Chapter 40 : Damage Control
HAYDEN’S POV:
I didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw two things. Stephen’s face when I told him I might transfer and the headline about Lucas Vale.
By six a.m, I gave up pretending rest was coming. I pulled on my training gear and headed to the field early, the cold morning air biting at my skin. It helped. Physical pain was easier to deal with than whatever was going on in my head.
Coach was already there, clipboard tucked under his arm like he hadn’t left the facility at all.
“You look like hell,” he said casually.
“Thanks.”
He studied me for a second. “Thought about Westbridge?”
I stretched my hamstrings, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll check it out.”
His brows lifted slightly. “So that’s a yes?”
“It’s a maybe,” I corrected. “I need more info on them.”
Coach nodded once, like he had expected. “Fair. But I need an answer by the end of the day. The scouts are waiting on confirmation for the visit. If you’re serious, they’ll come Saturday.”
End of day. That felt too close and too fast.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”
He clapped my shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. Big programs don’t chase forever.”
If only he knew that overthinking was currently my entire personality.
Practice was brutal. Or maybe I was just distracted enough to make it feel that way. I missed two easy crosses and snapped at Carter for a bad pass that wasn’t even that bad.Stephen didn’t look at me once.
That hurt more than it should have.
By the time we finished drills, my legs felt like concrete and my head felt worse.
I headed back to my dorm instead of joining the guys for lunch. I needed quiet time and something solid to hold onto that wasn’t just emotion.
I opened my laptop and typed in Westbridge Athletics.
At first glance, it looked impressive with a clean website, championship banners and professional-level facilities.
Then I dug deeper and that's when I found news articles and archived sports reports.
The first thing that stood out? Their record last season.
It was disastrous.
Almost all the players had injuries, the locker room conflicts was off, they had been public arguments between coaching staff and players and to top it off rumors of internal investigations of the owner of the club for money laundering.
I scrolled further and I saw that three starting defenders were gone, the midfield captain was transferred and two strikers has fucking declined contract renewals.
That wasn’t normal.
I found an interview clip from last month where the former head coach stepped down “by mutual agreement.” Which was code for something messier.
Then came the headline I hadn’t noticed before
Westbridge Players Decline Renewal Amid Management Dispute.
My pulse slowed down in realization. The entire core roster refused to renew contracts, so scouting new players was damage control.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen.
They didn’t want me because I was the missing piece to a championship roster.
They wanted me because they needed someone marketable, someone with stats and someone they could throw into the spotlight to stabilize a sinking program.
And with Lucas Vale signing on as player-captain?
I clicked another article.
Lucas promised to “restore discipline” and “weed out weak mentality.”
I almost laughed. That guy thrived on chaos. He didn’t restore anything.
If I transferred, I wouldn’t just be joining a team. I’d be stepping into a power vacuum with a former MVP who loved dominating headlines and teammates alike.
I imagined walking into that's locker room. New kid with big expectations and a roster full of players who didn’t trust management, then Lucas watching me like competition instead of support.
My jaw tightened.
Was I really considering leaving everything I’d built here for that?
I thought about our field, our team dinners, the stupid inside jokes during away games, Carter’s pre-game rituals and even Stephen blasting music through the dorm walls.
My chest tightened at the remembrance of his name.
Would leaving fix what happened between us? Or was I just running?
Because if I was honest with myself, the transfer had felt appealing for one main reason which was the distance.
Distance from confusion, from the way my stomach flipped when Stephen looked at me, from figuring out what that kiss meant but chaos at Westbridge wouldn’t erase any of that.
It would just give me new problems.
I rubbed a hand over my face and checked the time.
It was 1:47 p.m.
Coach wanted an answer by the end of the day.
I kept digging for another hour just to be sure and I found more articles. Even a thread from former players hinting at “unstable leadership” and “favoritism issues.”
One comment stuck out amongst others.
“Unless you’re Lucas or one of his chosen circle, good luck.”
That was enough. This wasn't an opportunity. It was a risk disguised as prestige.
And for the first time since Coach mentioned it, my mind felt made up.
I grabbed my phone and headed back to the field complex. The coach was in his office, the door half open.
He looked up when I knocked. “That was quick.”
“I’ve got my answer.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’m not going.”
His expression didn’t change immediately. He just studied me, weighing whether this was emotion or logic talking.
“Reason?”
“I did my own research and found out that their roster is unstable with coaching turnovers. They always have contract disputes which make half their starters not to renew.” I crossed my arms. “That’s not rebuilding. That’s a mess.”
A slow nod. “You did your homework.”
“Yeah.”
He sighed. “You sure this isn’t about something else?”
Stephen’s face flickered in my mind again. It would’ve been easy to say yes and blame it all on feelings I didn’t understand but that wasn’t the full truth.
“No,” I said honestly. “It’s about the game.”
Coach held my gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll call the scout and tell him not to bother.”
Relief washed through me so suddenly my knees almost felt weak. “You’re staying?” he clarified.
“I’m staying.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Good. We’re building something here too and you’re a big part of it.”
The words settled heavier than I expected. I wasn’t just some replaceable piece. I mattered here.
“At the end of day,” he added. “Don’t make me regret it.”
I smirked faintly. “I wouldn't dream of it.”
When I stepped out of his office, the late afternoon sun hit my face. For the first time in twenty-four hours, the pressure in my chest wasn’t crushing.
I’d made a choice.