Yawning, Rafe stretches, arms high to welcome the brisk morning. Then he drops his arms, rolls his shoulders and neck, and bounces on the balls of his feet to wake up his tired muscles. He played full minutes in the match yesterday, and then they had a special joint training session last night. He's feeling it today.
Probably because his attackers kept chickening out and passing the ball back to him instead of using his passes to actually, you know, score.
He'd be happy if they just TRIED to score.
Only 7 shots attempted the entire game, most made before the first goal. Once the Sounders scored, they lost their motivation, content to simply hold the lead. They only managed one more shot-on-goal, saved by the opposing keeper.
That had been Rafe's shot.
He's plenty mad at himself for not scoring, but he's also pissed at his teammates whose off-the-ball movement on offense was so weak, he didn't have anyone to pass to when he was double-teamed in the penalty box. He'd had no choice but to force the shot.
Determined to put yesterday behind him, Rafe takes a deep breath, and on the exhale, heads off on his morning jog.
As his sneakers pound the trail running through the park across from his hotel, his thoughts drift to the mysterious player he'd discovered here.
Aidan Kane.
There's a player who doesn't lack motivation.
Last night, Rafe had rewatched the videos he'd taken, before finally falling asleep, mind racing with plays he wanted to practice with the new recruit.
Aidan seems to have that special quality great strikers like Brazil's Ronaldo have in spades: the hunger for goals.
In Ronaldo's first six seasons, he scored 180 times in 200 games; that's a goal every .90 games. That kind of prodigious scoring is only made possible when brilliant game sense combines with intuition, allowing a player to instinctively feel the path to a goal, even when no one else can see it.
You also need the ego to shoot, and shoot again, and miss, and not let it get you down.
You need to always believe you're the best choice to make that next goal.
That's something Rafe's not sure Aidan has, yet.
Rafe's brow furrows as he scowls, remembering the flinching, panicked kid Aidan had transformed into the second he stopped playing.
He also remembers that no matter how stressed the kid became during the second half of the scouting convo, after he'd finally admitted his name, he never moved away from his ball. It was always attached to at least one foot, except for the times he was absently juggling it, face scrunched in deep thought.
Rafe's fairly certain Aidan didn't even know he was doing it.
Rafe's completely certain it makes him want Aidan on his team even more.
He rounds a turn and comes out of the trees where he'd first hid yesterday to scout (in a totally, non-creepy way, damnit) his new forward, and suddenly, he stops short, startled.
He shakes his head, sure all this thinking about Aidan has made him start imagining he's seeing the guy everywhere.
Then he peers closer and realizes he really IS seeing him.
Aidan Kane is sleeping on the same bench Rafe had sat on for an hour yesterday.
"What the hell is he doing?" Rafe asks no one in particular.
He whispers it, because deep down, he already knows the answer.
He whispers it, because he doesn't want Aidan to find out he knows.
Aidan could have told him yesterday. Could have told Coach.
But he didn't.
And Rafe can understand why.
The flinches.
The panic.
The fear.
He's hiding something, and Rafe knows enough of the world to understand not every secret should be revealed.
Aidan's in trouble, but he's also about to join the Development Academy. On a full scholarship, according to Coach.
If Aidan can just get to Seattle, maybe he can leave his problems behind.
Maybe he can outrun the fear plaguing his mind and plaguing his game, and become someone great.
And maybe someday, he'll tell Rafe what he was running from, all on his own.
Biting his lip, Rafe frowns, unsure why that particular thought feels so important to him. It's not like it matters if this kid, practically a total stranger, confides in him. They can form a perfectly capable combination on the field without divulging secrets and digging up skeletons best left buried.
Rafe shakes off the weird feeling, chalking it up to his exhaustion and the surreality of finding a teammate sleeping in a park like a vagrant.
The important thing here is that Aidan needs to make it to Seattle, so he never has to sleep on a park bench again. Coach said Aidan was going to be taking the bus, but what if that was a lie? What if Aidan is planning to hitchhike or something?
Rafe is not about to let his new forward get stabbed by a serial killer, thank you very much.
Then he remembers just how freaking much Aidan ran yesterday, and he worries that the kid might be planning something even crazier; he wouldn't put it past the crazy dude to run all 180 miles between Portland and Seattle to get away from whatever is worse than being a homeless teenager.
'Ahh hell no,' Rafe thinks firmly.
Silently, Rafe approaches the bench and pulls out his wallet. He takes out all the cash he has on hand, about $200, and slowly, slowly, slips it into the outside pocket of Aidan's gym bag, where he sees the outline of a granola bar.
No way a kid who worked as hard as Aidan did yesterday skips breakfast today. He should see the money before he tries anything stupid.
Then Rafe sneaks off before he gets caught and the situation gets well and truly awkward.
Not two minutes later, he's raking his fingers through his short black hair, ruining his faux hawk, completely convinced he's made a terrible mistake.
A kid sleeping in a park seems like a primo "tell an adult" situation.
What if he dies? Or gets kidnapped, or mugged, or abducted by friggin' aliens?
"Aaaarrrgh," Rafe groans, stomach twisting in worry.
Or what if his first thought was right, and adults are not the people to fix this?
Sometimes the best intentions ruin lives.
