Page 15 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)
The whistle blows before Frankie’s daydream about kissing someone with curls can fully form.
She didn’t even make it halfway down her chest before Zach hit the floor like a sack of spuds in her peripheral vision.
Frankie doesn’t wince. It’s the fourth time in as many minutes that he’s lost the ball.
It’s not entirely his fault; Johnson was nowhere to be seen.
Ezra is halfway down the field, still recovering from a tackle he should be able to get over.
The other player is the size of a ten-year-old girl.
Ten-year-old girls are bad-arse as fuck, but they shouldn’t be able to take Ezra down at his fucking knees.
Frankie chews on her lip and pulls out her phone.
Frankie: should I start dating?
It’s too fucking hot. That’s all she can think about, even though they’re fourteen to twenty-eight with Durham. Durham .
It’s not the end of the world, but she’s trying to make sure the team don’t think of games like that.
Beating Durham wouldn’t have advanced them to the championship, but it would mean they weren’t embarrassed for the next forty-eight hours until they think of the next match.
They’re early in the season, but no part of her wants it down to the wire.
Cam: ask her out
Frankie: who?
Cam: Jasmine!!!
Cam: ask her why she didn’t wanna kiss you and then fix it and then ask her out
Frankie doesn’t like withholding things from Cam, but they haven’t discussed relationships in months because Cam is dating Andrew, and everyone with half a mind hates Andrew. Cam is ridiculously smart, so Frankie’s got no idea what’s going on there.
Some people (Zach, who is a gossip, and Mali) think they rarely talk relationships because Ezra is in love with Cam, but Frankie warned him when he started looking at her when they were teenagers that she wasn’t getting in the middle of it.
Cam is her best friend, and Ezra is her brother and probably also her best friend.
Whatever they did or didn’t do, she didn’t want to know about it.
Unless they get married, and then she’ll be at the top of the aisle one way or another.
The whistle blows, and Ezra is on the ground.
How have they still got half an hour of this shitshow left?
She checks her watch, and they’ve only got eight minutes.
Huh. How did she get through an entire half and not realise?
She retraces her steps, wondering if she remembered to take her pills this morning.
They won’t react that quickly, even if she forgot, but sometimes it helps to blame something.
Frankie: I don’t know why I speak to you
Otherwise, for the twenty-thousandth day in a row, she’s daydreaming about a woman she can never have.
Cam: bc I made your fave cookies
Cam: dinner tonight?
Frankie: red velvet?
Cam: answer me
Seconds later, Frankie’s phone rings, and Cam’s face pops up on her screen. She laughs and answers, even though they’re mid-game. At the moment, they’re in the last half, and Kai hasn’t slowed once.
“May I help you?” Frankie says as she answers.
“You’re a rude-arse motherfucker,” Cam replies, the sounds of mixers whirring behind her. “Are you cooking, or shall I bring something?”
“Tomorrow? I have to do the accounts tonight.”
“Ew,” Cam replies. “Tomorrow is good.”
“Bring something,” Frankie replies. “Please.”
Cam hums. “And do I need to bring wine, or are we not discussing your gigantic crush on Jasmine?”
“I don’t know what you’re on about.” Frankie holds her breath until the silence on the other end of the line gets painful, then she sighs.
“I don’t know how to talk about it yet.”
“Oh,” Cam says. “It’s serious.”
Frankie groans. “No wine. I had to switch doctors, and he’s being annoying about my pills.”
“Got it, girl. Seven?”
“Okay.”
“Remind me to book my hair. Love you.”
“Love you.”
Frankie sets an alarm for seven thirty tomorrow to remind Cam to book in her hair. Then, she looks back onto the field and catches Kai obstructing. Again .
Frankie calls for a switch.
“Did you wanna watch me die?” Kai asks, jogging off. There’s no tone to it. He’s joking. He could have a tone (Frankie would tell him to piss off but he’d be within his rights to complain; he should have come off earlier) but he doesn’t.
“Just wanted to check your fitness,” she says.
Kai wipes his face with his top.
“Sure you’re not secretly replaying a lay?”
“Excuse the fuck out of me?” Frankie asks, and Kai holds his hands up.
“That’s your daydreaming face. Wondered if it was a bird. You know—the one you’re always drawing.”
“You wanna run laps?”
There’s too much on her mind. It’s accounting season, and apparently, because they have more money now, they need to do more than the odd tax form here and there, and obviously, they’ve left it way too late.
Junior training starts next week, and they’re missing something, but she can’t figure out what.
Frankie said she wasn’t getting involved.
If they wanted a junior team, they had to figure it out themselves.
