Chapter 9 #2
How long would it take for Erin to get back to that level of fitness? Yesterday, she had run for the first time, using an anti-gravity machine to take the weight off her knee, and it had left her exhausted.
“It’s nice,” Lia continued. “As much as I like having the place to myself, the apartment is so quiet sometimes.”
Maisie looked horrified. “You’re on your own? With your bad ankle?”
Gesturing downwards, Lia laughed. “It’s not exactly much of a hindrance, kiddo. I’m nearly back to full fitness already.”
Much to Erin’s irritation. Not that she wished for Lia to be hurt, or to be out for longer. But it was frustrating to see her get back so quickly when Erin was still months out from returning to the pitch.
“You should spend tonight with us!”
Oh. Oh no. Erin whipped her head around to Maisie, but she was too busy bouncing beside Lia to notice her ire. Just because she and Lia were civil around one another these days didn’t mean Erin wanted to volunteer to spend more time with her.
Their gym sessions were enough, thank you.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Maisie.” Slowing to a walk on the treadmill, Lia shot Erin a worried look. “I’m sure your aunt doesn’t want me over.”
Maisie turned to Erin. Those patented Finch puppy-dog eyes again. “Please, Auntie Erin?”
Erin hesitated.
No doubt sensing Erin was about to say no, Maisie scampered over and spoke to Erin in a whisper. “Please? You heard what she said the other day. I bet she’s lonely. And she only lives one floor above!”
Erin should have known that when Maisie spotted Lia exiting the lobby of their building the other day, it would spell trouble. “Maybe she likes being on her own. Is my company alone not enough for you?”
“I see you all the time.”
“Ouch.”
“You know what I mean.” Maisie’s lips curved into a pout. “I really like her, and I never get to see her.”
“Fine!” Erin supposed there was no harm in it. Less harm than Maisie sulking the rest of the day if she said no. “Lia, you’re more than welcome to come over if you like.”
Throwing her arms around Erin’s waist, Maisie hugged her tight. It was almost enough for the sacrifice to be worth it.
“Are you sure?” A disbelieving frown creased Lia’s eyebrows.
Erin shrugged. “What’s the harm?”
* * *
Lia was in Erin Finch’s apartment. Lia was inside Erin Finch’s apartment.
Over the course of the evening, she’d pinched herself several times, unable to believe that it was happening. And yet she’d eaten a pizza—made from scratch by Erin herself—sitting opposite Erin while Maisie had talked their ears off and Gerrard the black cat had wound around their ankles.
Erin’s apartment was the same layout as her own, all sleek lines and monochromatic decoration, practical but not necessarily homey. Lia’s favourite part was all the photographs of Erin, Maisie, and presumably the rest of her family scattered around the place, the only personal touches on the walls.
“Can we watch the football?” Maisie asked in the kitchen as Lia helped Erin load their dishes into the dishwasher.
Lia loved the black granite countertops. They matched the kitchen island they’d eaten at, Erin favouring it to the wooden dining table tucked into the corner of the open-plan room.
“Sure. You go and put it on,” Erin said.
Maisie scampered over to the large TV.
“Go and join her.” Erin slid the last plate into the dishwasher rack. “It won’t take me long to put this on.”
Unwilling to argue—Lia didn’t want to do anything to risk the delicate truce they’d found themselves in—Lia left the kitchen and made her way to the black-leather couches pointed toward the TV. She made to settle on the opposite one to Maisie, who clearly had other ideas.
Maisie patted the space to her left. “Sit with me.”
As she did what she was told, Lia pretended not to notice Erin’s pursed lips when she joined them, sitting on Maisie’s other side.
Gerrard was quick to jump into Erin’s lap, purring contentedly as Erin scratched his ears.
Deciding it was safer to focus elsewhere, Lia turned her attention to the game.
She was grateful it was England and not Wales. She didn’t know if she could handle watching her teammates play, knowing she couldn’t be on the field to help them. How did Erin do it? And not just watching it now—but also every Albion game from the stands. It must be torture.
Not to mention the European Championships she’d missed.
The one England had won without her. By the time it next came around in four years’ time, Erin might not be playing.
Lia couldn’t imagine how difficult that must be.
No wonder her mood had been so icy. Lia doubted she’d have handled it much better.
Before long, despite wanting to watch the game, Maisie’s eyes drooped. Erin opened her arms and Maisie leaned into her. Erin’s fingers combed gently through Maisie’s hair until she was fast asleep, and Lia wondered how often they curled up like this.
