Jayden.
Amanda Carter had gotten taller.
That was my first thought when I saw her charging across the field, ponytail swinging, fire practically leaking from every step.
I didn't need to look at her chart to know she was listed at barely 5'4. She carried herself like she was six feet tall.
My second thought? She was still Ethan's little sister.
I kept reminding myself of that as she shot me a glare sharp enough to slice my coaching whistle in half.
How could someone grow up so much in two years? She wasn't the gangly kid tagging along behind Ethan anymore. She was seventeen now—dangerously close to not being a kid at all.
And that was exactly why I needed to keep my distance.
This job wasn't about her.
This job was supposed to be my chance to prove to my father that I wasn't just some spoiled Reynolds kid coasting on his money. My ticket to showing I could work from the ground up, that I knew the sport beyond private fields and exclusive clubhouses.
Soccer isn't just a game to me—it's my life. But what I love more than playing is the business side of it: strategy, management, turning a team into a machine that wins.
Yes, I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but my father made sure I knew how to work for every dime I touched. "Nothing handed to you tastes sweet," he always said. It used to irritate me, but I understood it now.
So when he told me to get real experiencd before he'd consider me for a bigger role in his sports empire? I knew he meant it.
And that meant no distractions.
Especially not the kind that came with dark brown eyes, a sharp tongue, and a chip on her shoulder the size of the goalpost.
So when she dragged her feet on warm-ups, I didn't hesitate. "Carter, pick it up. You're not captain if you can't lead."
Her jaw clenched. Her pace quickened.
And I told myself I wasn't watching her. But I was.
How could I not? She moved differently than most high school players—controlled chaos, aggressive but instinctive. She was one heck of a striker. But she needed to control that fire before it burned her game down.
Still, she'd taken one look at me that first day and put me firmly in the enemy camp.
And maybe I'd helped that along.
Ethan had already told me Amanda was Folkner High's captain. So I knew I'd see her here. I also knew—just from the way his voice dropped when he said it—that she'd been excited to see me again.
Which was exactly why I made a choice that day.
When Coach Miller introduced us, I pretended I didn't know her. Stuck my hand out and said, "Nice to meet you."
It wasn't because I'd forgotten her. It was because the second I walked onto that field and saw her standing there—eyes wide, smile creeping at the corners—I knew she still had that little crush on me.
And I couldn't encourage that.
Not when I was here to work.
Not when she was seventeen.
So I shut it down. Cold and professional.
She probably hated me for it. But maybe hate would be better for both of us than… whatever else she might be feeling.
"Carter! For God's sake, get off the pitch if you're going to spend today daydreaming!" I barked, snapping her out of some cloud she'd drifted into.
She flinched, snapped back into focus, and kept moving, but I didn't miss the way she glared at me—dark brown eyes sparking like she'd set me on fire if she could.
Good.
Better that than the way she used to look at me.
"You're really riding the girls hard, Reynolds," Coach Miller chuckled, strolling up beside me at the sideline.
In his forties, round belly straining against his polo, Miller still had the kind of voice that could command a room. He was old school. Loved the game but didn't like rocking the boat.
"That's what you hired me for, Coach," I said simply, eyes never leaving the field.
Miller squinted at me. "Don't make me regret it. These girls aren't club kids—they're small-town players with big dreams. They need direction, not boot camp."
"Direction and accountability aren't mutually exclusive," I countered.
Miller grunted. "Just remember this is high school ball, son. You're not running drills for the national team."
I nodded, but my jaw tightened. I didn't come here to play babysitter. I came here to teach them what it takes to win.
And Amanda…
She wanted that scholarship. I could see it in how she played like the field owed her something.
But raw fire wasn't enough.
Five minutes into the scrimmage, she missed a wide-open shot on goal.
"Carter! That was a gift! You don't waste those!"
Her shoulders stiffened. She jogged back into position, her movements sharper now, like my words had been gasoline on her fire.
I exhaled slowly.
"Kid plays like she's got something to prove," Miller said beside me.
"She does," I muttered.
Miller glanced at me. "She's a good one. Don't crush her spirit."
I didn't reply.
Because I didn't know how to explain that I wasn't trying to crush her spirit.
I was trying to protect myself.
And maybe… protect her too.
She didn't know how easy it would be for me to slip, to see her as more than Ethan's little sister, more than just another player.
She didn't know that every glare, every muttered complaint under her breath, every flash of those fiery eyes… made it harder to keep the lines between us where they needed to be.
And if I was smart, I'd keep it that way.
But when the whistle blew and Amanda stomped off the field, tossing her water bottle a little too hard into her bag, I couldn't stop my eyes from following her.
"Watch yourself, Reynolds," Miller said quietly, almost like he could read my mind.
I didn't answer.
Because for the first time since I took this job, I wasn't sure I could.
Amanda turned then, like she could feel my stare. Our eyes locked across the field.
And for a split second, I forgot why I came here.