Rafe's third grade teacher accidentally got a student's father deported because she didn't understand why Mr. Hernandez wouldn't call the cops when his store was robbed. She heard about the ordeal from the student, and thought she was doing them a favor, assumed the Hernandezes simply didn't speak enough English to tell the police what happened.
Miguel Hernandez was arrested and deported within the week.
The robber was never caught.
Rafe rubs his face and finally, decides to go with his gut. He won't tell anyone what Aidan clearly doesn't want told.
But he's also not going to let his teammate take stupid risks. He can't have Aidan's tragic demise on his conscience.
Plus, he really wants to play some kickass football with the guy.
With renewed determination, Rafe knocks over a metal garbage bin, making as loud a racket as possible. He even yells, in a weird, high-pitched voice. Then he sneaks back to make sure it woke up Aidan.
The poor kid has bolted to his feet, looking around wildly and holding his bag to his chest, as if to protect himself from an attack.
"Desperate times, dude. Sorry," Rafe apologizes under his breath.
He waits until Aidan calms down and carries his stuff to the closest restroom. Fifteen minutes later, Aidan's back out, looking a little more refreshed and awake, and wearing clean clothes.
He also pulls his wallet out and looks inside, head shaking and eyes wide in disbelief, as if he can't believe what he's seeing.
'Ah good. He found the money.' Rafe smiles.
Aidan starts walking toward the main road, toward the hotel, and Rafe seizes the opportunity. He heads Aidan off then restarts his previous jog.
When Aidan comes into view and freezes, Rafe slows up and looks surprised. He pretends not to notice how terrified and embarrassed Aidan looks.
"Yo, morning, Aidan. Looks like you had the same idea I did. You're lucky you live so close to this sweet park."
Aidan blinks a few times, then relief washes across his face. His bright blue eyes clear, and he smiles.
"Yeah, I figured I'd get one last workout in my fave park before I move to an entirely new city," Aidan lies smoothly, clinging to the excuse Rafe had given him.
"Coach said you're taking the bus? Today, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Aidan replies. "I'm heading to the station right after my workout."
"Sweet. I'm stoked to show you around our stadium and facilities. For a workout maniac like you, it'll be a dream come true."
Aidan laughs and raises a blond eyebrow at Rafe. "Takes one to know one, my dude. Pretty sure most of your teammates aren't up at the asscrack of dawn working up a sweat."
Rafe cracks a smile at that and shrugs. "Fair." Then he stops, as if an idea just came to him. "If you want to join my Sunday night workout sesh, I could show you the ropes before team training begins tomorrow. But you'd probably need to catch the next available bus to make it on time, especially with all the paperwork and intro stuff Coach and the staff are gonna make you deal with."
Rafe bites his lip again, this time to keep from grinning in victory at the look on Aidan's face. The guy's tempted.
Time for the finishing touch.
"If your parents are too busy to take you early, I have the Uber app. If your parents are cool with it, I could call you a ride to the bus depot downtown. Ma always puts a ton of money on my account, in case of emergencies or whatever. She saw a talk show about teen partying and is now convinced I'm going to end up at a rager surrounded by drugs and underage drinking, and I'm going to need a safe ride home."
Sadness shadows Aidan's face, and Rafe immediately regrets mentioning his mom. But then Aidan's lips curl into a small smile that could only be described as fond, and Rafe understands whoever it was that made him run away and sleep in a park, it wasn't his mother.
"I wasn't under the impression USSDA athletes had a ton of time for ragers," Aidan says lightly.
"We don't," Rafe agrees. "Also, Coach would kill us. And not quickly or painlessly; he'd have us run stadium laps and do wall sits til we croak."
Aidan shivers in the way only a fellow athlete still suffering from stadium stair laps-PTSD can.
"Anyway," Rafe continues, "what do you think? Want me to call an Uber? You must have gotten enough practice in yesterday to say goodbye to your park."
Aidan looks torn, like he's innately opposed to accepting help, but is also smart enough to recognize an offer he shouldn't refuse.
"All right, fine. I don't need to call anyone about it; no one's home today, so I was going to take a cab to the station anyway."
Rafe grins and pulls out his phone.
------
Later, after Aidan has left for the bus station|
Rafe grips his phone tightly, voice not entirely steady.
"Hey Ma, you know how I always tell you that you don't have to hand me cash every time I come home? And you always say, 'It's for emergencies, mijo, now stop complaining or I'll give you something to complain about?' ...Well, I'll never complain again."
Maria Segura Guerra, Rafe's mother, sounds far away because she's put her son on speaker while she cooks, but the immediate concern still comes through loud and clear. "Rafael, are you okay? What's wrong? Where are you?"
"No, Ma, I'm fine. It's not me. It's a...friend. He needed a little help, and I'm just glad I could. I thought you should know."
"You almost gave me a heart attack. But good. I'm glad you could help your friend. That's how we raised you." She's nodding firmly, because she's forgotten he can't see her face.
The corner of Rafe's mouth turns up in a small smile. "Yes, you did. Thank you."
"For what, mijo?"
For not being the kind of person who makes a kid flinch when he receives a smile.
For not being the kind of mother who would ever make a kid so afraid he'd rather sleep in a park than in his own bed.
"For being the best, is all," he says.
Then his mom replies, and his mouth drops open.
"No, Ma, I'm not on drugs!" he cries, slapping his forehead. "Can't a kid thank his own Mama without this kind of suspicion?!"