Her eyes drilled holes into my forehead when she turned to look at me. I forgot just how much anger May always had tucked into her small frame – anger that would come out on the field. An endless stream of yellow cards peppered with the very occasional red when we were younger, the product of numerous stick checks and smack talk that toned down as we entered high school. Even in her most recent televised matches with the Riders, I watched as she jogged over to the bench during a time-out, stick and voice both raised when she rounded up her team.

But much more than the anger, I remember the softer side of May, fleeting moments where I got to see rare parts of her that she hid behind lacrosse, a few minutes here and there where that angry furrow in her brow disappeared, and she let herself relax. Though yesterday, when she drilled those holes into my forehead, any trace of her softer side was nowhere to be seen.

And yeah, there are definitely more than a couple reasons she’s totally entitled to that reaction. But maybe, just maybe, I’d been holding out for a slice of happiness. A little ‘welcome back’. The smallest of smiles.

Today, I toss the Riders lanyard and whistle around my neck. ‘I don’t think your captain is gonna react too well to this one,’ I remark.

Coach Bianca Dillon lets out a sarcastic laugh that echoes off the walls of the storage shed. ‘Oh, you’re spot on – but you’ll be good for her. What you’re consistent with, is what this team struggles with. It’ll be humbling. Bi-weekly shot-on-goal clinics will have them well-rounded by that first game.’

Shots on goal. Trick shots, specialty goals – the stuff I used to be really good at, unusual for a midfielder, but that was my thing, nonetheless. At least up until last October happened.

‘They set a date for that game yet?’

‘Something towards the end of the month, maybe the beginning of the next. It’s coming up soon.’ Coach Dillon passes me a bag of lacrosse balls. ‘Hold onto these for a moment.’

I oblige, and I can’t help but notice the state of the equipment. This isn’t anything like what I remember playing at Boston, and it’s a sinking, acute realization that fills my stomach with guilt. This stuff’s definitely been around longer than my college equipment had. These girls are playing with balls that probably witnessed the creation of Facebook. I’m not sure if it’s an Oklahoma thing, or a women’s sports thing, but it gets under my skin.

‘How’s the funding for the programme nowadays?’ I try to be as casual as possible when I pose my question.