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I knew I was in the wrong somehow, but I held my own, determined to keep moving along the sidelines like I knew what to do and not let him know that I knew I probably missed the call. Thankfully, by the time the next play went on, he had found something else to yell about that didn't involve me.
When halftime started, I got to head into my own personal room where I was safe from eyes and ears. I ran alongside my fellow referees and into the tunnel where they quickly turned into their locker room, away from mine.
I was alone for two full minutes as I walked to the area they showed me was exclusively mine before someone slid in step beside me.
“You need to keep your eyes on the fucking play,” Coach Peyton’s voice boomed angrily. “This is preseason, so a lot gets overlooked, but if this was a regular season game, your ass would be out the door already.”
I nodded, not wanting to voice my opinion or show him my face. I was so completely overwhelmed and anxious that I felt lightheaded and was on the verge of showing myself to the door.
Once he was done saying his peace, he jogged past me and further down the corridor to the locker room while I took a left into a small hallway that held my quarters. I opened the door quickly and slammed it behind me, turning the lock so that no one dared to come in.
It was a small space, but there had been a good-sized locker installed, a dinette style table, a small fridge, and a leather couch. Off to the side was a bathroom and a huge shower that, though big, looked to have been installed as an afterthought.
I plopped onto the soft leather and bit my lip to keep from screaming. There was no way I could eat during our short break. I was on the verge of vomiting as it was.
Up in the corner, a small TV with the broadcast of the game was on. The volume was too low to hear but there I was, on repeat, being discussed. Probably mentioning my missed call or how silly I looked out there. I was only 5’4 and standing next to the huge players and coaches, I bet I looked ridiculous.
Fragile.
I never felt inadequate in my life. I had always been tough as nails–mentally and physically. Even without the fact that I had a one-night stand with Coach Peyton, I still would have felt small.
My brother, Jesse, and my mom were the only people in my life that believed I could actually make it in the world of professional football. When I finally realized one day I would never be big enough to play, I decided I wanted to referee. Mom and Jesse bought me my first study book by selling extra crafts at the flea market where they worked.
They worked hard for that $30 and I told them I wouldn't let them down, that I would do it. I had finally made it and I knew they had a TV set up at the market to watch me officiate my first pro game.
That reminder made me stand as tall as I could, and march toward my small fridge. I gulped a bottle of water and then headed out onto the field to finish the game and make them proud.
Who cared if I slept with the coach? That was done and over and he was equally responsible for that misdemeanor. We had no idea who each other were and we would just have to live with skirting our secret under the rug. I bet Coach Peyton didn't want anyone knowing either.
He had enough to deal with on his own. We both had a lot of pressure. We both had a reason to keep our secret.
So, who cared if he sees my face? If he realized who I was? If he doesn’t like the calls I make on the field?
We both had a job to do and as for me, I was going to do it well.
Chapter4
Levi
It really didn't matter that we were playing a preseason game. To a coach, they were all important and meaningful. Especially one being scrutinized for every decision.
Ms. Wright better have been glad I was feeling extra tense myself and didn't care to engage more than I did. I just warned her she needed to get it together and quickly. Which was not done from the goodness of my heart. More like a warning that I could fight a bigger fight if she made me.
And I wasn't even the worst of her problems.
By the time I got back onto the field for the second half, my mind was back in the game and I was running through the motions. The second half started and once again I was behind Ms. Wright as she called a fairly good second half as the line judge.
With twenty seconds left on the clock, at the end of the game, she spotted the ball an inch too short, in my opinion, and I finally lost it on her again.
“Are you fucking kidding me, lady?”
“Quiet down Coach,” she warned. “You have a red flag if you want to challenge it.”
“I’m not wasting my red flag,” I yelled at the back of her head. “You’re going to get the calls right or shit is going to get ugly like I warned you they would.”
For the first time since the game started, she flipped around and stared at me in the eyes. It was my first good look at her and I was not prepared for the woman looking back at me.
Brown hair, dark brown eyes, flush cheekbones, and familiar lips. Those lips started to snarl at me and she got closer.
