’t been involved in any of it. I wasn’t there to give advice, oversee Kean and Kodi, participate in the shenanigans the boys made up to get those two together. It was like their whole story played out and I was just a background piece.

And even now that I had the time to connect with them, I could still feel the gap between us. It wasn’t that they didn’t involve me in conversations or invite me out. It was completely a me problem. I hadn’t adjusted to the absence of pressure, the tension hadn’t eased, the habits hadn’t died. So when we talked, when we hung out, I was still the captain who had to do it all, be braced for anything.

“’Cause your brow is furrowed after a win,” Kean said in a grumble.

“Yeah, Cap, we killed it. What’re you frowning for?” Sosa asked before flinging his sweat-soaked headband toward his cubby and shaking his long hair loose.

“Maybe he’s disappointed Kean let a goal in,” Brooker said, slapping our goalie on the shoulder. Kean huffed and shrugged Brooker off. At the beginning of the season, Kean would’ve been rougher with his teammate, but now the razzing was just a bit between friends.

“No, it’s —”

“We’ll practice saves from that angle next week, Kean,” Coach said as he entered, focused on his clipboard. I couldn’t count the times I carried around a clipboard with play notes. Now it just sat at the bottom of my duffle bag. “And that shot you missed too, Brooker.”

Kean chuckled while Brooker whined. I clasped Brooker on the shoulder before going over to Sharma, snagging a washcloth from my cubby to nervously fiddle with. “Do you wanna go over any of the plays, Coach?

Sharma looked up from the board and cocked his head, brow furrowed. “No? We can do that Monday. Go enjoy the win with the team, captain. You did good tonight.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, the thing I did to assure my teammates, and strode off to his office.

“Having a hard time adjusting?” Taylor asked.

“Oh, I —” I scratched at the back of my head. I wanted to be closer to the team and admitting I was struggling was probably a good way to do that. But as the captain, I needed to hold things together, I needed to be the example folks could look to. If they saw I was nervous, they might think there’s something to be nervous about without realizing that … I’m just always a bit nervous.

“No,” I finally said. “It’s just different.”

“Uh-huh,” Taylor mumbled, turning to his cubby and stripping off his jersey. “You know—”

“Christenson!” Brooker interrupted, jumping on my back. “TJ’s, yes? They got cannon-puppies.”

“Cannon-puppies?” I repeated.

“Yeah, for every home game, they give a cannon-puppies basket to whoever asks.”

“Dude, explain what the cannon-puppies are,” Carter said, smacking Brooker with his shirt.

“It’s hush puppies, but the number of ’em are how many goals we scored.”

“Oh.” The Dastards had an occasional pirate theme. We didn’t have a mascot, but for every goal we made at home, a cannon sound effect went off. And Fuller, one of the youngest players on the first string, got a tattoo of a soccer ball with a pirate hat on it. He showed it to Becca and Kodi, our new social media manager and Kean’s girlfriend, and based on their reactions, I think the pirate theme might become more substantial in the coming months. Though I’m not sure how they’ll be able to convince anyone to wear a full mascot costume in this Florida heat.

“So?” Brooker prodded me with his elbow. I looked down at the towel in my hand, debating. It’d be good to bond with the team and it’d be especially good to give business to our new sponsor. I wanted to do those things, but I couldn’t dismiss the feeling that there was work I should be doing.

“A drink might help you relax,” Jimenez said with a shrug. “You’ve got free time now, might as well spend it at a pub with us. Better than going home and stressing about things you can’t control.”

That was a very good point. The last few weeks, I’ve been going to my empty condo hours earlier than normal and just … doing nothing. I’d walk from my bedroom to the living room, just to go right back to bed.

It was horrible.