something over in his head. “Fair enough,” he says, giving Mollie’s shoulder a soft punch before he heads to the pitch for the beginning of the match.
Mollie pulls Layla toward the shaded base of an oak tree just off of the pitch, yanking her best friend away from whatever nasty thing she mutters as Donovan passes them. She ignores Layla’s grumbles, thinks she hears something about “dog snatcher” and “glittering, rugby-playing Edward Cullen clone” before the blonde finally joins her. The squads enter the pitch, immediately form into the scrum when the referee calls them, but Mollie isn’t interested in watching the match. Instead she digs her phone out of her pocket and sends Autumn a text. She’s the reason they came, after all, and her ginger friend wasn’t doing either of them any favors by being late.
Where the hell are you? she texts Autumn before she leans against the oak tree.
The match moves forward, and is particularly violent as one of Vaughn’s squadmates tackles Donovan to the ground. Mollie sighs at Layla cheering on the guy with COLLINS draped across the back of his jersey and a penalty is called. She looks down at her cell a few minutes later when Autumn replies.
Autumn: About to be there. We have to drop something off. Sorry!
Mollie: Your man is doing that worried, Declan thing. Hurry up.
Autumn: Be there in ten.
Mollie isn’t really interested in the match, that’s what she tells herself anyway. She doesn’t care that Vaughn seems to be a fairly decent player, especially for someone so new to the sport. She doesn’t care that he’s playing a bit more aggressive than she thinks he should, especially when Declan and Donovan barrel down the pitch and waylay several of Vaughn’s squadmates like they’re high schoolers playing with National League vets. She really doesn’t care that if Vaughn isn’t careful—garnering penalty after penalty as he tussles against players that are lither and younger than him—that he’ll do some real damage to himself.
“Hasn’t played much, has he?” Layla’s head moves up and down the pitch as the match powers on.
“No idea, but I don’t think so.” She frowns when Vaughn and the Collins guy run into each other as they both make a play for the ball. “This is actually kind of pathetic.”
Then, she echoes Layla’s quick hiss of disapproval as Vaughn and Collins collide on the field yet again. When Vaughn continues to lay on the ground, the girls stand, both moving their head to see if he manages to get up.
The thing about league tournaments, especially in Cavanagh, is that there isn’t an overabundance of caution taken in the organization of the matches. Most residents are happy to watch the matches simply because they miss the university’s season. But these tournaments don’t have the funding that the Cavanagh squad does. They are essentially just pick-up matches to fill the time between seasons. The refs tend to be coaches from the high school leagues. The pitch is rarely maintained in the off season and there are never any EMTs or even trainers there to treat any injuries a player may sustain during a match.
That’s probably not something Vaughn realized when he agreed to this tournament and Mollie is sure that’s something he probably wouldn’t want to hear right now as he is still on the ground.
“Shit,” she says when Declan looks her way and shakes his head. Mollie has zero formal training in medicine, but she has had to learn a thing or two over the years at the Compound. You can’t be a kid living the life she did without some “on the job” training.
When she and Layla jog out to the pitch, Vaughn isn’t moving. He’s awake, staring out above the other players surrounding him, begging off their calls of concern.
“I’m fine.” He waves off Collins and Declan as he slowly moves to his feet.
“You sure, mate?” Declan asks only to have Vaughn frown at him.
“Happens a lot,
Mollie pulls Layla toward the shaded base of an oak tree just off of the pitch, yanking her best friend away from whatever nasty thing she mutters as Donovan passes them. She ignores Layla’s grumbles, thinks she hears something about “dog snatcher” and “glittering, rugby-playing Edward Cullen clone” before the blonde finally joins her. The squads enter the pitch, immediately form into the scrum when the referee calls them, but Mollie isn’t interested in watching the match. Instead she digs her phone out of her pocket and sends Autumn a text. She’s the reason they came, after all, and her ginger friend wasn’t doing either of them any favors by being late.
Where the hell are you? she texts Autumn before she leans against the oak tree.
The match moves forward, and is particularly violent as one of Vaughn’s squadmates tackles Donovan to the ground. Mollie sighs at Layla cheering on the guy with COLLINS draped across the back of his jersey and a penalty is called. She looks down at her cell a few minutes later when Autumn replies.
Autumn: About to be there. We have to drop something off. Sorry!
Mollie: Your man is doing that worried, Declan thing. Hurry up.
Autumn: Be there in ten.
Mollie isn’t really interested in the match, that’s what she tells herself anyway. She doesn’t care that Vaughn seems to be a fairly decent player, especially for someone so new to the sport. She doesn’t care that he’s playing a bit more aggressive than she thinks he should, especially when Declan and Donovan barrel down the pitch and waylay several of Vaughn’s squadmates like they’re high schoolers playing with National League vets. She really doesn’t care that if Vaughn isn’t careful—garnering penalty after penalty as he tussles against players that are lither and younger than him—that he’ll do some real damage to himself.
“Hasn’t played much, has he?” Layla’s head moves up and down the pitch as the match powers on.
“No idea, but I don’t think so.” She frowns when Vaughn and the Collins guy run into each other as they both make a play for the ball. “This is actually kind of pathetic.”
Then, she echoes Layla’s quick hiss of disapproval as Vaughn and Collins collide on the field yet again. When Vaughn continues to lay on the ground, the girls stand, both moving their head to see if he manages to get up.
The thing about league tournaments, especially in Cavanagh, is that there isn’t an overabundance of caution taken in the organization of the matches. Most residents are happy to watch the matches simply because they miss the university’s season. But these tournaments don’t have the funding that the Cavanagh squad does. They are essentially just pick-up matches to fill the time between seasons. The refs tend to be coaches from the high school leagues. The pitch is rarely maintained in the off season and there are never any EMTs or even trainers there to treat any injuries a player may sustain during a match.
That’s probably not something Vaughn realized when he agreed to this tournament and Mollie is sure that’s something he probably wouldn’t want to hear right now as he is still on the ground.
“Shit,” she says when Declan looks her way and shakes his head. Mollie has zero formal training in medicine, but she has had to learn a thing or two over the years at the Compound. You can’t be a kid living the life she did without some “on the job” training.
When she and Layla jog out to the pitch, Vaughn isn’t moving. He’s awake, staring out above the other players surrounding him, begging off their calls of concern.
“I’m fine.” He waves off Collins and Declan as he slowly moves to his feet.
“You sure, mate?” Declan asks only to have Vaughn frown at him.
“Happens a lot,
Similar Books
