Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)
Kate
I check the clock again. The ninety-minute mark has come and gone. If we don’t score soon, Brazil will win and our Olympic
run will be over in the semi-finals.
One of our midfielders steals the ball and drives it down towards me. She feints, confusing her opponent, and chips it in the direction of our other striker. Using her body to stop the ball, the striker quickly turns to take it to the goal.
When she realizes that there’s a defender between her and the goalkeeper, she arcs the ball my way. I’m known to be tough in the penalty zone, able to score in ways most strikers can’t even fathom. Brazil knows this, so with the game on the line they’re desperate to keep the ball from getting to me. And we all know that desperate people do stupid things.
I get under the ball, set up perfectly to send into the net with a perfectly timed header. As the ball comes down into play, a searing pain tears through my calf and I stumble to the ground.
The refs whistle sounds off, loud and long. I can only assume the referee holds up a red card, because while I’m gripping my leg where the player dug her sharp boot into me, holding back the scream that wants to burst from my lungs, half of the arena begins to boo and the other half cheers loudly.
Coach Lewis and our medic rush out on the pitch. Players circle around, watching as they help me hobble to the bench. While our medic tends to my leg, tears prick my eyes. My Olympic career is over.
Less than a minute later, the game ends and so does the United Kingdom’s run in women’s football. The team surrounds me, exchanging hugs and cheers for the hard work everyone put in. A few tears are shed as well. We went farther than most experts predicted. I couldn’t be prouder to be a part of this team.
“Kate!”
I struggle to my feet—foot actually—as my left calf is swathed in white gauze, bright red blood already showing through.
My name is called again, and this time I see him.
Dax strides purposefully down the sideline, his face a mask of concern. I’m not the only one who notices his distress, because the crowd of players and officials melts back to allow him through.
“Kate.” He grabs me, lifting me off my feet and into his arms. “You alright, angel?”
Through the salty flood of tears, I smile. I no longer need to prove anything to myself. After our talk the other day, all of my self-doubt is gone. It only took seven years and two continents for us to be honest with each other.
Dax tenderly brushes my hair back from my face and gives me one of the hottest, sexiest, toe-curling kisses I’ve ever had in my life.
The arena erupts in whistles and cheers, the fans going mental. Dax points up to the massive electronic screen where I spot us, ten meters tall, on display for everyone to see. We look…well, we look happy. I’m grinning from ear to ear cradled against Dax’s chest, my bandaged leg dangling over one of his thick arms. Dax pulls his attention from the screen back to me, whispering in my ear, “I love you,” before snogging me good and proper to the delight of everyone at Millennium Stadium.
“I think I’m ready to go home now,” I tell him.
“Home?”
“With you.”
Grinning like fools, Dax carries me off the pitch to begin our life together.
EPILOGUE
Dax
Two years later.
“Dax!”
I turn to see Adam rushing to catch me as I walk into the New York studio where we’ve been recording our latest album. It’s a soundtrack for some movie I’ve never heard of. Interestingly, it’s our first time doing a soundtrack, which is odd seeing as we’ve been around a while.
“Dax, you won’t believe what happened last night.” Adam is panting from running through the building, presumably to locate me.
“What happened?”
His eyes dart around, looking for what, I have no idea. Adam grabs my arm and pulls me into the nearby men’s room. He checks to make sure it’s empty before calming down enough to speak.
“Is all this subterfuge really necessary?” I ask, rolling my eyes at his dramatics.