Lia never dreamed she’d be allowed to see Erin this way—so open and vulnerable.
Erin must have noticed her looking; her brows creased into a frown. “What?”
Shit. Lia scrambled for something to say that didn’t come off as creepy. “Just thinking about how hard it must be for you to watch this.” Lia jerked her head toward the screen. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’ve had a few months to get used to it.” But bitterness crept into Erin’s voice. “Plus, this could be my future. I might never get called up again.”
“You will.” Lia had no doubt about that.
Judging from the shake of her head, Erin did. “You don’t know that. ACLs aren’t straightforward. And I’m not as young as I used to be—I might not be able to get back to my best.”
“That may be true, but I have faith in you. You are way too stubborn to settle for less than perfection.”
Erin’s nose scrunched. “Thanks?”
The look of confusion on her face—like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for Lia to insult her—made her laugh. “You’re welcome.”
As England mounted an attack, Lia’s attention turned back to the screen, but it was snuffed out at the last moment by an incredible tackle.
“Can I ask you something?” Erin’s voice was quiet. “Something I’ve been wanting to for a while.”
Well, that was cryptic. It could be anything. “Go on.”
“Why don’t you play for England? You were born in London, right?”
Lia had not expected that question; she focused her gaze back on Erin. “Have you been reading my Wikipedia page?”
Erin’s cheeks tinged a delightful shade of pink. “Maybe. But it’s not long.”
Humming under her breath, Lia tilted her head to one side. “You’ve wondered that for a while?”
“Yes. I thought it might have been because you were afraid you wouldn’t be selected for the squad, but you’re good enough.”
“Wow.” Lia brought a hand to her chest. “That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Erin narrowed her eyes.
It made Lia’s grin widen. “I never made the decision based on how likely I was to play.” Her smile faded.
“I told you a bit about my family the other day, but not all of it. When I was younger, once my stepbrother started playing football, getting into trials, I didn’t really exist to my dad or my stepmother.
They were too focused on Brett. Getting him into a Premier League academy.
I was good, too, but that didn’t matter to them because there was no money in women’s football.
So I spent a lot of time with my grandmother, like I said.
She practically raised me from the age of ten to sixteen, when I started at Wanderers.
She took me to all of my practices and my games.
She bought me all my gear, even though she couldn’t really afford it. ”
Erin listened intently, her head cocked to one side, but never looking like she was going to interrupt.
“She was also a proud Welsh woman. I spent those six years in a village near Cardiff with her. So I decided to play for Wales, and the choice was worth it to see the look on her face when she watched me step out onto the pitch wearing that red kit for the first time.” Lia took a deep breath.
“She doesn’t recognise me anymore some days.
But the staff at the nursing home say she still smiles whenever they put the Wales games on—even if she doesn’t know I’m one of them.
” Her vision turned hazy, and Lia hastily blinked away the tears that threatened.
“I’m sorry.” Erin rested her hand on the back of Lia’s, her touch warm. “I know I haven’t been very nice to you since you started.”
“Are you nice to anyone?” Lia tried to make light.
Erin cracked a rare smile. “I suppose you have a point there. But I usually ignore everyone else—with you, I’ve been downright hostile.”
“Because you thought I was stealing your spot.”
“Can you blame me for thinking so? You’ve hit the ground running. Even better than I did.”
“There’s only one Erin Finch. You’re irreplaceable.”
“I think you’re proof that I am.” Still, Erin kept her hand on Lia’s. “And I don’t like being confronted with my own mortality. You’ve got your whole career ahead of you, and I have a few more years, if I’m lucky.”
“And you’ll still be outplaying every opponent. I meant what I said when we were talking about Gerrard. You were my idol when I was younger.”
Erin’s lip curled. “Idol. I hate that word.”
“Why?”
“Put someone on a high enough pedestal and you’re setting yourself up for disappointment when they inevitably tumble off it.” Erin smiled. “As I’m sure I already have for you.”
“No. Don’t get me wrong—I thought you were arrogant, cocky, and an egomaniac, but when you can back it with the skill you have, I think I can forgive it.”
Erin grinned. “What a coincidence—I think exactly the same thing about you.”
“Strikers, hey?” Lia squeezed Erin’s hand back. “I can’t wait to share the pitch with you. We’ll set the league on fire.”
With a sigh, Erin glanced at her knee. “I hope it’s sooner rather than later.”