Chapter 9 #2
Alex glanced over, the light that illuminated the pool edging his features in blue. “You really think we’ll make it?”
Lee straightened his spine. “We will. You can dress me in a suit and tie if we lose, which, you know—even the idea is painful. But not a problem because we’ll win.”
“I think you just gave me an incentive for losing.” Alex’s soft chuckle blended in with the rising darkness. “But seriously, growing up like you did, how the hell did you turn into an optimist?”
“Well, hey.” Lee aimed for a cheesy tone. “I’m part of the glitter brigade. Why would I want to paint things black?”
“Because The Rolling Stones told you to, and their word is law?”
“You make a valid point.” Lee paused, and when he continued, he did so much more quietly. “Really, though—not many boys get the chance to actually live their dream of becoming a professional soccer player. You and I are bloody lucky, and I don’t want to forget that, ever.”
For a heavy beat, Alex simply looked at Lee, shadows softening the details of his expression. When he smiled, it was sudden and real. “You know, I’m really glad we’re friends.”
Fuck, he didn’t make it easy to stay away now, did he?
Lee ignored the way Alex’s dimples pressed deep craters into his cheeks, also ignored how nicely Alex’s shirt hugged his torso, how his tailored jeans clung to his legs. “Me too,” Lee told him.
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
For years, Lee had built Alex up into this mythical guy, the one who’d rejected Lee right when he’d been at his most vulnerable—and while Lee had resented him, he also hadn’t been able to fully shake the instinctive flare of attraction each time he’d come across Alex’s name in the papers, each time he’d caught sight of him during a post-match interview on the TV.
But Alex wasn’t that mythical guy. Once you peeled away the persona he presented to the public, he was much quieter than Lee had expected, less secure, his innate charm genuine rather than polished. And Lee liked him all the more for it.
“Hey,” Alex said right into that thought. “Can I ask you something? In the interest of honesty.” There was something secretive tucked into his voice, a tinge of anticipation that had Lee narrow his eyes.
“Ask away.”
“The match in Liverpool.” Alex’s teeth sparked in the darkness. “Did you take a dive?”
It wasn’t what Lee had expected. He huffed out a laugh and started walking again, towards the golf course that was tastefully lit. “I did not.”
“Really.” The word carried heavy skepticism. Not resentment, though, and when Lee slid Alex a sidelong look, he found Alex watching him with a faint smile.
“Really.” Lee inclined his head. “Can’t say whether you made contact with the ball, but you did touch me. Could I have fought harder to stay upright? Maybe, yeah.”
Alex seemed to take a moment to digest this, then he bumped their hands together. “So you admit that the ref’s call could have gone either way?”
“Possibly.” Lee let a deliberately smug smile curve his mouth. “It went my way, though.”
Alex coughed. “Teacher’s pet.”
Ha.
“Gladly. From what I remember, the ref was fit.”
“Taking one for the team, Taylor?” Bright amusement colored Alex’s tone, and Lee far preferred it over the quiet hesitation that had been brought on by Alex’s parents. Duke or not, if Lee ever got the dubious pleasure of meeting Alex’s father, titular reverence would be the last thing on his mind.
“Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do, Beaufort.”
“That’s Earl of Clydesdale to you, mate.”
“In your fucking dreams, mate.”
“Oh, rest assured…” Alex let his voice dip down, honey-smooth. “My dreams are far more interesting than that.”
Bloody hell.
“Can we go back to when we expressed our mutual appreciation for our friendship?” Lee asked weakly, and Alex sent him a gleaming smile.
“But why?”
“Because it’s safer.”
“Less fun, though.” Alex looked as though he’d surprised himself with the statement.
“You sayin’ that life isn’t just eat, sleep, train, repeat?
” Lee drawled because let’s face it, they were two peas in a pod—neither of them would be here if they hadn’t put in the extra hours.
For Lee, that made sense given he’d had little else in life to make him feel competent.
Alex, on the other hand? He could have done anything.
Why choose a side path that veered off the well-paved family road?
“Of course not.” Alex wiggled his fingers. “That’d be blasphemy.”
“Glad we’re on the same page, then.”
“Definitely. Which book, though?”
“The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”
“You just picked that for the title.”
“Guilty as charged.” Lee glanced up at the palm trees above their heads, darkly silhouetted against the sky. “Hey. Feel better?”
Alex’s response came with a slight delay, a smile shining through his voice. “I do. Thank you, Lee.”
“My pleasure.”
For a second, it looked like Alex was going to say something else. Then he simply nodded, shifting closer by the smallest margin so their arms brushed every few steps. Lee could have moved away to make a point.
