Who could really say that they knew exactly what they wanted out of life at the age of twenty-two? Most people found themselves in a dead end job, trying to get by in life with no real ambition to follow through and achieve their dreams. Sometimes we found ourselves living each day without actually living. Just existing. Lost. Alone. Afraid of pursuing what we wanted in fear of failing. Or getting it only to lose it. Not many people could throw their hands up and say this is me. This is it. This is the life I want and hell if I’m gonna sit by and let anyone stand in the way of that.

Except me.

I could.

Football was me.

I was football.

It was all I’d ever known and wanted.

Out on the field, with the ball at my feet and the wind stroking my face, that's where my life began. It's where my life ended.

Without football, I was nothing. I was just like every other person out there trying to find their way, surviving, not living. Seeking, not getting.

So, what do you do when your world is ripped out from under your very feet? What do you do when all you've ever known is lost? Do you fight? Or do you just sit back and watch everything fade away?

Matt’s words replayed over in my head last night, leaving me struggling to see through the darkness that enveloped me. But once the initial shock had worn off it made me realise that my career wasn’t over. If I wanted it badly enough I would get it back again. Sitting back as my world disintegrated around me wasn't an option. Not when it came to football. The hunger inside of me was too strong to ignore. I wanted to play football more than I wanted my next breath. And I would fight my way through Hell to get where I wanted.

That morning I met up with Riley and a few of the lads we knew from college. My strength was still tested with every pass of the ball and every attempt at scoring, but I fought my way through until the end, never wavering until they called it a day. Other obligations, apparently.

I hadn't told Riley what happened the night before. I didn't want his sympathy and I sure as hell didn't want him to feel like he couldn't mention football again. Besides, it was only a matter of time before I was back out there again, doing what I did best.

We’d said our goodbyes, but I wasn't finished. Determined to strengthen my knee, I headed straight for the gym. I had so much built up energy inside of me that I hadn’t been able to release on the field. At least this way my chances of playing again would be far greater than they would be if I gave up altogether.

After fifteen minutes on the treadmill, switching between incline and decline, a weird feeling washed over me. A feeling like I was being watched.

I was.

When I slowed down my speed just enough to keep me going, I turned my head to the side and there she was. The tattooed girl I’d seen the other night at Tucker’s. She’d been a mess when I saw her, but there she was, working up a sweat on the bench. At least, she had been. Now she was whipping her head to the side of her as if she’d been caught staring. Which she had. I turned my attention back to the treadmill and sped up again, but the feeling of being watched remained. It felt like her eyes were boring into the back of my head. I wondered if Melanie had told her about the other day. Would she? I wasn't so sure. I had a feeling that Mel wanted to keep our little liaison as quiet as I had.

After a few more minutes, I slowed down again, switching the machine off before I reached for my water bottle and unscrewed the cap. I glanced up as I took a mouthful. She was still looking at me. Only that time she was busy alternating between openly staring at me and drumming her fingers across the screen of her phone. It was obvious in the way she looked at me that she was texting Melanie. A part of me was curious as to what they were having a conversation about and whether it was about me.

Finishing the bottle off, I tossed it in the bin by the door and stalked across the gym towards tattoo girl, dodging spin bikes and other apparatus as I did.

“You finished with that?” I asked, nodding to the bench she was sat on. I figured she had because the weights were perched on their stand. All she offered in way of a response was a curt nod.

I grinned when she made no attempt to move.

“Yeah, sorry. It's all yours,” she rushed out and gathered her stuff together. Her eyes shifted towards the exit, then back to me as if she wasn't sure what to do next. Then she left.

Weird.

Small talk was deafening.

Like a violin hitting the very high note, over and over, right in the very core of your ear.

How are you?

Good.

How was practice?

Good.

You looking forward to the new season?

Yep.

Lies.

I was almost certain Taylor was nearing the end of his tether as we drove the few miles to the house. His hands had a death grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as snow as he took corner after corner, in silence.

