Page 5 of Unrivaled Love (D.C. Renegades #2)

Jo

Barnyard Kerfuffle

The US v. Venezuela exhibition game kicked off the PSL July break but I’m not taking any time off.

Salt Lake City FC holds informal practices and conditioning sessions and since I only had one goal, and one other solid opportunity, during the US match I am on the practice pitch today grinding it out.

I didn’t even bother putting on real clothes this morning. I dressed in my training jersey, drove in early, started with a few warm up laps, and went into drills right after. Footwork, ball handling, and walking myself through the set plays.

I feel good. Comfortable. The process of pushing myself to my personal limit and testing it further drives me.

But, my training would be more effective if a teammate was out here too. We could practice passes until they become seamless.

There isn’t any other way to do it. In practice, when you give it your all, your teammates learn the length of your stride, they learn your preference for trapping a pass before taking it on foot yourself. And you learn where to look for them, what angles they prefer.

There is still a lot I can do on my own. I can hone my dribbling, practice my pacing, pass off the rebound blocks, and take penalty kicks for hours to train my body to act like a machine.

My penalty shot is perfect with four strides back, a little hop, full run through, then I connect.

The ball sails in a high arc until a few feet before the net when it falls dramatically.

It finds the target hung across the net and I swear I can hear the swoosh echo through the empty practice field.

"Not bad." I turn to find Peyton walking slowly to join me.

She's in casual clothes, I notice the EPIC zig-zag logo across her shirt, and she stops about four feet from me and takes a seat on the grass.

"I had a coach once tell me bruised toes were a privilege." She says casually as she starts to put on her cleats.

I scoff a laugh. "Yeah, right. I don't think my pinky toe has been straight in the last twenty years."

Jesus have I been playing that long? I'm 28, so, fuck maybe even longer.

"I know it's a waste to get pedicures but I love them." Peyton says.

She’s acting friendly. It’s a little weird. I'm not sure I have friends on the team. I mean, I have teammates and we do things together when the whole team gets together but if I had a clogged toilet I wouldn't call them. I'd call my sister to tell me to call a plumber.

"How many have you taken?" She asks as she stands up and taps her heels into her shoes, checking their fit.

I glance at the dozen or so balls in the net, it is my third round of kicking and retrieving them. "Forty or so."

"And have they all gone in?"

"Of course they have." What is she getting at?

"Wanna play for it?" She asks with a nod towards the net.

"What?"

"The sponsorship."

"Like, first to miss loses?" I ask with a few extra blinks. I can’t decide if she’s being arrogant or generous.

"No, I was thinking we play a little PIG." She leans down and rolls the ball between her fingers before setting it, stepping back, and sailing a ball right into the crossbar.

"You missed. "

"No, I was trying to hit it. It's a lot harder than getting one to go into the target you’ve been aiming for." She crosses her arms at me and cocks a hip. My vision shades red.

This arrogant little dweeb.

Competitive might be my only personality trait.

But when it lands you on winning teams year after year I refuse to see it as a character flaw.

"Fine." I spin the ball, place it, and back up. Four steps, like always. But before I hop and move to start my shot, I pause. This is asinine. Am I really playing PIG for a sponsorship? I’m about to back out but when I catch the smug look on Pee Pee’s face my blood boils.

Nope. No way can I stand back and let this booger-eater win.

With the fury of a wild stallion I charge and kick.

The ball just brushes the bottom of the bar and bounces away.

Never have I felt happier to miss the goal.

It almost hurt to raise my toe a half inch to make it happen. It went against all my mechanics.

"Round two." She says surprised and she moves to the right. This is her side. She can also play left forward but that has been my position for most of the twenty plus years I’ve been playing and I'm fucking good at it. But, if I come out early in a game we’re winning big, Coach McEmbry sometimes shifts Pee Pee over to left and puts Nat in at right.

The spot she picks is a little further out and she kicks it into the far post.

My heart rate increases because this is actually a tough shot. There's a lot of distance to cover. I've trained and trained to spin it into the net, not the post, so as I take my time placing the ball my mind is racing as it searches for the little adjustments that could make the difference.

I turn my knee slightly as I connect but it isn't enough. The ball hits the net with a swoosh.

"P for you." Pee Pee says with a smirk that grates my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. As she walks over to the left for the next shot, I hear my phone buzz in my bag.

"Hold on, let me see who this is." I tell her as I pull it out and check the screen. "It's Dick."

Peyton nods as she walks over to where she wants to shoot from next.

"Hey Dick, uh, Peyton is here too." I say into the phone.

"Oh good! Did she already tell you?" Dick says and I look up at Peyton who is suddenly very focused on the ball.

"Tell me what?" I ask as an icicle forms on my spine.

"EPIC is going with Peyton for the sponsorship." Dick says and I grip the phone so tight in my hand the side button clicks with a resounding boom and the call disconnects.

"Is it true?" I grind out as my back teeth fuse together.

Pee Pee looks up and has the wherewithal to actually look contrite. My breathing stutters in my chest and I push the air in and out through a clenched jaw.

This is unbelievable!

"Listen.” She holds her hands up in the universal “settle down” pose and my belly turns to fire. “Dick called this morning on my drive in. When I saw you here I didn't know if you knew or not so I figured we could play for it and I'd decline the deal if you won."

"But they didn't want me." I remind her. The rejection stinging my chest and sending tension through my limbs.

