3. Callan
CHAPTER THREE
CALLAN
I don’t know how they’d managed it, but Beth and Georgia were already standing next to Beth’s MINI Cooper by the time I’d followed them out of the building. I knew it was her MINI because this wasn’t the first time we’d bumped into each other in the last two weeks. When it became clear we left our flats around the same time, I’d started leaving for training earlier.
Until today, of course.
I strode toward my Land Rover, eyes on the women as they chatted easily, gesturing with their hands, and laughing. What the fuck?
To my horror, their phones came out and they exchanged numbers.
When I’d dragged Georgia out of bed, I told her I’d drop her off at her place on my way to the training ground. So I waited impatiently for her as she laughed at something else Beth said and then bloody well hugged her.
First Baird. Now my one-night stand?
What was it with this woman?
Georgia hurried over to the Land Rover as Beth peeled out of our car park in her shiny new Cooper that I’d assumed Mummy and Daddy Carmichael paid for. But having heard her tell Georgia she owned her own company, maybe Beth had paid for the car herself, after all. To be fair, I didn’t know anything about her anymore.
She’d made it clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with me when we were kids.
I’d showed her, though. Who lived in the penthouse? Who was plastered across national ads and representing his country in world tournaments?
Aye, Beth Carmichael would never make me feel less than again.
Pissed the hell off now, I climbed into the four-by-four at the same time as Georgia.
“Your neighbor is a total sweetheart,” she gushed. “We’re going to meet for coffee next week. I have this idea for my own business, and Beth said she’ll give me any advice she can about starting up. Can you believe that?”
I grunted.
“She said her name was Carmichael. You don’t think she has anything to do with the Carmichaels, do you?”
Swinging out of the car park, I didn’t answer. “Where am I dropping you off?”
“Comely Bank. I mean, she could be a Carmichael. She has the look of someone who was born to money, you know. I wonder if it would be rude to ask when we meet up. But how amazing would that be? Jocelyn Carmichael is a big deal ever since her book series got adapted for TV. And Braden Carmichael is practically a real estate king in Edinburgh.”
Aye, Jocelyn and Braden Carmichael were Beth’s parents and they were both well known in Edinburgh. They were a “big deal.” And Beth thought so too. Too much of a big deal to be friends with the poor kid who transferred to her school. At sixteen, I’d been awarded a football scholarship to the academy Beth attended. I was only there for a year when I was scouted by Caledonia United Under 18s (U18). I’d been with them ever since, and Caley had become my family.
While I was at the academy, I’d shared two classes with Beth, even though I was a year older. It was how the senior classes worked at the school. We’d become friends quickly, and then we became more. The “more” didn’t last long before she made sure we became nothing .
I’d shared things with her I’d never shared with anyone. And just after her sixteenth birthday, a few months before I left to play for Caley, Beth stopped talking to me. She avoided me in the halls, started sitting as far from me as possible in class, and she’d started dating the son of a millionaire who was a complete prick.
When I’d finally gotten up the courage to confront her, she’d told me that we were “too different.”
I’d taken that to mean exactly what I knew she’d meant.
I wasn’t good enough for a fucking Carmichael.
My hands fisted around the leather steering wheel of the Land Rover.
Aye, I’d shown her. I’d shown them all.
“Are you okay?” Georgia asked quietly.
“Fine. Which number are you?”
She gave me her house number and I pulled off onto the side of the road at her direction.
“Well … see you around?”
I nodded, giving her a barely there smile. “Thanks for last night.”
“Aye, right,” she huffed with a tight smile of her own and jumped out of the vehicle. “Arsehole,” she muttered before she slammed my door a wee bit too hard.
Honestly, I couldn’t tell anymore if I deserved her anger or not.
Thankfully, I wasn’t late by the time I pulled into my parking space at the Caley training grounds and stadium in south Carrick Knowe. The gaffer fined us ten quid for every minute we were late.
The restlessness I’d felt all morning began to fade. Coming here was always like coming home. Danny, a security guard, let me in, and I quickly asked after his wife who’d recently given birth to a wee girl. He knew about the fining system, so he didn’t keep me long. I waved at Janice behind the reception and at the familiar faces of the staff as I hurried through the hallways to the locker room.
“Oi, oi!” Baird yelled as I strolled inside. “Here he is. Late night?”
No matter how well the cleaners cleaned, and how carefully our kit manager took care of the place, the locker room still smelled of Lynx deodorant over a layer of dirty socks.
The guys laughed and joked about the possible reason for my late night as I dropped down at my cubicle and started to change.
“Please tell me it was Beth.” Baird leaned in with a wink.
“Fuck off. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot barge pole.”
Baird looked genuinely affronted on Beth’s behalf. “Then there is something seriously wrong with you.”
I pointed a finger at my best mate. “Do not befriend her.”
