Page 81 of Hometown Halftime

Contact hits hard near midfield. Bodies collide. Cleats rip through grass while a ruck forms around the tackle. It’s already cleaner than last week.

Lily drives aggressively into the ruck to clear it while Jenna whips the ball to the left.

Then Brooke sees a stretch of open field.

“Oh no,” I say under my breath.

She accelerates instantly, slicing through a defensive gap before my side can slide over fast enough to shut her down.

“Yes!” Kinsey shouts, pumping her fist while Brooke dives over the try line.

Half the field erupts cheering while Brooke celebrates.

I point accusingly toward Kinsey. “Don’t get cocky yet.”

“She should be cocky,” Kinsey fires back. “That was beautiful.”

“Your leadership style creates monsters.”

“You’re just upset because my team scored first.”

The next sequence is better for us.

Megan drives hard through contact near midfield before popping a clean offload to Paige in support. A quick recycle, then the ball moves right. My side gains territory fast while the girls communicate properly through phases.

“That’s it!” I yell. “Keep pressure on them!”

Kinsey cups a hand around her mouth from down the sideline. “Shut it down, ladies!”

The girls reset again breathing hard, faces flushed, eyes sharp with adrenaline and competition.

Another phase starts, this one rougher and faster with heavier contact and more desperation around the breakdowns. The girls are fighting for every inch now, competitive energy taking over.

In the middle of all of it, I catch myself watching Kinsey pace the sideline barking instructions while sunlight illuminates her features.

Then I realize I’m standing there smiling like an idiot again.

Chapter thirty-four

Kinsey

By Friday night, Riley’s duplex already feels different.

The built-in shelves of the spare room closet hold my folded clothes. My shampoo and face wash are lined up beside Riley’s in the upstairs bathroom, and the grey duvet Kate convinced me to buy now covers the bed in my room.

There are little signs of me everywhere already.

My keys sit in a ceramic tray beside the front door. My purse hangs off the hook beside Riley’s jacket because he put another one up just for me. The paperback I’ve been reading rests on the coffee table beside his textbook and remote control.

Temporary. This is temporary.

I repeat that to myself while curled into the corner of Riley’s couch with half a turkey club from Penny’s balanced on my knee and absolutely zero confidence behind the thought anymore.

The duplex smells like toasted bread, laundry detergent, and whatever body wash Riley uses that somehow manages to smell both clean and unfairly attractive at the same time. Some random cooking competition plays quietly on the television as cracked windows let cool fall air drift through the living room.

Practice ran long tonight, which resulted in Riley insisting we stop at Penny’s on the way home because, according to him, “you can’t properly recover from conditioning drills with protein bars and spite alone.”

Sort of rude of him to be right about that.