"No, well, they did, but only if we split it. It was going to be a three year thing with us sharing it and then when you retire I'd take the whole thing."

I'm sorry.

Come again?

What the literal fuck?

I can feel my eye starting to twitch.

This kid is already planning my retirement party?

Sure I'm 28 but I'm in my fucking prime.

Plus, the rage coursing through my veins is anything but mature .

In fact, I feel downright childish as an anger level I’m uncomfortable with surges from my core to my limbs.

"You conniving little…" I grumble through gritted teeth as I feel my lips pull back in a sneer.

How dare she take money right out of my fucking pocket?

She’s not even old enough to rent a fucking car!

FUCK!

She's going to pay for this.

My brain is fogged with the sweet songs of revenge as my body stalks towards her. My pulse is drumming in my ear as I observe Pee Pee taking timid steps backwards.

So she does have self-protection instincts after all.

But her back pedaling isn’t enough. I lunge and get my hands on her before she can run.

As she tries to duck out of my grasp; an image surfaces of dragging a jersey up over an opponent’s head in a fight and so I pull her to me in what might look like a hug.

Her eyes flash wide in surprise before I shove her head under my arm and pull the back of her shirt up over her head blinding her.

For the briefest of moments I’m stunned. Like the dog who accidentally caught the bunny. But when I see her trying to stand and straighten out her shirt I decide I’m not done with her yet.

I shove her head further down under my arm before I sling a leg over her back like I’m a fucking cowgirl.

Giddy-up.

I’ve never been in a fight before. It’s a strict no fly zone in soccer. Pushing gets you carded in a game, punching would be instant ejection and suspension. But my body isn’t ready to relent.

Pee Pee can't get away with this.

Running on pure instinct, I tickle her .

My fingers dig into her rib cage and she shrieks. Her arms flail frantically at my legs. I dig deeper with vengeance as my guide and move down to the crevice of her hip bone; the spot that always caused me to almost piss my pants when my sister would tickle attack me.

"Shit, Jo, stop!" Pee Pee squeals and a maniacal grin spreads across my face.

Vengeance is a sexy mother fucker. I sweep her to the ground in a wrestling move my brother Chris taught me. I can tell she was surprised because she gasps for air. Shit, maybe I knocked the wind out of her.

I pause long enough to see she’s okay. After a few heaving breaths from both of us, Pee Pee tries to get up. Oh hell no. My eyes are wild as I straddle her and dive in to attack her armpits.

"What the fuck?!" I hear Coach McEmbry yell somewhere in the distance but with my fingers under Pee Pee’s arms she's immobilized and I can win this.

Fuck PIG.

Fuck EPIC.

I'm the better tickler.

Coach pulls me off by the collar.

Harsh. He didn't have to be so rough.

Pee Pee scrambles backwards in a crab walk while gasping for air and righting her shirt.

"Did I just witness a tickle fight?" Coach bellows.

"She attacked me!" Pee Pee shrieks.

"She started it!" I yell pointing at her.

"What? No I didn't. You got pissed because I'm better than you." She taunts, totally missing the point.

"No," I counter but I realize I don't have much of an argument. "You tricked me. Or tried to." I stand when she does and I get right back into her face .

"Did not." She says like the child she is.

"Did too." I reply because I’ll go as low as she wants. Lower even.

“Did not!” Pee Pee insists.

“Yes, you fucking did!” I yell and I shove her shoulders. This time though she’s ready and after she rocks back, she lunges forward. I dodge it but she gets my ponytail.

I know she did not just pull my hair.

Rule number one of sibling fights; no hair pulling or junk shots.

A tiny voice in the back of my head tells me not to do it but pride and status are on the line. I am in a fucking fight for my life.

And, she pulled my hair!

I loop my elbow behind her knee and pull another wrestling move Chris taught me. She doesn’t fall but she’s vulnerable with one leg in the air.

Coach tries to separate us but I’m not letting go until she does.

Chris taught me to be patient. To tune in and feel when the opponent is weak. So I pause.

Seconds later, she hops to regain her balance and I strike.

I yank my elbow up and that sends her hurling to the ground.

This time she lands hard on her back and the wind is definitely knocked out of her.

I stand tall and clap the proverbial dust from my hands, only to see we knocked Coach on his ass, too.

Whoops.

"Enough!" Coach McEmbry yells as he stands.

He looks to Peyton who is still trying to get air into her lungs as she sits up.

"Pendleton, it's informal practice but you still have to wear your kit.

Go change and then see Doc." He points to the locker room.

She stands slowly, grabs her things, and goes with her hands on her hips. Then he turns to me. "Let’s go."

"Coach, I'm sorr- "

"I don’t want to hear it.” He says as he points to the parking lot.

“You're clearly on the verge of a breakdown or maybe I already witnessed it when I saw my veteran star tickle attacking a rookie before wrestling her to the ground.

" I wince. Okay, that’s not a great look.

"Physicality is reserved for game play at SLCFC.

You're suspended for the rest of the month. "

"What! You can't do that!" I yell.

"I can, it's unofficial since we're on break. But if you step foot on this field or in the facility before scheduled practice on the 31st, I will escalate it and make it an official suspension."

"C'mon Coach." I plead but he just shakes his head.

"Go." He says sternly and I have just enough fire left in me to stomp to my bag, swipe it from the ground, and pick up my phone before I march with my chin held high to the parking lot.