He didn’t.
Camp Nou.
The stadium was a soccer cathedral—close to a hundred thousand people filling the stands, and Alex fought to control his breathing as they lined up for the national anthems. If they lost today…
As if by accident, Jeff tapped the side of his foot against Alex’s. When Alex glanced over, Jeff winked. “If you need to throw up, wait until we’re shaking their hands.”
“Not helping,” Alex hissed even though it did, just a little.
On Jeff’s other side, Lee leaned forward just enough to flash Alex a smirk. “But imagine your father’s face when his pals in the House of Lords ask why his son is making a spectacle of himself.”
“Really not helping,” Alex told him but found he had to bite down on a smile.
They all fell silent as the first solemn notes of Morocco’s national anthem poured from the speakers.
Alex counted the beats and matched his breathing to them in a way that had become familiar from the guided meditations Lee did most mornings.
By the time God Save the Queen poured from the speakers, the sickening quiver in his belly had quieted somewhat.
The game started out frantic. While England could afford a tie, Morocco needed a win to safely progress to the round of sixteen, and they came out strong, throwing themselves into every confrontation, pressing high and swarming any England player who had the ball.
It took several minutes before Alex and Jeff managed to gain proper control of the midfield—quick touches and constant rotation between the two of them and Declan, Lee a little further ahead, darting in and out of the Moroccan defense line.
Alex lost himself in the flow of the game, his sense of time suspended, the noise of the crowd receding to the back of his mind.
Fifteen minutes in, or twenty. Thirty, maybe.
Jeff on the left, onside, a Moroccan player just a step behind him. Lee, just up ahead. Toby, wide open on the right. Alex passed and dashed forward, got the ball back and sliced it through a gap between two defenders, Lee sprinting to intercept it.
Perfect.
No chance for the goalie. The ball slotted into the upper right corner, hit the back of the net, and Alex was still running, threw his arms up and slowed down just as he collided with Lee, laughing, both of them laughing, then Jeff and Declan and Toby, the crowd exploding into screams and thunder.
Lee’s hand slid from Alex’s shoulder down his arm, fingertips grazing Alex’s wrist. Hyperaware, Alex stepped back to let other teammates crowd in, caught Lee’s gaze, the bright happiness in his eyes. Alex sucked in a breath and another, heart thudding high in his throat.
He checked the time—nineteen minutes down. The match was far from over.
Jeff seemed to have run the same calculation because he shouted, “Stay sharp, everyone! We snooze, we lose!”
Shouts of agreement as the group broke apart. The Moroccan team huddled nearby, players gesticulating, words urgent. As Alex trotted back to his starting position, Lee caught up with him.
“Brilliant pass.”
“Brilliant goal,” Alex returned.
Lee’s grin showed a neat row of white teeth. “Let’s keep it up, yeah?”
Nodding, Alex grinned back. “Let’s.”
Play like you’re one goal down, Kieran’s voice told him in his head, the man himself hovering at the very edge of his coaching zone, in an animated discussion with Jeff.
Seventy-one minutes left.
Go.
Posted by @AlexanderBeaufort (June 25, 11:03 p.m.):
ROUND OF 16!!!
“Looking good.” Shelly whistled, sitting cross-legged on Lee’s bed. Tonight’s hotel, just outside of Barcelona, was all sleek, modern lines, and his room followed the same concept, with some Catalan-inspired art the only nod to their surroundings. “Trying to impress someone?”
Lee finished buttoning up the white shirt Alex had gotten him a couple of weeks ago, and maybe this was a bad idea. They’d won—they’d fucking won—so Lee was under no obligation to dress up in any way, could have just stuck with the standard-issue team wear. And yet.
“Who would I be trying to impress?” he asked because he wasn’t, but maybe he kind of was. Except Alex already liked Lee, already thought he was attractive, so why did Lee feel a need to go the extra mile?
“Oh, I don’t know.” Shelly brushed pink hair out of her eyes and inserted a calculated pause. “Alex Beaufort, maybe? Since he turned you gay and all.”
What the hell.
“One”—Lee gave her a pointed stare—“he did not turn me gay. I am gay, he just happened to be my shortcut to realizing it. Two, I never told you that.”
Shelly looked perfectly unbothered. “You told Kira.”
“In confidence.”
“Eh. It all stays in the family, right?” Shelly angled her head to assess him. “So. Is he the reason you’re getting all pretty?”
Lee might have partially raised both Shelly and Kira, but it didn’t grant him immunity from their teasing. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”