Her heart was set on a women’s team, and she didn’t have time for three teams a week.
Then, she met Jasmine and her adorable child, and Ezra told her she could join the team. Now Frankie’s gotta be there as an extra adult, which isn’t a burden; it’s just another thing. She really needs another doctor’s appointment.
“We’re losing.”
“Yeah,” she replies quickly. Bright gets the ball. Tight.
“Is it Groundhogs next?” Kai asks just as fast, and she frowns.
“Yep.”
“Midday?”
“Yep.”
“What’s her name? ”
“Jasmine,” she replies, watching Azan take their defender out before he can touch Bright. Finally .
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she says, turning to Kai, who has a shit-eating grin.
“Did you meet her at the quiz?” Kai asks.
Frankie sighs. “Leave me alone. Ref!”
“Foul,” Johnson shouts after her. The ref is sometimes to blame for a loss, but not today. He has been shit, though.
“Wanker,” Kai mutters. “So, did you see her last night?”
“I was avoiding her,” Frankie replies, “if you must know.” She’s only giving him something because Kai can’t talk about emotions. He can’t girl-talk. He can’t give advice. He’s a pretty boy who gets whatever he wants and has the emotional range of a goldfish.
“That mean she’s fair game?”
“I will bench you until the end of the season,” Frankie warns, and when she glares at him, he looks away first.
Frankie had grand plans of having everyone help with the taxes.
Then there were one too many noises, and she kicked them all out.
Frankie schedules her life down to a T, so not being able to cross accounts off her to-do list is killing her.
She’s already simmering too close. This season means everything, and she has no way of knowing what’s going to happen. Frankie doesn’t do well with panic.
Frankie’s not doing well regardless.
It might have something to do with Jasmine. She’s pretending it’s mainly because they lost to Durham. Durham.
Ezra is useless, but he’s here, and she likes that he’s here even though she’s being a wanker.
Ezra is always with her after a loss because he thinks losing will make her spiral.
Like she doesn’t take eight pills a day to stop that from happening.
This league is new to them, though. Before, they just had to win. Now, it means something.
“Jesus, fuck,” Frankie groans. “I don’t even know what twelve thousand, three hundred and eighty-seven plus seventeen thousand, two hundred and eighty-three is, let alone how to tax it.”
“Twenty-nine thousand, six hundred and seventy,” Jasmine replies, as she walks into the office.
Frankie spins so fast on her chair that she almost topples over.
Jasmine is in shorts and a crop top with TITANS on the front.
She’s wearing a green baseball cap, her hair in loose waves, and Frankie thinks she’s the hottest person she’s ever seen.
Frankie looks at her, and then at Marcel and Lani, who are coming through the door dressed in matching rugby tops. The whole family is too cute.
“Hi, Frankie,” Lani says. “Ezra!” Lani has seen Ezra the same number of times she’s seen Frankie, and yet he gets the good greeting.
“What type of tax do you have to pay?” Jasmine asks, as Frankie watches Lani ignore her for Ezra, who frowns but immediately bends to talk to her.
“Hi,” he says.
“You okay?” she asks, wheeling her chair back and forwards like she can’t sit still. Then, before he can reply, she asks, “What are you doing?”
“Paying our taxes and trying to figure out how to beat M’Baku.”
“M’Baku is out,” Marcel replies.
“What?” Frankie asks, getting her phone out, but it hangs uselessly in her hand when Ezra stands up.
He hugs Jasmine. Like they know each other beyond the open day.
Ezra doesn’t hug people. They mutter to each other, and Frankie wants to tell them to enunciate.
The office needs someone to project their voice if they want to be heard .
He fist-bumps Marcel, and Frankie is about to strop. She looks at her phone instead.
“Fuck,” Frankie mutters. M’Baku is out. He’s not injured, so she doesn’t feel bad for celebrating. He’s sick. Not ideal. The team still won’t be easy to beat, but it means the Titans can use their preferred lineup.
“What do you think, Marcel?” Frankie asks. Marcel looks terrified, but in a good way. Like he’s a teenage boy who is in the same room as the rugby players he has on his bedroom wall. “If M’Baku is out, what formation should we use?”
His eyebrows move rapidly, like Jasmine’s do when she’s thinking.
“They’ll play Ashford, but only for half because he’s not fit at the moment,” Marcel replies. Frankie knows that, but she wonders if they’ll risk it anyway.
“You could start Bright and then bring Azan on at half-time. Then if they play Ashford the entire time, he’ll be toast.”
“You think they’ll start him?” Frankie asks. Lani might prefer Ezra, but she’ll get Marcel on side.