“All right. On one condition. Tell me why you hate her.”
“I want to hear this,” John piped up from my other side.
“Hear what?” Kaito Tanaka, one of our central defenders, called from across the locker room. The Japanese player’s hearing was far too good. He was one of three Japanese players on the team. Ever since Japan made the top twenty in the International Football Association rankings, clubs from all over the UK had started recruiting players from the country, Caley United among them.
“Nothing.”
“It does not sound like nothing.” Kaito turned to his fellow countryman, Botan, and started speaking in rapid Japanese, gesturing to me.
Botan turned to me, surprised. “Girl problems? You?” His next words were in Japanese.
“He said,” Kaito translated, “‘if you have problems, the rest of us are fucked.’”
That broke through my irritation, and I grinned at Botan. “Not at all, you sexy bastard.”
Botan’s spoken English wasn’t as great as Kaito’s, but he understood and grinned arrogantly.
“Naw, naw.” Baird pulled on the vest that would house the unit that tracked and measured his performance during training. “Let’s not change the subject. Beth. What is going on there?”
“Why are you so interested?” I cocked my head at him. “If you want to fuck her, go ahead.” As soon as I said the words, I wanted to take them back.
Baird narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I will.”
Wanker.
“Right, lads, are we all here, then?” Our gaffer marched into the room, our assistant manager Sven at his back. Brian O’Kelly had been the manager for Caledonia United for the last two years. We came second in the Scottish Pro League last year, something Caley hadn’t done in decades. It was probably the only reason Brian hadn’t succumbed to the seeming two-year rule at the club. We, like most clubs these days, went through managers like serial monogamists.
“Saved by the bell,” Baird muttered, side-eyeing me. “But we’re not done here.”
“You are worse than a gossiping aunt,” I growled back. “And I’m going to aim every ball at your balls for the next six hours.”
“Gentlemen!” Brian raised his voice, and I snapped my head forward to find the gaffer glaring at us. “Like to share with the class?”
“Just promising Baird a good training session.”
“Nobody wants to know about your love life,” our Swiss left wing, Eric Baumann, cracked from across the locker room.
I grinned. “No need to be jealous, Baumann. There’s enough of me to go around.”
“And risk the wrath of the beast?” Eric jerked his chin at Baird. “I think not.”
“Shut up, ya cunt,” Baird replied without rancor. “And stop calling me the beast. It’s misleading.”
Like usual, none of us quite knew what he meant, and we all burst into laughter.
“Enough, enough.” Brian smirked. “Let’s hit the gym first, lads. We’ve got a long day of training ahead of us. In two weeks, we’ve got our first match against Dingwall Drovers, and I don’t merely want a win. I want a fuckin’ annihilation. Understood?”
“Yes, Gaffer!” we all chorused.
“McMillan?” Brian locked eyes with Baird. “Why do you have the vest on? Pretraining first. Take it off.”
“He obviously likes wearing bras,” Etienne, our French center back, goaded.
“And whit if ah dae?” Baird caressed his vest over his pecs. My best mate was originally from Falkirk. He had a social media presence, so he’d learned to anglicize his accent over the years so non-Scots could understand him. But now and then it slipped. “Ye goat a problem wi’ me in a bra, big man?”
Etienne frowned as the rest of us snorted. He was one of the few players who didn’t understand Baird’s laid-back sense of humor. Or his accent.
I slapped my towel at my friend, and he took off the vest. We then gathered our water bottles and gear to follow Brian out of the locker room.
We were walking out when Baird bent his head to my ear. I was preparing myself to get really pissed off if he mentioned Beth again, but instead, he said quietly, “Got word from Chris about the castle.”
I jerked my head around. Chris was our solicitor. “Aye?”
“The owner is Braden Carmichael.”
Fuck.
The news made my heart pound a bit faster.
Baird and I were smart. We knew we had to build something outside of our professional football careers because most players retired in their midthirties. While we were on high six-figure salaries, and we both made a nice extra income on promotional stuff, we weren’t David Beckham. So slowly but surely, we’d been building a real estate portfolio across central Scotland. As much as Beth might piss me off, I did admire her father. Braden was a real estate mogul, and Georgia was correct: Braden was practically royalty in this town. I looked up to him. Baird did too. We wanted to be just like him. When we’d seen that Blantyre Castle, on the coastline between Edinburgh and North Berwick, had gone up for sale, we’d made an offer.
Considering it was a good offer for a castle that needed renovated before we could turn it into the hotel and spa we imagined, we were shocked when our offer was knocked back last week.
So. Braden had rejected our offer.
Why?
“Tell Chris to arrange a meeting with Carmichael.”
Baird nodded grimly. “And if he won’t meet with us?”
Beth’s gorgeous face flashed in my mind. “We’ll figure something out,” I promised.