Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(71)

My removal from the game was our team’s greatest weakness and Canada was going to try and exploit it. Coach Decker had run conservative defensive drills at the last few practices, but I still worried it wouldn’t be enough. If we lost this game, my rehabbing wouldn’t be necessary; there’d be no championship game.

“This will be good for you,” Coach Decker said, nodding to me before the officials started the game.

Good for me?

Nothing about that day was good for me.

An hour later, I leaned forward and gripped the edge of the bench. I was about to break off a chunk of the cold aluminum—either that or break my hand, whichever came first.

“Girls, pick it up!” our coach yelled from the sidelines.

Her shouts were tame compared to what I was screaming in my head. My team was playing like complete shit. After Michelle had missed three easy shots, Kinsley started trying to do too much by herself. Erin kept getting screened by her own defenders, and she’d let two goals sail past her in the first half. I knew she was trying her hardest, but it was clear that the chemistry and communication was completely off.

Early in the second half, we got our act together defensively and started increasing pressure on the other end. I scooted farther off the bench, watching Becca kick ass with her practiced footwork to turn opponents and penetrate Canada’s side. Near the goal, she kicked it hard to Michelle, but missed the mark. The other team cleared the ball and effortlessly guided it back toward Erin. With no defenders left between her and the attacker, she charged forward and slid face first at the ball. I squeezed my eyes closed, but she’d miraculously made the save.

We were down 2-1 and if we didn’t start picking up the pace, we’d be the first US Women’s National Team to miss out on gold since 2000, and the first to ever miss out on a medal completely.

For the remainder of the game, I was in a constant state of panic. I stood, sat, paced, pinched my eyes closed, even covered them with my hand in the final minutes of the game. My worrying had been in vain though. We won thanks to Kinsley’s 11th hour heroics, which ended up being the only silver lining to an otherwise terrible day.

I trailed after my team as they headed off the field toward the idling bus. They were elated, high-fiving and clapping each other’s shoulders. Kinsley and Becca had their arms wrapped around one another, and though I was happy for them, I couldn’t shake the dark cloud hanging over my head.

The game had been entirely too close for comfort, but we’d pulled through and won by the skin of our teeth—well, they had won by the skin of their teeth. I had sat on the bench by the skin of my ass.

I couldn’t conquer my bad mood. I wanted them to win, and yet when Erin had pulled through and blocked the last two goals, I’d felt useless. I was supposed to be an integral part of this team, and yet they’d shown they could win without me. I was working my ass off to rehab my injury for the championship game, but now there was a good chance they wouldn’t even want me.

“Andie!” Kinsley shouted, waving for me to catch up to them.

I tucked my head and joined them, letting them fold me in their arms even though I would rather have hung back by myself.

“We’re going to grab dinner. Want to come?”

I shook my head.

“You guys go on ahead. I’ve got a training session with Lisa.”

I wanted to go home, fall into bed, and never wake up again, but I couldn’t skip my training session. I dragged myself to the training center and changed into workout clothes. Lisa still hadn’t arrived by the time I was ready to start, but I wasn’t going to go out and look for her. I couldn’t stand walking around the village any more than I had to; the stares and whispers were getting worse, and I could only ignore them for so long. Fortunately, the training center was all but empty. It was the thick of the Olympic games and most athletes were out competing or watching the events.

I pushed up onto the training table Lisa usually assigned me and dug around in my bag until I felt my phone. I’d purposely avoided looking at it all day, and as I powered it on, that decision was confirmed as a good one. I had thirty missed calls, fifteen voicemails, and forty-six text messages waiting for me.

“Fuck,” I groaned under my breath, trying to triage the messages. I skipped over the texts from random high school friends wanting an inside scoop about the drama and opened an email from my agent.



I’ve hired a publicist to handle the media backlash. We won’t lose sponsorships—this might even help you. We’ll get this figured out. Good luck at the game. -Holly



I took a breath and scrolled down to open a message from my mom.



Mom: When Meemaw asked for a photo, she didn’t mean that kind of photo. (Is it too soon to joke?) I’m sorry, sweetie. This will all pass. We love you. Call me.



There were dozens more from her, but I dropped my phone on the table behind me just as I caught sight of someone walking into the training center out of the corner of my eye.

I glanced up and my breath caught in my throat. Freddie stood in the middle of the doorway, frozen and staring at me. His chocolate-brown hair was damp and a few strands had fallen down across his forehead. His eyes were a dark mixture of shame and desire. I got the two mixed up as he stepped closer, tugging the headphones from around his neck and dropping them on top of his workout bag. He was in his swimming clothes, the warm-up outfit that made him look even more the part of the powerful Olympian.