by McKinley May
Collins the Shots
Copyright © 2021 McKinley May
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the above copyright owner.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
1
You know what I love more than anything?
More than a tropical beach vacation...more than crawling into bed after a horribly long day?
Even more than pizza?!
A good workout.
And I don't mean a leisurely jog around some suburban neighborhood or an online video that claims to 'lift and tone in just five minutes a day!' Nothing against those two options, of course, but they're not my thing.
I'm talking a super intense type of session. Exercise so grueling you can barely walk, talk, or sneeze afterward. Training so extreme you find yourself mumbling "I didn't know I had muscles there" for days.
Those agonizing, achy burns. The oddly satisfying screams of my body as I push myself far beyond my limits.
I freaking live for it.
I'm aware this makes me sound like a raging masochist—no need to point out the obvious—but I'd argue that all serious athletes are suckers for pain. Pain signifies growth, growth equals better performance on the field, and that's exactly what we strive for.
Being at the top of your game is a mindset for some, an attitude for others.
For me?
It's an obsession.
The desire to become an elite soccer star is engrained deep in my bones, coursing hot and fervent through my bloodstream.
Heck, it's practically encoded within my DNA like a physical characteristic.
Brown hair, blue eyes, future professional soccer player...
It's why I woke up way too early for a Saturday, downed a ginormous glass of water, and got my butt to Windhaven University's practice fields just as the sun began to peek over the horizon.
The last few hours have been strenuous as hell. Here's a sampling of what I've been up to this morning:
Agility drills that have my feet moving so fast, my yellow cleats look like a blur of sunshine.
Too many lunges, squats, and calf raises to count—everyday is leg day in my world.
And a few rounds of suicides: high-intensity sprints that live up to their morbid name.
My limbs have turned to Jello, the muggy Texas heat has me sweating buckets, and I feel awesome.
Invigorated and alive.
My older brother, Vaughn, on the other hand, is not enjoying the morning activities in the slightest.
"Damn, Sydney," he groans as we finish our third set of bleachers. "Did I do something to piss you off?"
My forehead creases. "No?"
"Then why the fuck are you torturing me?" Sitting on the first row of metal benches, he hunches over and wipes the perspiration from his brow. "I forgot how psychotic you get with your training. Jesus Christ."
"Can't take the heat?" I tease.
"Not when I'm hungover from last night and haven't slept in over 24 hours."
His drawn-out yawn emphasizes his words, and a teeny pinch of guilt pricks at my skin.
There's no such thing as proper social etiquette when it comes to siblings, so I had zero qualms calling him around 5:30 this morning to see what he was up to. I caught him just as he was getting back from a night of rowdy partying and about to hit the hay.
Instead of letting him get some rest, I took the petulant younger sis route and begged him to join me for a crack of dawn workout.
I'm not sure if I'm extremely charming or Vaughn just took pity on me and my incessant whines of 'pleasseee', but he reluctantly agreed.
"Thanks for coming with me," I say with sincerity. "I appreciate it."
"It's impossible to say no to you," he grumbles.
"Aw, because you love me so much, right? Because I'm the best sister ever?"
"Nah. Because you're an annoying brat otherwise." He grins as he drags a hand through his sweaty hair. "You ready to go? We're done now, yeah?"
"Not quite," I reveal. "One more thing."
He expels an exasperated breath and stands. "What?"
"Let's race the length of the field."
"Again? We've already done that twice. And I smoked you both times."
"Three's my lucky number," I insist. "Just one more sprint, Vaughn. Then we can leave. I swear."
I poke out my bottom lip all dramatic-like, bat my eyelashes a time or two, and it does the trick.
Big bro's putty in my hands.
"Fine." He rolls his eyes and nudges his head in the direction of the field. "Let's get this over with."
We slowly jog across the damp grass, each of us placing a hand on the chipped white goalpost as we get into the starting position.
"Ready?" I ask.
He produces an unenthusiastic nod, I count us down, and then we're off like a strike of lightning. The soft thud of our cleats sinking into wet ground synchronizes with our heavy breaths. Humid air hangs around us in a dense fog, making oxygen feel like a scarce commodity as we sprint the 100+ yards.
I force myself to keep up with him, falling just a few feet behind as I do everything in my power to match his ridiculously fast pace. Putting in max effort is always my M.O., but I'd never push this hard if I were by myself.
And that right there is one of two selfish reasons I desperately wanted him to tag along this morning.
The first was that I needed a ride. Unfortunately, your girl is carless. One quick glance at my bank account is enough to determine a vehicle purchase is not in my immediate future, so I've been relying on my brother and his girlfriend, Rayne, to chauffeur me around. It sort of feels like I'm their adolescent child who's anxiously awaiting her driver's license, but I'll take it over an overpriced Uber or sketchy cab any day.
The lift to the practice fields was just an added bonus, though.
The main reason I invited him to work out with me is because he's a badass soccer player. Not only is he the best athlete on this campus, he's up there when it comes to the top talent in the entire country.
