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  ALWAYS MORE

  Sports Series Book #1

  NICOLE PYLAND

  Always More

  Sports Series Book #1

  Everly Holman is between an internship and, hopefully, finding her dream job when she finds an online listing she thinks will be perfect for her. As a relatively new sports psychologist, she’s worried she won’t find the right place for herself. When she applies for a job with the Los Angeles Legends, the professional women’s volleyball team, she finally feels at home.

  Wyatt Wicked is the number one volleyball player in the world. She could play in any professional league and had played in many during her career. When the US starts the first professional women’s league, she’s eager to play on her home soil and finally do the thing she loves most in her home country.

  Wyatt’s not one to trust psychology in sports. But when she meets Everly Holman, Wyatt not only starts trusting the woman to help improve her game, she also sees Everly as much more than the team doctor. Unfortunately for her, Everly might not be willing to risk her career over their growing feelings. As they both work to establish the fledgling league, they discover that, sometimes, falling in love is worth the possibility of losing everything.

  To contact the author or for any additional information, visit: https://nicolepyland.com

  Copyright © 2020 Nicole Pyland

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-949308-37-2

  BY THE AUTHOR

  Stand-alone books:

  • The Fire

  • The Moments

  • The Disappeared

  • Reality Check

  Chicago Series:

  • Introduction – Fresh Start

  • Book #1 – The Best Lines

  • Book #2 – Just Tell Her

  • Book #3 – Love Walked into The Lantern

  • Series Finale – What Happened After

  San Francisco Series:

  • Book #1 – Checking the Right Box

  • Book #2 – Macon’s Heart

  (recommended to read after Keep Tahoe Blue )

  • Book #3 – This Above All

  • Series Finale – What Happened After

  Tahoe Series:

  • Book #1 – Keep Tahoe Blue

  • Book #2 – Time of Day

  • Book #3 – The Perfect View

  • Book #4 – Begin Again

  • Series Finale – What Happened After

  Celebrities Series:

  • Book #1 – No After You

  • Book #2 – All the Love Songs

  Sports Series:

  • Book #1 – Always More

  • Book #2 – A Shot at Gold (available for pre-order)

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  The All-American Women’s Volleyball League, or the AAWVL, was the first of its kind. Most large countries had their own professional women’s league. Brazil, Italy, Spain, and other major competitors in the sport had the benefit of having leagues that could attract their home-grown top talent. In the US, though, the young women who excelled playing for their universities and won national championships and all the accolades that came along with them had to go overseas if they wanted to play professionally. This was especially important for those select few that had been chosen to compete for Team USA volleyball.

  A player couldn’t expect to keep up their skills, their instincts, their drive for the win if they only played for the national team. They needed to be involved in a competitive league and play against the players they would eventually face in world championships and, most importantly, the Olympic Games. Tokyo 2020 was just around the corner. Team USA had already qualified. Now, all of the players needed to stay fit and ready to compete. Finally, after years and years of hard work, denial, possibilities, and rejections, enough sponsors were willing to take on the risk of a women’s national league. It didn’t hurt that the women’s team had been ranked either first or second in the world for the past eight years. It had taken that long to create the league that now had eight teams in eight cities around the country.

  It had taken that long not just because they needed the money, but because they needed the players. Most players didn’t want to take the risk on the unknown. As much as the American players wanted a league of their own and wanted to play on their home soil, they had grown accustomed to the large crowds, great competition, and higher paychecks that came with the big leagues in Europe and South America. All it had taken, though, was Wyatt Wicked.

  Wyatt Wicked was the most sought-after volleyball player in the world, male or female. She was 6’4”, lean, and muscled, with long arms that made her a dominant outside hitter and an even better blocker. Her jump serve was a thing of nightmares for those on the other side of the net. It was something that trainers and coaches salivated over. Wyatt had been playing the sport since she was in fifth grade, and she hadn’t stopped since. She had an early growth spurt, which had given her a height advantage as a kid and had college scouts checking her out when she was in the eighth grade. By the time she was a sophomore in high school, Wyatt had scholarship offers from the top five volleyball schools in the nation. She chose Stanford, won two national championships, and the rest was history. She joined Team USA as its youngest player, at age nineteen, traveled around the world to compete, and when she graduated with a degree in kinesiology, she took a contract to play in Italy for two years.

  Wyatt Wicked was now a twenty-eight-year-old volleyball legend, who would undoubtedly be in the hall of fame one day. She had played in Italy and Brazil, and she spent one year playing in Turkey before returning home to help start this league. She took a lot of pride in the fact that because of her, several top players from around the world had given the league a chance. She had convinced three national team players to join her, as well as a few from her Brazil years, a couple from Italy, a few Spanish players, and two from Argentina. The rest of the players came just out of university or were players she didn’t know from other countries.

