Adler Beck’s startling appearance feels more like I was dropped in the midst of a maze.

I breeze onto the field, noting most of the team is already gathered in the center of the field. I drop my bag and head toward the huddle, resisting the urge to glance up at the window that overlooks the field as I do. The window that looks out from the observation room I sent Beck to.

“Scott! Care to tell me why half my starters are ten minutes late?” Coach Taylor barks.

“Sorry, Coach. They should be here soon. It’s my fault. I had an unexpected delay.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yes.”

I hear whispers behind me, and Coach notices too.

“Ladies! Anything you’d like to contribute?”

“Sorry, Coach, it’s just, uh, Adler Beck is here,” one of the freshmen says. The words are wrapped in awe.

Every girl on the team looks up to the observation room where I sent Beck. Reluctantly, I follow their collective gaze. He’s leaning against the wooden divider between the windows, typing something on his phone. He’s taken off his track jacket to reveal a white t-shirt, and he looks every inch the international football star he is. I feel Coach’s eyes on me.

“Your delay, Scott?” she asks.

“Yes,” I admit.

“Hmm,” is the only response. Coach Taylor has a knack for saying a lot without actually saying anything at all. It’s a talent I’d love to mimic, but I know I’ll never be able to. I tend to opt for more blatant approaches when it comes to registering my opinion.

Cressida, Emma, and Anne show up a few minutes later with the rest of our usual carpool, jumping into the warm-up routine we’ve already begun. I’m not sure if it’s an intentional response to the tardiness and pulsing excitement, but Coach Taylor barks out instructions that push the limits of my own fitness.

Considering I’m one of the few players on the team I know adds to our already rigorous routines, that’s saying something.

Or maybe it’s the tequila talking.

Either way, I’m grateful for the distraction. Not only for myself, but also for the gazes I can feel bouncing between me and the upstairs window.

We’re all part of one of the most competitive soccer programs in the country. Meeting legends in the sport is nothing new. However, they don’t usually look like the male specimen that is Adler Beck. And—I know this is the crux of the interest—they don’t normally have a connection to any of us.

Lancaster didn’t arrange for him to come do a clinic with us.

He’s here because of me.