You know what they say...if you want to be the best, you've gotta compete with the best, and Vaughn?
He's the very definition of the word.
His long list of soccer accolades and accomplishments put me in a position some might not care to be in—a younger sister who has a lot to live up to expectation-wise.
That's understandable, sure, but I can't relate. I thrive under the pressure of following in his footsteps. I love working my butt off to carry on the Steel sibling legacy.
It may be lame to say—and no freakin' way I'm admitting this to his cocky ass—but he's totally my role model. 100% the person I look up to most, the person I want to emulate in every facet of life.
And also the person I want to beat at this sprint.
As the last twenty yards come into sight, I garner every ounce of energy I have left and increase my speed. I pump my arms vigorously, quads and hamstrings on fire as I zoom past him at the last possible second.
Hell yes!
I raise my hands in victory as I lurch past the goal and immediately collapse onto the dewy blades of grass. Vaughn joins me on the ground a moment later, both of our chests heaving up and down in fatigue. With one arm splayed across my face to block the merciless sun, I try to get air flowing through my lungs properly again.
"Shit." An amused grunt comes from my left
. "That's how you know I'm seriously off my game. My scrawny little sis beating me in a foot race? Freaking embarrassing."
"Who are you calling scrawny?" I manage to get out between wheezy breaths. "I'm as ripped as you!"
His responding snort has me sticking my foot out and giving his ankle a swift kick.
"And I beat you fair and square, Vaughn. Don't cry about it."
Okay, fair and square might be a stretch considering he's sleep-deprived and running solely on the exhaust fumes of whiskey shots and cheap beer. But beating him at anything is a rarity, and I'll take the W any way I can.
We remain put for the next few minutes, both of us too worn out to move as we quietly observe the brilliant blue sky.
"Ready for school to start?" Vaughn asks, breaking the silence.
"Not at all," I admit. "To be honest, I kinda forgot about it."
He barks out a laugh, but I'm not joking. Classes start on Monday and my dorm room is completely devoid of supplies, textbooks, or anything that would suggest I'm about to be a full-time student.
It's not that I don't care about getting an education or passing my courses—I do, but I'm only a freshman. I'm not even declaring a major this year; I'm just taking the basic core classes that are necessary for any degree plan.
There's plenty of time to figure out the future later.
Right now, I only have room in my mind for one thing.
"I'm ready for soccer season to start, though." I veer our discussion in the direction of that particular topic. "One more week! I'm seriously so pumped."
"Who do you guys play?"
"Sunbend State. It's an easy cupcake game, so I should be able to put on a show. Fingers crossed I get to start at forward." I overlap my index and middle digits before frowning in frustration. "But I really need to work on my close-range shots. Did I tell you Coach Addy said I could use some major improvement in that area?"
"Yeah. More than a few times, actually."
"Well, she's not wrong. I'm pathetic in that regard," I whine, ignoring the fact that I've already complained his ear off about this before. "I don't know what it is that's screwing me up. It's like I'm super accurate outside of the box, but the second I'm within those white lines, the keeper can read me like a book. I think I need a defender or goalie's POV to figure out how to fix it. Maybe I should hire a private skills coach? A super affordable one. What do you think? Ugh, I'm just not sure what to—"
"Dude. Relax." He brings my familiar rant to an abrupt halt. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but you need to chill with the soccer stuff. It's all you talk about, Syd. You're possessed."
I cringe because he's right.
Soccer this, soccer that...
I'm a broken record over here.
But there's a good reason for that.
"I need a scholarship, Vaughn." I roll on my side to face him, his brow furrowing when he sees my serious expression. "Otherwise, it's just financially stupid to stay here."
Despite being a mere forty-five minutes from my hometown, Windhaven University wasn't on my radar until halfway through my senior year.
For the majority of high school, my brother and I weren't on the best of terms. Relations with my mom were also at an all-time low, so going to an out-of-state school and starting anew was number one on my list of priorities.
I had some fairly good options, too—I'd been scouted by coaches from colleges all over the country: the lush Pacific Northwest, the tropical climates of Florida and Hawaii, and a few gorgeous Colorado schools with the picturesque Rocky Mountains as the campus backdrop.
Attending Windhaven was never even a fleeting consideration.
But last winter, I tagged along with a friend who wanted to check out the university. What was supposed to be a visit confirming her future college plans turned into an eye-opener for me.
In the span of one weekend, Vaughn and I reconnected, I fell hook, line, and sinker for the cheery tour guide's sales pitch of the campus, and that was that.
By the time I signed with the girls' team, however, all the scholarship money for the coming year was spoken for. That was a major bummer, but I'd already made my decision.
Windhaven or bust.
I'm here because I want to spend one last year with my brother before he ends up God knows where playing professionally. I'm also here because I absolutely love this school and the soccer program. I see true potential for the team and for myself as a Windhaven Warrior.