  Wicked, as she preferred to be called, couldn’t wait for the first match, but she also knew there was a long way to go before they would get there. The players had only just been assigned to their teams. Wyatt had had her pick, of course, and she’d chosen LA. She liked Los Angeles, and she liked the name of the team even more. She would be a starter for the Los Angeles Legends. She had a two-year contract, with an option to leave after one if the league wasn’t meeting expectations. She hoped that wouldn’t be the case. After six years, Wyatt was ready to be home.

  “Can you believe
this?” Kara, the team’s head coach, asked her.

  “That we would actually get to play professionally on our own soil?”

  “When we were back at Stanford, I never imagined we’d get here one day. I’m kind of nervous. I don’t know if I’m ready to be a head coach.”

  Kara had been a graduate assistant throughout Wicked’s last two years at Stanford. She had also been a player in Wicked’s undergrad but had blown out her knee and shoulder over the course of her career and had no chance of playing professionally. She’d stuck around and had caught the coaching bug, bouncing around countries and leagues like Wicked. The woman was also a mother of two little ones and a wife, so she wanted to stay stateside to raise her kids. This was the perfect opportunity for Kara, and Wicked knew she didn’t want to mess it up.

  “Hey, you’re an amazing coach. Plus, you’ll have staff around you and great players. We’ve got your back.” Wicked smiled at her.

  “I can’t believe I landed you,” Kara stated with a chuckle. “All the other coaches are jealous as hell. They were all hoping you’d pick their teams.”

  “Let’s see… I could have picked the Bay Eagles, but I was up there for four years. I could have picked the New York Terriers or the Seattle Sabers, but I didn’t want to live in New York, and I’m not a fan of the weather in the Pacific Northwest.”

  “Which also ruled out Portland?”

  “Exactly. There was the Nebraska Outlaws and the Minnesota Fusion, but those are in volleyball country. I kind of wanted an area that liked volleyball enough but wasn’t obsessed with it.”

  “You want to take credit for that obsession, don’t you?” Kara teased.

  “I want to watch it grow,” Wicked replied. “LA is a sport’s town, but it prefers the Dodgers and Lakers over anything we’ve got going. I guess I want to see if we can take volleyball from being some college sport that we hear about every four years when the Olympics roll around, to something that people want to see every weekend.”

  “Well, I’m glad we’re in this together,” Kara replied.

  “Me too,” Wicked said. “How’s the rest of the coaching staff looking?”

  “I’ve got my assistant coach. It’s Brenden. I stole him from Penn.”

  “Nice. He’s good.”

  “And I have my technical coordinator, athletic trainer, and strength and conditioning coach.”

  “Full set.” Wicked nodded.

  “Missing one still, but I have a few leads.”

  “Who are you missing?”

  “Psychologist.”

  “What?”

  “Sports Psychologist. It’s in the budget for all teams. I guess the league and the sponsors think it’s a good idea, with the league being brand new. I think it’s a good idea myself. I’ve had them on staff with a few of the teams I’ve been a part of.”

  “Kara, you really believe in all that? Volleyball is fundamentals. It’s strength training, drills, and strategy. It’s talent on the court and great coaching. It’s not psychology.”

  “You’re just mad you got a D in social psych junior year and almost got suspended from the team for a semester.”

  “Hey, you’re not supposed to remember all that bad stuff about me and use it against me later. You’re supposed to remember that killer serve that won us the national championship.”

  Kara laughed and said, “I think it’s a good thing.”

  “I’m not going to be required to–”

  “Wicked, calm down.” Kara rolled her eyes at Wyatt. “I have to hire someone first. Then, we’ll figure out what they’ll do for us and how, okay?”

  “Fine. Fine. Do you need me for anything else today? I’m still unpacking the house. I had so much crap in storage from over the years; I’m going through it all to see what I want to keep and what I want to get rid of.”

  “No, you can get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow for practice?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Wicked grabbed her gym bag, heading out of the office that Kara would be borrowing for the season, and walked toward the parking lot. They would be using a college gym and offices for the first year of the league, and they would likely use it for several more years after, too. Even if the league was successful enough for them to have their own gym, it didn’t make sense financially. They could borrow one of the dozen college or professional gyms in the LA area. Wicked didn’t mind being in a college gym with the college’s mascot and logo all over it. She knew that if they played their cards right, they could end up in the STAPLES Center with their own logo and mascot painted on the gym floor one day.