The tension was palpable, and I knew it wouldn't be much longer before it became too much to ignore.

The only question on either of our minds was who would snap first?

He had to know where my head was at, didn’t he? Taylor was a lot of things, but naive wasn't one of them. He had to know what it felt like for me. Watching him work his way into my life, my father's life... my home.

I’d always seen Taylor as a brother. The brother I never had. I loved him. Hell, I wanted to be him. But it was hard. It was hard trying to be someone that I wasn't. He’d set the bar high, making damn sure that no one else in the world came close. That I never came close. And I blamed him for that and for the way I felt. But it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. Why couldn't I just be me? Happy? Was it not enough to be myself? Is that what it was? I had just as much to offer the world. Why did I try to be him? Would I forever be comparing myself to him? Why? Why not just be me?

Because he was better than I was.

He was better than me and I couldn't hack it.

“We’re here,” Taylor announced, coming to a screeching halt.

I looked to him, then back out the window.

“If you don't wanna do this today, we can head back? Grab a beer or sommat?” he offered when I made no attempt to move.

I shook my head, willing myself to get a grip. “Nah, it's cool.”

“You sure? You’ve hardly said a word the whole ride over.”

He was right.

Of course.

“Sorry. Got a lot on my mind. C’mon, let's go,” I said. I pushed the door open and climbed out.

I heard Taylor sigh before he stepped out of the car then made his way around the back to where I was stood.

“You think he’ll let us in?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood. Coach could sniff out the tension like it was dog shit. He didn't need to see or feel it.

Taylor chuckled and shook his head. “Not if he has any sense.”

I laughed lightly, although I didn't feel much like laughing at all, and made my way down the gravel path leading towards the cottage.

Coach’s cottage wasn't as extravagant as most of the homes in Winslow. Most of them screamed money before you even reached the key coded gates. Not this one, though. The cottage was modest. Homely. But it was also inviting and impressive if you were into that old world type of theme.

I glanced around the garden. Flowers in every colour and size lined the grass verges that surrounded the quaint cottage. I breathed in a lungful of air and smelt something familiar. Old ladies’ perfume–that's what it reminded me of. The smell. Freshness and old lady.

We always joked how Coach stank of cheap perfume. I guess it made sense now. It was his home. He carried it with him wherever he went. There was something comforting about that. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on. It made me smile.

I glanced up at the sky as white clouds passed overhead. Dark rain clouds were on the way. I could smell them long before I could see them. Damp. Wet socks after a long day of training in the rain.

When we reached the door, Taylor tipped his chin in acknowledgment before he pressed the doorbell.

The high-pitched tone rang out for a good twenty seconds, filling the silence around us, until the door peeled back.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to show their faces,” Coach sang, his stocky frame filling the doorway.

“Hey, Coach,” we both said in unison.

“Well, don't just stand there. Get your scrawny backsides in here before you let the damn cold in.”

I chuckled under my breath just as Taylor elbowed me in the ribs. “I guess that answers your question.” He smirked and I smirked back.

Civil. I could be civil.

I pocketed my hands as I stalked behind Taylor who was following Coach down a corridor that led to another room. Trophies were everywhere, on every shelf, every surface, some gold, some silver, both large and small. Ribbons, certificates, all lined the wall perfectly, not a millimetre out.

Taylor turned his cheek and narrowed his eyes. “OCD, much?”

I shot him a grin and continued walking down the stone hallway. The uneven floor made me feel like I'd just sank an eight pack as I tried to keep my footing. I breathed a sigh of relief when we finally entered another room, the floors now level and less rickety.

When Coach continued through to yet another room, we had to duck to fit through. The ceiling height had now lowered somewhat, causing us to shrink into an almost crouching position until we made it through. A step down and we were in what looked like the dining room. A modest table and chair set filled most of the small space. An armchair sat lost in the corner by a set of bay windows, brown with age, worn as though it was loved. A large flat screen television took up most of the far wall, and underneath that was a set of stands packed with DVDs and VCR cassettes. I squinted my eyes to read the labels and realised they weren't movies, but football matches dating back almost fifteen years.

