Playing Dirty

Emerson

The locker room always wakes up before the field.

Cleats slap against concrete in uneven rhythms. Someone’s speaker thumps bass-heavy music that rattles the benches and vibrates through the steel lockers painted in the deep navy and white team colors of the Nashville wolves. The lockers are dented from years of shoulders, bags, and bad moods. The air smells like fresh-cut grass clinging to socks, sharp antiseptic, sweat that never quite leaves, and the faint citrus bite of whatever industrial cleaner the staff swears works miracles.

It doesn’t.

It’s loud. It’s chaotic. And, yet it’s perfect because its home. This is my world now. I move through the locker room with a tablet tucked under my arm and athletic tape looped around my fingers, stepping over discarded slides and dodging swinging towels like its second nature. I don’t even blink at the half-naked men scattered around the room. Their torsos bare, compression shorts hanging low, muscles still tight from morning lifts. I’ve gotten used to it.

“Morning Hale,” Marcus Calloway the mid-fielders calls from his locker, already shirtless and flexing like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I don’t look at him. “If you tear something before preseason even starts, I will let you suffer.”

“That’s cold, Em.”

I smirk, finally glancing his way. “No, what’s cold is the week of ice baths I’m signing you up for if you keep flirting with me. Your balls may never recover.”

Marcus mutters something under his breath and rolls his eyes as the locker room erupts into laughter.

I throw him a wink. “Consider yourself warned.”

A few laughs ripples through the room, but I ignore them as I stop in front of Jake Moreno, one of our defenders, and jerk my chin towards the bench.

“Sit.”

He does what I ask immediately no questions ask. That part still surprises me. The way these oversized, larger than life guys do exactly as I tell them. No matter how much they hate the treatment.

You ever gonna go out with me? Jake asks as I start wrapping his ankle, voice easy, hopeful in that way men get when they already know the answer but still ask anyways. “I feel like I’ve earned at least a drink by now.”

From across the room, Theo chimes in, “she’s got standers, man. That’s your problem.”

“I am the standard, Jake protests with a wave of his hand as he makes a waving motion down the length of his body. As if saying please feast your eyes on my extremely toned, very hard body.

I don’t look of from taping his ankle. “ You strained your groin tying your cleats last year.”

“That was one time Em. And I though we agreed we wouldn’t bring that up any more!”

The fact he even thinks this cause me to snort. “ I will never let you live that one down.”

A chorus of ooohs and laughter breaks outs through out the locker room.

“So that’s a no?” Marcus says from across the room, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “ You could always choose me instead Emerson. Did I mention I make a mean margarita?”

I snort even louder at his antics. “Marcus, I see the revolving door of women you parade around every weekend. That’s gonna be a hard no for me.” I say as I wrinkle my nose in disgust, which causes the locker room to erupt with laughter.

Marcus presses a hand to his chest dramatically. “Baby, if you’d just say yes, all that would stop.”

“Sure it would,” I deadpan.

He grins wider. “A man has needs darling. If I cant have first choice. I gotta settle for second best somehow.”

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “God help whatever woman falls for that line.”

Marcus’s smile widens, completely unbothered. “They usually do.”

Evan our striker and my childhood best friends drops his bag at his locker behind me with a dull thud. “I’ve told you once, and I will tell all you fuckers again… Em only dates grown men. She not into the toddlers on this team.”

Jake scoffs from the bench. “I’m a grown man.”

Even snorts. “ Says the guy who iced his knee with a frozen burrito last year.”

Jake lifts a finger. “In my defense, by the time it thawed, I had a snack.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Ewww…. That’s disgusting Jake.”

Marcus nods thoughtfully. “I think its kinda genius.”

I point between them. “Every day I become more convinced none of you should be allowed out in public unsupervised.”

Everyone laughs again as Evan gestures to Jake and Marcus. “See toddlers.”

I move away, already shaking my head, but the noise in the room shifts as I cross towards the training area. Not quiet, just sharper. It’s more focused and less joking now.

“Yo, anybody actually heard who the new guy is?” Theo asks, leaning back against his locker.

“Nothing,” Marcus answers. “Coach’s got this thing locked down tighter than playoff bonuses.”

I slow without meaning to, my fingers tightening slightly around the tablet. Who ever the new guy is, I hope his transition on to the team goes well. Our group is a tight nit team. I would hate for this new guy to bring any unnecessary drama to our team.

