Freya - Everything I'm Not Saying

I stand on the sideline, the cool breeze tugging at my hair as I watch Noah and Clayton press forward. I try to keep my focus on the match, but it’s harder than it should be.

The boys grin at Kaiden and shout, “We got this!”

Kaiden gives them a thumbs-up, encouragement, easy and natural.

My eyes—traitorous—linger on him in that hoodie. The one I brought. The one I practically forced him to wear.

What if he thought I was being weird?

Heat crawls up my neck as I remember how close we stood, how I fussed with the zipper, how my hand lingered a second too long on his shoulder. Was it obvious? Did he notice?

I wish I could rewind. Just for a second.

Behind me, parents gather in loose clusters. They’re supportive in their own way, though most are too busy chatting to really watch the game. I tune them out, letting their noise blur into the background.

Then my thoughts snap back to the field.

Charlie steals the ball from a midfielder—exactly like we practised.

“Yes! Great work, Charlie! Now press on!” I shout.

Kaiden flashes past me, following Charlie’s run.

“That’s right—keep your eyes open. Take your time!” I add.

Kaiden raises his arm, pointing sharply. “Clayton, fall back. Give Charlie room to pass!”

Clayton drops back instantly.

“Now—triangle offense. Go!” Kaiden calls, forming the shape with his hands.

Charlie, Noah, and Clayton move together, quick short passes snapping between them as they advance.

“Yes! Just like that!” Kaiden shouts.

The excitement in his eyes mirrors my own. I can’t help it—I jump in place as they close in on the goal.

Noah spots an opening and shoots.

The keeper blocks it.

Kaiden groans in frustration.

The rebound flies toward Clayton. He fakes a shot, slips past a defender, and fires.

The ball sails high into the corner.

We high-five, grinning. “Yes!”

Across the field, the other trainer is yelling at his keeper. I can’t hear the words over the noise, but I see the boy staring at the ground, whispering a quiet sorry. The trainer waves him off dismissively and walks away.

My lips press together. I hope this is a one-time thing.

By halftime, we’ve scored three goals from five attempts. I keep glancing at Kaiden, especially whenever the other keeper gets scolded for letting one in—never praised for the saves he does make.

It leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

How does anyone think berating kids will make them love this game?

“That gets me so pissed off,” Kaiden mutters, arms rigid, eyes burning holes into the other trainer. “That boy has good instincts. It’s sad they’re getting stamped out of him.”

I find myself watching Kaiden instead of the field—drawn to the fire in him. To the way he stands up for the kids.

We head into halftime only two goals ahead.

I gather the team, smiling at their flushed faces as they gulp water.

“Great game so far. I’m so proud of each of you,” I tell them. “You’re showing teamwork, skill—and most importantly, that you love playing soccer.”

I tap each shoulder, offering praise before the whistle sends them back out.

In the second half, I notice even more about Kaiden.

He’s fiery and loud on the attack, but steady and encouraging on defence.

“That’s it—pull back! Don’t give them space. Great work!”

I tug my zipper down, trying to cool off.

But it’s not just the sun making my skin prickle.

The way Kaiden moves—focused, passionate—has my pulse racing for reasons I refuse to name.

The final whistle blows.

We’ve won.

The kids surge forward, already talking about ice cream.

But Kaiden doesn’t come with me.

Instead, I see him head straight for the opposing trainer, who’s looming over the keeper—the last two still on the field.

“We could have won this!” the trainer yells. “You let everyone down!”

The boy’s eyes fill with tears. He rips off his gloves and throws them to the ground.

For a heartbeat, I’m afraid Kaiden might punch the man.

Instead, he crouches.

He picks up the gloves and gently hands them back.

“You were amazing out there,” Kaiden says softly. “Don’t let men like him”—he glances up at the trainer—“crush you down.”

I step closer, reaching for Kaiden’s shoulder—but when he looks up at me with that grin, something inside me stutters. My mind flashes back to fixing his hoodie before the game.

Kaiden turns back to the boy. “I know it’s not exactly around the corner, but you’re always welcome at our club.”

I scribble Leo’s contact info on a note and hand it to the boy—Vincent—telling him to talk it over with his dad. When I mention Kaiden’s full name, Vincent’s eyes go wide.

The trainer’s expression shifts—embarrassment blooming.

Kaiden smirks. He definitely enjoys this plot twist.

The drive home is quiet.

Kaiden calls shotgun, and Clayton groans from the backseat. I don’t protest.

I’m acutely aware of how close Kaiden and I are—more than ever. The space feels smaller, charged, despite the kids’ chatter.

Kaiden keeps his eyes on the road. I watch the evening sun flicker through the trees.

Then Mia pipes up, out of nowhere.

“Coach Kaiden, do you have a girlfriend?”

I nearly choke.

The car goes silent.

I don’t dare look at him—but my ears are tuned to everything.

“No,” he says, voice as tight as his grip on the wheel.

Mia giggles, and the boys join her.

I catch his eyes for a split second, searching for something I can’t quite name.

He looks away first.

❤️ Maliyka ❤️