Taylor appeared to notice them, too. His eyes were alight with wonder as they moved up and down in their examination of the stand’s contents.

I wondered for a moment if Taylor had known about them. I figured he didn't. He still had that dazed look in his eyes.

Why had Coach never mentioned them before? How did we not notice that every game and practice session was being recorded? Instead of feeling unease, I felt warmth. He had kept them, which meant that they meant a lot to him.

“Quite a collection, right?” Coach eventually said. All three sets of eyes were still glued to the stack.

I shook my head and breathed in. “How did you…?” I started. “When?”

“Over a decade I’ve watched players come and go, positions change, teams falling apart. I liked to think the success was all down to me, but it wasn't. It was these. I must've watched them all over a dozen times, each one different than the last. The game, it changed so much over the years. It was harder each season. This way I was able to change around players, add in new ones as I saw fit.” His eyes shifted to Taylor. “I calculated each move, each position. New game plays that I thought could strengthen the team. Most of the time they did. Other times, well, we all have to learn, right?”

I nodded. I had no words. All of our games were in this very room within touching distance. They didn't have to be forgotten memories any longer.

“Tilly, my wife, she used to curse me something rotten for harbouring these. ‘This place is barely big enough for the two of us without those darn cassettes cluttering the place.’ She was wrong about them. One man's junk is another man’s treasure.”

“You miss her?” I found myself asking. It came out in a barely audible whisper. I was surprised anyone heard it.

“Every single day,” he admitted. “She wasn't often wrong. In fact, she was hardly ever wrong. I can say that now she's no longer here.” He laughed sombrely, and I found myself laughing right with him. “But see… that junk,” he continued, “It saved the team. It's why they are where they are today and why the both of you are in the positions you are now with the whole world at your feet.”

A tight knot formed in my throat. He had no idea what was happening to me. No idea that I wouldn't be playing next season. If I admitted it to him, he’d think he failed me and I couldn't put that on him. If anything, I owed him so much. More than I could ever give him. It was because of him that I even made it this far. He kept the passion that burned inside of me alive. He kept me sane, grounded when the high began to surface. He made the game fun.

Thorn didn't believe in pressuring his team. If you've got it, you've got it. If you ain't then don't waste either of our time or energy. His words were words that echoed through me whenever I doubted myself. If the passion was there to begin with then nothing anyone said to you made a difference. If you wanted it enough, you went all out and got it, grabbed it by the balls and rode out the tough times.

Taylor always bitched about Coach being hard on him, and he was right. Coach was hard on him but only ever because he had good intentions. Everyone knew why he was different with Taylor. He was trying desperately to help him, with Taylor giving nothing back in return. All Coach ever wanted was to keep the passion alive for Taylor when Taylor forgot it existed. To remind Taylor why he loved the game in the first place.

Coach cleared his throat. “Now, I know you boys didn't stop by to stand around and admire my collection. So tell me, what brings you here?”

Taylor and I exchanged glances. Neither of us were ready to acknowledge the reason behind our out of the blue visit.

“Dad told us,” Taylor announced. I was thankful that he was the one to say it aloud. I wasn't sure I would be able to say the words. “He told us you'd put in for retirement.”

“He told you right.”

“I guess we just wanted to say thank you. What you did for us—for the team—means a lot. More than you probably realise. So, yeah, thanks,” I said, fingering the set of keys in my pocket.

Coach didn’t say anything. His expression remained blank. That wasn't unusual. He wasn't one to express his emotions easily. He was a lot like Taylor in that respect. Or Taylor was more like him. I wondered if that was the reason why Coach insisted on never giving up on him, even when Taylor made it easy for people to do so. Maybe he saw himself in Taylor. That made sense.

