CHAPTER TWO: FOOTWORK

Noah was the last one off the pitch again.

Second day in a row.

And Liam noticed again.

He’d told himself he wouldn’t. That he’d focus on formations, injuries, who needed conditioning work. Not on the twenty-one-year-old with fast feet and a faster mouth. Not on the way sweat clung to the back of his neck like punctuation. Not on the way he tied his laces like he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

Liam watched from the sideline, arms folded. He was always watching.

He couldn’t afford not to.

“Noah, I said cut inside. You ran wide and left the midfield exposed.”

The words came sharp. Public. Purposeful.

Noah, mid-drink from his bottle, paused. Swiped a hand across his mouth and looked up at Liam with a slow, drawn-out smile. “Didn’t know we were practicing fear today.”

A few teammates snorted under their breath. One muttered “Jesus Christ” into his shirt.

Liam didn’t smile.

He walked straight onto the pitch, boots crunching across the artificial grass.

The sun was behind him. He cast a long shadow across Noah’s stance. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, low, level.

Noah didn’t back down. “I think playing scared is a good way to stay average.”

Silence from the team. Everyone watching now.

Liam’s voice dropped. “I think mouthing off to the man who controls your minutes is a good way to stay on the bench.”

That wiped the grin off Noah’s face.

Liam stared him down. His heart pounded harder than it had any right to. He hated that the kid could get under his skin like this like he knew exactly where to press.

“I said cut inside,” Liam repeated. “Next time, do it.”

Noah didn’t speak, but his eyes said everything.

It wasn’t over.

After practice, the locker room was full of steam and banter. Towels slung low, shampoo bottles flying. The usual noise of post-training adrenaline and testosterone.

Liam shouldn’t have been in there. Not right then.

He usually waited until the players cleared out. Gave them their space, let them be boys instead of bodies he had to control and manage.

But a late report kept him after, and by the time he walked in, a dozen players were still half-dressed or undressed entirely.

He ignored it. Or tried to.

Focused on the whiteboard. Formations. Midfield movement.

But then he saw Noah again across the room, towel low on his hips, laughing at something one of the defenders said.

And then Noah looked up. Met his eyes.

Held them.

Something shifted.

Not a smirk. Not a grin.

Just... that look. Direct. Like he was searching for something.

And then he mouthed it two words, silent across the room:

Still scared?

Liam snapped the whiteboard marker in his hand.

Later, when the locker room was mostly empty and the air smelled like menthol and damp towels, Noah wandered past the coach’s office. Shirt on, hair damp, eyes sharp.

He paused in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.

“Got a minute?”

Liam didn’t look up from his desk. “For what?”

“Feedback.”

Liam gestured without looking. “You want feedback? Stop playing like the ball owes you something. Stop running the field like it’s your audition reel. You’re here now. This is the big league. Grow up.”

Silence.

Then: “You ever get tired of pretending you don’t like the way I play?”

Liam looked up so fast it almost gave him whiplash.

Noah stepped in. One slow step.

The door stayed open. Maybe that was the only thing keeping Liam from slamming it shut behind him.

“You’ve been watching me,” Noah said. “Since day one. Every run, every touch. You don’t look at anyone else like that.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Liam said, voice quiet, tight.

Noah leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You can say that. But you keep watching.”

Liam stood. Walked around the desk, slowly. Stopped with half the room still between them.

“You think this is a game?” he asked.

Noah’s voice softened. “I think you used to love this game.”

That landed harder than it should’ve. Liam’s throat went dry.

“Now you look like you’re surviving it,” Noah added.

Liam stared at him, heart hammering. He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“You’re pushing something down,” Noah said. “I just don’t think you want to anymore.”

A pause.

Then Noah stepped back from the doorway. Just one step.

“But I’ll play it your way, Coach,” he said, smile returning to his voice. “For now.”

He turned.

And Liam still frozen, still pretending he wasn’t burning from the inside out watched him walk away.