Spending the next four years on this campus would be a dream, but it's not a reasonable option if I don't get some sort of financial assistance. I'm not interested in taking out a zillion loans when I can go somewhere else and get my schooling paid for.
Coach Addy—head coach of the women's team—promised if I earn my keep, she'll do whatever possible to get me on scholarship for the remainder of my college career.
So earn my keep is exactly what I'm going to do.
"I know you want one. And you're gonna fucking get one." Vaughn reaches a hand out, squeezing my wrist in reassurance. "Don't stress out. Just play your game, Syd, and there's no way you won't get a full ride before next season. No doubt in my mind."
"Hopefully," I mumble. "I want to be an indispensable assest to the squad, and I don't want anything to ruin my chances of that. It's why I need to hyper-focus on this, you know?"
"Yeah, I get that," he empathizes. "But you also need to enjoy college. Believe me, four years goes by in the blink of an eye. Soccer's important as hell—no argument there—but so is making the most of your time here. Have some fun. Live it up while you have the opportunity."
"Wait...let me get this straight. You're encouraging me to go wild and crazy?" I ask with a sly smile. "Get blackout drunk? Pour soap in the quad fountain? Go streaking through off-campus?"
"Shit, no." His mouth turns down as he realizes his mistake. "Fuck everything I just said. No fun for you. In fact, just stay locked in your dorm and enroll in online classes only. I'll slide some bread and cheese under the door every night for your prison-style meal."
I laugh at the instant backtracking.
That's more like the overprotective older sibling I'm accustomed to, the guy who would literally stick me inside one of those ginormous, germ-resistant plastic bubbles to keep me out of harm's way.
"I don't know. All of those seem like good ideas to me," I quip before pushing his buttons a little further. "And you know what sounds like some serious ol'-fashioned college fun? Dating allll of your single friends."
I'm messing around, but he's not a fan of that particular joke.
"Don't even fucking think about it. Not gonna happen on my watch." He rises from the ground, his shadow looming over me. "Alright. I'm outta here before my dead-tired state has me putting more ridiculous thoughts in your head. Get your ass up and let's blow this joint."
When I don't respond right away, he gently kicks my side. "Seriously. I'm gonna leave you behind. You'll have to run the ten miles back to campus."
"Don't tempt me," I mutter.
"You've got problems." He shoots me a baffled grin and shakes his head. "Come on. I'm ready to pass the fuck out and get some sleep."
He holds out his hands, I grab them, and he hoists me to my feet.
We wobble to the parking lot on sore legs. After getting in the vehicle, we cruise along the bumpy road with the windows rolled all the way down. Warm air blows into the car, causing the stray baby hairs on the nape of my neck to tickle my skin. I rest my head against the seat and watch as emerald trees whiz by, the static radio station providing background noise to the ride.
I'm humming along to a classic country tune when Vaughn speaks.
"You need me to take you anywhere before Monday? For notebooks or food or whatever?"
I decline his offer. "Thanks, but I already got it covered. Rayne's taking me shopping tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning? What time?" He frowns. "Rayne and I are going out to breakfast at ten. Or at least I thought we were."
&n
bsp; "You still are," I explain. "But I'll be there, too, crashing the brunch date. Surprise!"
A laugh rumbles in his chest. "Not sure how I feel about you two and the BFF, stuck-together-like-PB-and-J relationship you've got going on. I'm starting to feel like the third wheel here."
"Might as well get used to it. She likes me better than you," I tease.
"Not a damn chance." He grins and hangs an arm out the window. "Where are you guys shopping?"
"Each and every dollar store within a twenty-mile radius. Forget quality items and designer brands; cheap is the name of the game from now on."
"You know, Syd," Vaughn begins, concerned blue eyes bouncing from the street to me for a moment. "If you're low on money, I can spot you. It's not a problem at all."
"I'm okay," I assure him.
He doesn't look convinced. "You sure? I don't want you pinching pennies or living off packets of ramen instead of asking for help. And there's no way you can take on a job during the semester—being a student athlete is a 40-hour-per-week job."
With a forced laugh, I wave off his worries. "I promise I'm fine. I've got a decent chunk of cash from waitressing in high school. Enough to last me the entire year."
It's only the last three years I'm anxious about.
"I don't want you spending all of your damn savings on overpriced school crap." He blows out a tumultuous breath. "At least let me buy you your textbooks or some shit."
As sweet as the offer is, I can't let him do that. It's one thing to bum rides and strong-arm him into killer workouts, but spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars on me is where I draw the line. The last thing I want to be is a burden. He's worked hard for his scholarship money—it's time for me to do the same.
"I got it, Vaughn."
He opens his mouth to argue some more, but I cut him off.
"Don't worry about me. Please?"
His half-hearted "'kay" tells me he's not thrilled with my stubborn attitude. I'm certain this won't be the last time he tries to take care of me.
We take a left into town, a familiar sign with an orange and white W on it causing my stomach to growl.
