A Perfect Match

Chapter 1

Lia stared at the plaque on the wall—Carol Evans, Head Coach—hands curled into fists to stop them from shaking.

She’d been a frequent visitor to Carol’s office in her seven-year tenure as the superstar striker for Manchester Wanderers.

Yet she’d never felt such a churning in her gut, such a disquiet in her mind, such a seething anger making the edges of her vision black.

Stepping back into her club off the back of a record-breaking season after a few weeks off, Lia should be on cloud nine, ready to begin the new season.

Following three years of coming in second place, Wanderers had unseated their closest rivals—Salford Albion—at the summit of the Women’s Super League.

They’d also beaten them to the FA Cup trophy.

Not to mention Lia’s prolific success in front of goal had meant she’d ended the season with the most goals, taking home the Golden Boot trophy for the first time in her career.

Instead, she was filled with loathing.

Taking a deep breath, Lia wrenched open the door and stormed inside before she could think better of it.

Behind the desk, Carol started. “Hey! You can’t barge in here without—” The words died on her tongue once she got a look at Lia’s face. “Ashcroft. W-what are you doing here?” Her voice trembled with fear.

Good.

For the past seven years, Lia had thought herself lucky to work with a coach as fantastic as Carol. She’d elevated Lia’s game, brought the best out of her, and turned Wanderers into a team competing at the top level.

Lia used to feel nothing but admiration for Carol. And a desire to be the best she could possibly be to give back to the coach that had given Lia her chance on the biggest stage of women’s football, promoting Lia to the first team at eighteen years old.

Now, as her gaze rested on Carol’s face, Lia felt nothing but disgust and disappointment.

“I needed to see you.” Lia paused on the other side of the desk, letting her fingers brush against the edge of the stained wood—black, like Lia’s mood.

And like Wanderers’ new training kit. She’d been asked to pull it on for a photo shoot, but the badge on her breast—red roses—once something she’d worn with pride, now felt heavy. Leaden. Ruined.

“I want to leave.”

“Leave?” Carol’s brows creased into a frown. How dare she pretend Lia’s words came as some kind of shock? “What do you mean? You need a break? A holiday? Some time away from the team?”

Lia shook her head, nails tapping a staccato rhythm on the desk. “I want a transfer. I want out of this place.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Carol’s lips as her frown smoothed. “Are you joking? You signed a two-year contract extension a few months ago!”

“Yes, I’m aware.” As was Lia’s agent, whom she’d already had this argument with a dozen times in the past few days. Still, Lia’s resolve hadn’t wavered. She didn’t just want out—she needed out. For her own sanity. “But I signed that contract under false pretences.”

Carol swallowed, loud in the quiet office. The only other sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall behind Carol’s head. Ticking down Lia’s time as a Wanderers player.

“You know, the false pretences that you weren’t screwing my fiancée?” Exactly as she’d intended, Lia’s words landed like a blow.

Carol flinched like she’d been struck, wide eyes looking toward the door Lia had purposefully left open. “Lower your voice!”

“Should’ve thought about that before, shouldn’t you?

Did you really think you’d get away with breaking the rules about sleeping with one of your players and get off scot-free?

” Whenever she blinked, she saw Carol and Hannah embracing.

Her stomach roiled, threatening to expel the eggs she’d forced down for breakfast.

“I’ll call it off.”

“No. It’s too late for that. I want out of my contract, to a nearby club.

Salford Albion, preferably.” Their stadium was so close that it was visible from the Wanderers training ground.

Perfect for Lia—she didn’t want to move to a new city.

“They should be in the market for a new striker after what happened in the FA Cup final.” Lia didn’t like seeing her fellow professionals get injured—especially not a player she’d admired for years—but Erin Finch’s torn ACL might work to her advantage.

“I… I can’t.” Carol’s face was ashen. “I might be able to get you out of your contract, but I can’t sell you to a direct rival. The board will never go for that. You’re one of our best players! They’ll have my head.”

Lia was unmoved. She didn’t care what happened to Carol. All she wanted was to get the hell out of here. “Then I’ll tell them what I know, and you’ll be gone anyway.”

She’d debated that option extensively, but having to stay at Wanderers, having to see Hannah every day after what she’d done, even if Carol was replaced with a new coach? Lia wouldn’t be able to stand it.