“I heard Portugal,” a midfielder says. Liam foster’s voice lowered like he’s sharing classified Intel. “Like…real Portugal.”

That gets a reaction out of a few of the guys.

“No shit?” someone says as another one ask; “Europe-Europe?”

“My agent swears it. Some big name over there. Apparently the front office flew him in under the radar.”

“So why come here?” Jake asks.

Evan falls into step beside me, lowering his voice. “Coach wont even confirm position.”

I glance at him. “That usually means trouble.”

His grin sharpens. “For half the roster at least.”

Someone near the shower laughs. “All I’m saying is if they’re being this quiet, he’s not here to sit the bench.”

The air tightens around us. That subtle shift right before something changes. The same charged stillness I used to feel standing at midfield before kickoff, heart pounding; waiting for the whistle. I shake it off and go back to checking my schedule. Baseline evaluations. Preseason routines. Just the normal daily shit.

All conversation dies mid-sentence as footsteps echo through the locker room. Slow, steady, and unhurried. Then a voice follows, low and edged with an accent I haven’t heard in years but recognize instantly. My hands still on the tablet as my stomach drops so fast it feels like the floor disappears beneath me.

I look up and there he is. The one man I thought I would never see again.

Callum Reyes stands just inside the doorway, duffel slung over one shoulder like he belongs anywhere he decides to be. He’s older now, broader too. Somehow, like time didn’t soften him… no, it carved him into something harder, into something more dangerous. And, yet something unfairly beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache on instinct.

The room goes silent… for one heartbeat neither of us moves. Then his eyes find mine, and everything in his face changes. Shock hits first… raw and unguarded. Then disbelief, then something darker settles over his features so quickly it steals the breath from my lungs.

His gaze flicks to evan, whos moved closer to me out of instinct. Then back to me.

“Emerson?”

my name leaves his mouth like he hates the way it flows so easily from him. The room suddenly feels too small. Too hot. Too full of air I can’t breathe. His eyes drag over me slowly. He takes in the team logo on my polo, then my credentials, and the trainers bag slung to my hip… I watch him with my mouth probably still on the floor as his jaw tightens.

“You work here?” he asks, but it isn’t really a question. More like disbelief wrapped in accusation.

I force myself to swallow. “I’m the athletic trainer.” I state calmly.

I feel Evan take a step closer to me, as something bitter flashes across Callum’s face.

“You’re the athletic trainer.” He repeats, like the words don’t make sense in his mouth. Like he cant quite believe what he’s hearing. Then his eyes sharpen.

“What happened to your dreams of playing pro?”

Someone in the back mutters, “holy shit,” under there breath. While someone else ask, “how does the knew guy know Em?”

Evan shifts uncomfortably beside me, tension instantly rolling off him. “This isn’t the time or place, Callum.” He says firmly.

But Callum ignores him completely, staring only at me. “You were supposed to go further than anyone.” He says, quieter now, but somehow harsher for it. “So what happened?”

My throat tightens. “Life happened.”

His jaw flexes. He looks to Evan again, then back to me. And when he speaks this time, his voice drops lower, rougher.

“Was it him?”

Silence crashed over the already quiet room.

“Did you throw it all away to follow him?”

“What the fuck?” someone breathes from behind me.

Evan exhales sharply. “Still the same asshole, huh?”

Callum doesn’t even blink. He just keeps staring at me like if I answer wrong, it might break him all over again. “Are you with him?” he asks, voice low and drangerous. “Still?”

My throat closes. I open my mouth to say something, anything. But I don’t answer him. Instead the entire locker room holds it breath.

“Callum,” Evan says sharply, stepping forward, “that’s enough man. Leave it.”

Callum’s head snaps towards him immediately. His expression turns murderous. “I think she can speak for herself,” he says coldly.

My stomach twists in knots as I try to wrap my brain around the fact Callum’s here. Let alone try and form words.

Evan takes a step in front of me this time, like a protective shield. “Not when you’re coming at her like this.”

Callum’s eyes jump between us now, bitterness flashing hot in his stare.

“So what?” he asks, voice low and cutting. “You speak for her now too?”

“Watch it, you have no idea what your talking about.” Evan warns him. But Callum doesn’t look at him anymore. His eyes are on me. Just when I find the courage to speak… coach walks in.