Eventually, nodding his head in acknowledgement, Coach made his way over to the armchair before sitting down. His knees cracked under the pressure. Mine did that a lot, too. But for a different reason entirely.

Taylor glanced my way briefly as he scratched the back of his neck. He did that a lot when he couldn't find the right words to say or when he found himself in an awkward situation. He eventually cleared his throat. “Yeah. What Jake said. What you did for me, after everything I put you and the team through, I’ll never forget it. Not ever.”

“Jeez, boy. Anyone would think I’m dying the way you two are carrying on.”

“We just thought you should know, that’s all.” Taylor's voice, normally so confident and cocksure, sounded broken. His eyes glistened and I found myself holding my breath, steadying myself for whatever came next.

Coach was right. The air was thick around us, suffocating even. It felt more like we were standing at the bedside of a dying man that we’d known most of our lives, about to say our final goodbyes. Not giving thanks for all the years of hard work he had spent on us.

“Good to know,” Coach eventually said. “Good to know. Now, if you ladies have quite finished… I’d like you to take a seat. There's something I want to show you…” His voice trailed off into the distance, as if his mind had wandered elsewhere.

I lifted my eyes to Taylor and shrugged. Then I sat down. Because even though it had been a good year since college, I still couldn't find it in me to say no to him. His authority was still something I respected enough to listen to.

What came next, though, was something I would have never expected. Not in a million years.

The three of us.

Me in the middle, with Taylor and Coach Thorn on either side of me.

Huddled together as the rain beat down on us.

Watching it back on the flat screen TV, it looked like we were in a heated discussion. Coach’s face was stern, much like always, and Taylor's even more so as he listened to what Coach was saying. My face? Well, my eyes were cast downward, taking it all in. My feet were itching to move as the rain ran down my face, beads of water clinging to the ends of my hair.

The picture couldn't have been more wrong, though.

Our voices may not have been heard, but our eyes told a thousand stories.

“Last game of the season. Joint top. Now, I’m not going to ask you to go all out, tear up the field just to win.”

“But, Coach…” Taylor’s brows furrowed in confusion. He was thinking the same as I was. We could do this. I knew we could do this.

“Enjoy it, boys. That's all I’m going to ask of you. I don't care if you lose the game or take home a win. All I ask is that you look to the person next to you. Look at those boys around you. Chances are you'll never get to play alongside these boys again. So I want you to go out there, take it all in, and make every moment count. And remember... remember this moment.”

“We can win this, Coach. We’ve got it in the bag,” Taylor rushed out. Droplets of rain clung to his bottom lip and he shook them away. “We’re gonna win for you, Coach. You deserve this.”

Coach shook his head. “No. Not for me.”

“But, Coach—” I spoke up.

“For you,” he said sternly, pointing a finger between the two of us. “Do this for you. Because after today, after you leave this field tonight, you’ll be heading into a whole new chapter of crazy. Enjoy this moment while you can, okay? Promise me?” His voice was heavy with emotion.

I looked at Taylor. His eyes met mine. We nodded. “We promise, Coach.”

“Good. Now go do what you do best.”

“Yes, sir,” we both shouted. The rain was growing heavier by the minute. The crowds grew louder as the rain came down harder, the stadium of fans erupting all around us.

Our feet started to move as we crossed the sideline. I chucked my arm over Taylor, he did the same to me, then we both gazed up. I wasn't sure what either of us was looking for. It just seemed like it was something that needed to be done. The sky was growing dark, but fluorescent lights shone down on us, floodlights creating a perfect path as we approached the halfway line. Together.

“And boys?”

Our heads whipped around, almost in perfect synchronicity.

“Look at each other. Remember who you both are and how far you've come. Hold on to that bond,” he yelled. “It's special. Don't ever let it go.”

I cleared my throat.

Taylor cleared his.

“Why are you showing us this?” I breathed out painfully.

He smiled. “Every once in a while we all need a little reminder.”