Everything for You (Bergman Brothers #5)(7)
I smile. “I got you covered, Coach.”
“Uncle Olllieeee,” Linnie whines, starting to do the I have to pee dance, hopping from one foot to another, clutching her shorts.
“Okay, bud. Let’s go find Mommy.”
Per usual for these Linnie visits, I left Freya talking shop with our physical trainers on staff, Dan and Maria who’s a friend of hers from college days. If the past is any indication, Dan and Maria will be in their swivel chairs, sipping the coffees I brought them, Freya with her feet up on a massage table, hands propped on her stomach, which is currently home to Bergman-MacCormack baby number two.
Crouching, I give Linnie my back, and she hops on, soccer ball clutched in one arm. “Bye, Coach! Bye, guys!” she calls. “See ya next time when I beat your butts!”
They laugh, saying their goodbyes as we exit the locker room.
“Hurry, Uncle Ollie!” Linnie yells. “I’m gonna pee my pants!”
After handing off Linnea to Freya, I’m halfway to Coach’s office when I stop and backtrack, remembering what I need. At my cubby in the locker room, I open the cooler and grab the container holding one of Viggo’s homemade semlor. With a quick jog back down the hall, I’m at Coach’s office. The door is cracked, so I step in, then shut it behind me.
“Oh, thank God,” Coach says, rubbing her hands. “You’re the best.”
Smiling, I set down the dessert that makes her eyes light up—semla, a cardamom-infused bun bursting with marzipan whipped cream, a sliver of the bun resting on top, dusted with powdered sugar.
Gavin watches this transaction with his usual unreadable, albeit chilly, expression, but I can imagine what he’s thinking: Kiss-ass. Brown-noser. Suck-up.
When, really, I just like making people happy. I like that Viggo gets sales for his baking side-hustle, and Coach gets the sweets she’s craving. It makes me feel good to give people what they need and put a smile on their faces.
But I’m long past expecting Gavin to understand where I’m coming from. He’s made it clear since day one that he can’t stand me.
It stung when he first joined. I’d hoped we could at least be friendly teammates—that is, after I got over being starstruck. And maybe it’s because I looked up to him so much that his disdain cut so badly. He’s not only the world’s greatest player in modern history—he’s one of the first and few openly gay professional soccer players.
His coming out, given in that low, authoritative growl at a press conference with so much succinct confidence and poise, inspired me to be out everywhere in my life. It emboldened me to talk openly about being queer with my college and then professional soccer teams, about my hopes for the game to become safer and more accepting—whether players were questioning, out just to themselves, to their families, to their friends, or to the public.
I hoped as two openly queer guys on the same team, we could have each other’s backs in a sport that has failed me many times over the years. Toxic masculinity. Blatant and subtle homophobia and biphobia. In locker rooms, on the field, at tryouts, in the media.
But no. Ever since he joined us two years ago, all Gavin has done is act like he sees this career move as a thoroughly unpalatable demotion. All he’s done after scoring each one of those beautiful goals is scowl at the camera, shower off after the game, growl his way through interviews, and walk out.
“So,” Coach says around a bite, gesturing for me to sit down. “Bergman. I have some good news.”
Good news sounds promising. I should be excited, but I have no idea what it’s about, so anxiety and my mind’s pervasive tendency to worst-case-scenario everything I don’t have clarity about clouds over the moment. Somehow, my brain twists “good news” to “good news but.”
I swallow nervously as Coach sets down the semla and dusts off her hands.
“In your three seasons,” she says, “you have demonstrated true leadership and incredible work ethic.”
Nerves clenching my stomach. “But…?”
She frowns, swiping her finger through the cream filling and popping it in her mouth. “But nothing. I’m giving you a compliment.”
“Uh. Okay.” I shift uneasily on the chair. “Well, thank you, Coach.”
“You’re welcome. And it’s because of that dedication and leadership you’ve demonstrated that you’re our new co-captain.”
My eyes widen. My gaze snaps toward Gavin, who’s boring holes into Coach’s head with his stare. “What?” I whisper.
Coach leans in, flashing a wide, bright smile. “You’re. Our. New. Co-captain. Congratulations.”
“B-but, no. Wait. I—” Clearing my throat, I shift to the edge of my seat and lean in. “I’m not. That is, Hayes is—”
“An incredible presence on the field,” Coach finishes, smiling at Gavin, whose only tell that he’s two seconds away from flipping the desk she’s leaning on is a vein pulsing furiously in his temple. “Brilliantly skilled. But so are you. You two have…complementary technical strengths, leadership styles, and field presence.”
Now his jaw is ticking.
Her gaze meets Gavin’s calmly, then slides my way. “Given that, management and I agree our team will be better for both of you leading it, our team’s rising star and our illustrious veteran player. The pressure’s on. We won our first MLS Cup in years this past December. Now we’ve got to keep that momentum, pick up in this preseason right where we left off at the end of last year, and do it all over again. I’m counting on you two to get us there.”