All of her memories felt tainted. She’d been at Wanderers since she was sixteen and had never thought she’d want to leave. But now she couldn’t imagine spending another day here.

She was going to tell the board regardless, but this way, she’d get what she wanted—what she needed—first.

A nasty look crossed Carol’s face, and she turned her attention back to her laptop in clear dismissal. “It’ll be your word against mine.”

Lia had expected that. Carol hadn’t earned her ruthless reputation by rolling over easily. “Not if I show them the pictures.”

That got Carol’s attention back on her. “What pictures?”

“I’m not an idiot, despite what you and Hannah might think.

I knew she was cheating on me, just not with who.

It’s easy to buy a spy-cam these days. Even easier to hide it on a shelf pointing at the bed.

” Lia was bluffing, but Carol didn’t need to know that.

And she could lie well when she needed to.

“I have evidence of it all. Screenshots of your messages, too.” That part wasn’t a bluff.

She also had evidence that some of her teammates had known about the affair but hadn’t deigned to tell her.

Another reason Lia wanted out. “If you don’t get me transferred, I will go to the board, and the press, and you will never manage a game in England again. ”

Carol’s face drained of all colour, her mouth gaping open.

“You know my agent’s details. She’s expecting your call.” One conversation down.

Now she just needed to confront her cheating fiancée.

Lia spun on her heel and strode from the room before she ran to the closest bathroom and emptied her stomach.

* * *

As a chorus of “Happy Birthday” rang around her apartment, Erin tried not to squirm in discomfort.

Though it was hard to feel anything other than joy with the way Maisie gazed at her, green eyes wide and a huge grin on her mouth, like Erin was the greatest aunt in the whole wide world.

Maisie had her mother’s eyes, and it reminded Erin of the way Jessica had looked at her when she had been nine years old.

Hard to believe that was nearly twenty years ago. Time really did fly.

“You have to blow out the candles, Aunt Erin!” Maisie pushed the chocolate cake toward her like it was the most valuable thing in the world. “I put thirty-one on there.”

At the reminder of her age, Erin winced. Most people panicked on the approach to thirty, but it was a different kind of fear when you were an athlete, racing toward retirement with each passing year. Still, she put on a brave face for Maisie, blowing out the candles to applause.

Maisie was too young to understand Erin’s panic. To her, she was still the great Erin Finch, best striker in the women’s game. But in Erin’s mind, she saw the headlines that had circulated at the end of last season after she’d suffered a serious injury.

Is Erin Finch finished?

Will Erin Finch ever be able to recover back to her best?

Will we see Erin Finch play in a Salford Albion shirt again?

The headlines made Erin furious, feeding into the doubts that had surfaced ever since she had torn her ACL two months ago. When she should be focusing solely on her recovery, she was plagued with fears that she might never set foot on the pitch again.

Already, she was reaching the end of her lifespan as a professional player.

Advancements in sports technology and the impeccable shape Erin kept herself in had maintained her position as the best of the best, still able to play full matches with ease, but an ACL injury could curtail the career of even the youngest of players.

And without her career, without the sponsorship deals, without the ability to continue to support the rest of her family…

Erin didn’t know what she’d do. Football was her whole life.

She hadn’t ever considered failure, hadn’t ever had a plan B.

She thought she’d have a few more years to figure it out.

Hopefully, she still did.

“I’m going to go cut the cake!” Maisie raced off to the kitchen with the cake held aloft.

At least she’d broken Erin out of dark thoughts.

“And I’m going to make sure she doesn’t cut herself.” Jessica climbed to her feet and wrapped a hand around Erin’s shoulder. “Happy Birthday, Erin.”

Erin covered her sister’s hand briefly with her own before releasing her to hurry after her daughter as she wielded a knife much too large for a nine-year-old.

Soft laughter came through the speakers of her laptop, balanced on the coffee table.

Erin turned to the smiling face of her dad, her stepmother sitting beside him.

Despite their weekly family video calls, it had taken some time for them to figure out how to point the camera at their faces and not at the ceiling.

“How are you really doing, sweetheart?” Her dad’s forehead was crinkled, deepening the lines already there. “I know the past few weeks can’t have been easy for you.”