Everything with you

Part 45

Justin

The locker room was alive with the energy of a hard-fought victory. Cleats clattered against the tiled floor, jerseys were tossed into a growing pile, and laughter mixed with the sounds of water spraying from showers. The team recounted key moments from the game with animated gestures, their voices rising over the rhythmic thumping of a celebratory playlist.

But for me, the noise felt distant, muted under the weight of my own thoughts.

"Hey Jo! Did you see me play?", Nate says way too loudly near my ear.

"Dude!" I grunt, flinching.

"Sorry! Star of the match got excited", he says, tilting his head with an infectious laugh.

I roll my eyes. "Jo, can you hang out with Nate while I talk to Coach?" I say, letting her down.

"Hell yeah!" Nate answers for both of them, taking Jo's in his hand.

"Do you want to go for a victory lap with me, Jo?" Nate bends his knees to talk to her. Jo gives him a quick nod, giggling as he jogs back into the field with her.

Around us, my teammates reveled in the afterglow of the victory, slapping each other on the back and shouting praise for the Nate who had sealed the game with a decisive penalty in the final minutes.

"You ready?" My dad's voice broke through the haze, low and steady.

I nodded, looking up. My dad's face was uneasy too, the tightness in my chest making it hard to breathe. My dad's presence behind him felt like an anchor, heavy and unyielding. The victory felt hollow to me—not because it wasn't deserved, but because I hadn't been a part of it in the way I was supposed to be. As the team captain, my performance had been shaky at best: missed passes, poor positioning, and hesitation in moments that had demanded decisiveness.

We walked toward the coach's office, weaving through teammates who were still caught up in celebration. A few clapped me on the back, their smiles genuine as they called out, "Good game, man!" . I forced a thin smile and nodded, but their words only deepened the ache in my chest.

The door to the coach's office was slightly ajar, and the muffled sound of post-match analysis drifted out. I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the door, before stepping inside. My dad followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click that seemed to cut off the rest of the world.

The coach looked up from his desk, his expression a mix of calm professionalism and subtle concern. "Come in," he said, gesturing to the chairs across from him.

I sank into the chair, the tension in my shoulders unrelenting. My dad settled beside him, silent but present.

Coach Grayson leaned back in his chair, his eyes shifting from me to my dad. The air in the small office was thick with unspoken tension, the muffled sounds of celebration from the locker room outside only amplifying the stillness in the room.

"Look," he began, his voice calm but firm, "we all know tomorrow's a big change for your family, but we can't let it affect what happens on the ground."

My shoulders tensed as my father glanced over at him, then back at the coach. "I understand that," his dad replied, his tone measured. "But it's not like this is easy for him either."

"I get that," the coach said, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. "But he's the captain. The team looks to him—not just for skill, but for leadership. Tonight, his head wasn't in the game. That's why we're here, right? To figure out how to keep this from becoming a pattern."

My chest tightened, my gaze fixed on the floor. I felt exposed, like a spotlight was trained on every misstep I'd made during the match.

My dad sighed beside me, crossing his arms. "This move wasn't my first choice either. But it's happening, and he has to adjust. You think I don't want to be here for him, for this team?" His voice softened slightly, the weight of his own emotions bleeding through.