  “Oh, sorry,” a woman said as she bumped into Wicked, nailing her right shoulder.

  “Shit,” Wicked cursed. “Damn. Are you a linebacker?” she asked, holding on to the shoulder.

  “Are you a sailor?” the woman asked back.

  “What?”

  “Shit? Damn?” the woman said, lifting her eyebrows at Wicked.

  She was tall, maybe about 6’0” or 6’1”, which was something Wicked was accustomed to. The woman also had long, dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a gray pantsuit with flats, which was weird, considering they were outside a gym and it was eighty-five degrees outside. Her eyes were light brown, almost coppery, and her smile was non-existent. Oh, she wasn’t happy with Wicked.

  “What? You’re mad at me? You ran into my shoulder.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” the woman said.

  “Yes, you are. I can tell.”

  “How can you tell? I just said you curse like a sailor.”

  “Your mouth did this thing.”

  “My mouth did a thing?” the woman asked.

  “It got really thin, and your eyebrows became like an eyebrow.” Wicked pointed at the woman’s eyebrows.

  “Did you just tell me I have a unibrow?”

  “See? There it is again.” She pointed, excitedly, shifting her bag to her other shoulder.

  “Well, now, I am mad at you. You said I have a unibrow.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “It’s pretty close,” the woman argued.

  “You don’t have a unibrow. Better?”

  “Sure.”

  “You just did it again,” Wicked said with a laugh. “You hate me now, don’t you?”

  “I do not hate you. I don’t even know you.”

  “You’re at least mildly irritated.”

  “Yes, I am. I came here for a job interview, only to accidentally bump into some crazy woman when I was getting out of my car. I’m told I have a unibrow and that I hate her, when all I want to do is get inside the building.”

  “Wicked.”

  “What?” the woman asked.

  “My name is Wyatt Wicked.” Wicked stuck out her hand. “If I’m going to insult you accidentally, you should at least know my name.”

  “I know your name.”

  “You said you didn’t know me before.”

  “I don’t know you. Knowing someone’s name doesn’t mean you know them as a person.”

  “That’s pretty deep,” Wicked replied with a chuckle.

  “Well, you don’t know me. I’m deep.”

  “Wait… How do you know me?” Wicked asked.

  “Shit. I’m late,” the woman said, glancing down at her very-nice-looking watch. “You’ve made me late.”

  “I wasn’t forcing you to stand here and talk to me, sailor.”

  “What?”

  “You said shit.”

  “Oh.” It registered with the woman. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Nice to not meet you, then, sailor.” Wicked waved at the strange woman as she, herself, started walking toward the gym’s side door. The woman turned around just as Wicked opened the door. “Try not to say shit in your interview,” she yelled.

  The woman glared at her, shook her head rapidly from side to side, and disappeared into the gym.

  CHAPTER 2

  The interview had gone well. That was
what Everly thought, anyway. Of course, she knew they had other candidates and that she wasn’t the most experienced in the world of psychology, but if she had to guess, she was the most experienced in the world of volleyball. Everly hoped that, in combination with her doctorate, would work in her favor. She not only needed this job; she wanted it. She had interviewed around – receiving a few offers, even, and getting told she was stupid not to take them – but none of them had been in her preferred field, sports psychology. Furthermore, none of them had anything to do with her favorite sport.

  When Everly had heard the AAWVL was starting up, as a fan and former player, she was thrilled the US was finally getting its own league. And when she saw the online posting for a Sports Psychologist for the Los Angeles Legends, she clicked to apply without even thinking about it. A week later, she’d heard that she had scored a phone interview, and then, they had asked her to come in.

  As she sat in her apartment hours later, eating ramen noodles with her legs under her, she wondered if she had made the right decision. She had a mountain of student loan debt, rent to pay, and other bills on top of it. This job would be her dream job, but it also wasn’t the highest-paying one she could get offered, assuming the offer came in at all. When she finished her dinner, she placed the bowl on the table and picked up her computer. She went back to the job boards to see if one of the jobs she’d been offered was still available. The listing had been taken down. She sighed and kept searching.

  ◆◆◆

  The following morning, Everly went to her regular café, pulled out the laptop, and continued her search. She wondered if her resume could be reformatted somehow to make up for her lack of experience. She was twenty-nine years old. She had gotten her doctorate at twenty-eight and had taken a post-doctorate internship instead of going straight into the official workforce. It had been in sports psychology with a Minor League Baseball team in Ohio, and it was six months of baseball with immature boys and only a little learning. She had only returned to LA two months prior and had been looking for something full-time ever since.