So I had iced the crap out of my foot every chance I had after practice and even during work. I applied the arnica oil that Kulti had handed me like it was steroids after practice, all sneaky-like, and kept off it as much as possible.

And every single time that flash of pain shot up my shin, I cursed the day that little fucker at our rec game was born. I hoped he fell face first into a pile of fire ants. There, I said it, and I had no regrets.

When our next match came, before heading to the stadium I drank some turmeric tea and popped two painkillers in the car. I hoped to make it through the next few hours without getting caught. It bothered me so much that I didn’t even care that we were playing New York, when usually I’d be restless beforehand, almost dreading it.

Unfortunately, my sneakiness only lasted until I was in the dressing room. I was wrapping my injury in some athletic tape before putting on socks that went with our team uniform. Harlow leaned over and ‘oooohed.’ “What in the hell happened to your foot?” She made another noise. “You break something?”

I rubbed some more oil on top of it before beginning to wrap the arch and instep as comfortably tight as possible. “It feels like it, Har.”

“I got some extra strength Tylenol in my bag if you want,” she offered.

“I took some right before I left home, but I might take you up on it during halftime.”

“You got it, Sally. Grab ’em if you need them.” The defender smacked me on the back of the shoulder. “Those girls give you a hard time today, you let me know and I’ll take care of them for you,” she winked before walking away.

The New York players. Ugh. I wasn’t even going to worry about them.

I finished wrapping my foot while muttering curses under my breath, and rolled up my sock before anyone else noticed what I’d done and why. Usually we all complained about the small amount of healthcare professionals we had access to, unless you were on the national team, but in this case, it worked out for the best. A trainer would probably make the coaches sit me out if they saw the disco-like colors going on under my shoe.

Unfortunately there weren’t any secrets on our team, at least not between me, Har and Jen. Within ten minutes, I had Jenny hanging over my back. “What happened to your foot?”

“Nothing.” I tipped my head back and blinked at her. “Just a little bruise.”

“Harlow said it was more than a little bruise,” she noted.

I noted that Harlow had a big freaking mouth. Then again, what was new? “It’s fine.”

Jenny made a ‘hmph’ noise in her throat. “Take something for it.”

“I already did, Mama Jenny,” I assured her.

“Well, be careful with it. Don’t leave yourself open on that side and ignore those idiots if they say anything to you.”

“Yes, dear.” Of course I already knew that. But her intentions were in the right place, and I wasn’t going to act like an ungrateful douche for no reason.

Knowing I was being a bit of a turd, Jenny yanked on my ear and then slid away before I had a chance to retaliate. A few minutes later, Kulti, Gardner and the rest of the coaching staff came into the locker room and reviewed the plan we’d gone over during practice the day before. They revisited our opponent’s weaknesses, our own weaknesses, things to focus on. Win, win, win.

Our semi-circle of hands together had us all yelling and cheering. Shortly afterward the game started in a one-third packed stadium.

Within the first five minutes, someone shouldered me hard with a nicely added “slut” thrown in. I made sure to shoulder her back, just as hard, the first chance I could without getting caught. A few minutes later, the big broad that had been eyeing me from the moment I got on the field, slipped her leg out to trip me when I ran by her. She got a yellow card, only a warning, and I let it go.