22. “Oh, he’s good.”
“Oh, he’s good.”
Kat
Time has a way of flying when you’re enjoying yourself.
Before I know it, the Christmas decorations are up, casting London in a warm, glittering glow.
Strings of lights wind around lamp posts, shop windows are frosted with fake snow and fairy lights, and the air smells like roasted chestnuts and mulled wine.
Even the stadium is decked out, sporting glowing candy-cane stripes wrapped around the rails and a massive lit-up “Merry Christmas, Regents Fans!” banner hung just above the players’ tunnel.
Some fans have channelled their seasonal spirit—decked out in reindeer antlers, sleigh bells jingling from their scarves, and even a few Santa costumes dotting the stands. I haven’t been to a match in over a month, and now that I’m back, I can’t believe I stayed away for so long.
“You’re here!” Roxy says, tugging me into a side hug and rubbing my back a little too vigorously. The force barely registers under the warm layers of my puffer coat. She’s glowing—cheeks flushed from the cold, a sparkly red beret atop her curls. “It’s a shame you can’t come more often.”
“So true!” Millie beams beside her, bundled up in a navy Regents hat with a pom-pom that bounces every time she nods. “Archie was over the moon when I filmed training earlier.”
I smile, warmth flooding my chest despite the chill.
“True. It’s both weird and... enlightening to see Archie in a serious relationship,” Fallon says without looking up from her knitting. The blue yarn loops gracefully between her fingers. “I’ve never seen him so happy.”
Roxy snorts. “What’s really weird is hearing him talk about someone else so much.”
They laugh, and I force a smile, tugging my scarf tighter.
The contradictory swirl in my chest isn’t new, but it’s getting harder to ignore.
One part of me is flattered—no, thrilled—that he is head over heels for me.
That I’m the one making him so happy, because I love every second I spend with him.
But the other part, the piece of me that’s lived through heartbreak, is screaming at me to end this before it really begins.
Before it gets too real. Before I get hurt.
“And it’s cool to have another girl to hang out with at matches,” Roxy adds, tossing me a wink. “Even if you can’t come every time. It’s usually just Fallon and me. And sometimes Millie,” she says, nudging her knee with a grin.
“Yeah.” Fallon sighs, looping another stitch. “The only other girl who lasted longer than three games was Emily. She dated Cameron for a while.”
Roxy scrunches her face. “But we’re not mourning her loss. She was a real—”
“Let’s just say,” Fallon cuts in smoothly, “that Cam doesn’t always have the best taste in women. Think gold-diggers, socialites, an influencer who only spoke in hashtags…”
“Maybe he should stop trying to find love online,” Millie says, rubbing her hands to warm them.
“Probably,” Fallon replies. “Statistically speaking, less than ten percent of people who meet on dating apps are still together a year later.”
Roxy tilts her head, studying Fallon a little too closely. “Or maybe he just can’t get the one he really wants.”
Fallon finally looks up, eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”
I blink, glancing between them. Has Roxy noticed what I’ve started to suspect? The way Cameron’s attention always finds Fallon in a room, or the way his voice softens ever so slightly when he talks to her?
Before anyone can answer, the announcer’s voice booms across the stadium, shaking the air itself. The players are walking onto the pitch, and a chorus of cheers erupts from the stands.
Moments later, the action kicks off with the usual match-day energy—the Regents in dark blue, surging forward with speed and confidence. The crowd is buzzing, fans stamping their feet and clapping in rhythm while raising their scarves like a sea of navy and white.
For a while, it’s all fast passes and midfield battles. I keep my eyes on Archie—focused, alert, barking orders to his back line as his breath turns to vapor in the frosty night air. Every time the ball comes near our half of the pitch, I tense.
Twenty-five minutes into the first half, an opposing striker breaks through the back line during a counterattack. He sprints down the right wing, cutting past Finn and Cameron like they’re nothing but cones. The crowd rises to their feet in a collective gasp as he barrels into the box.
In that same moment, Archie rushes forward—broad and unflinching, arms spread wide—but the striker flicks the ball and tumbles dramatically over Callum’s foot.
The whistle blows, and the ref points to the penalty spot.
Boos carry from the stands.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Fallon mutters.
Millie groans. “He dove like he was auditioning for Swan Lake.”
The opposing player places the ball on the spot and steps back, bouncing lightly on his heels.
Down on the pitch, Archie paces slowly across his line, watching the player like a lion tracking its prey. Then, he points—dramatically—to the bottom right corner.
“Here we go,” Roxy says, settling into her seat as if she’s about to watch the showdown of the season.
And she wouldn’t be wrong. Penalties with Archie in the net are always exhilarating.
Half of his game is in the head, not the hands.
He watches people. Studies them. Even distracts them with dance moves sometimes.
And more than anything, he knows people.
He can tell when someone is bluffing, when they’re overconfident, when they’re second-guessing themselves.
It’s the same look he gives me in the gym just when I think I have the upper hand.
The same calm confidence he wears when he’s secretly two moves ahead.
And right now, I can see it in the way his jaw sets. He knows.
The player runs up, then shoots.
Archie dives—exactly where he said he would.
The ball smacks into his gloves with a thwack that echoes around the stadium. He punches it clear with both fists before springing back to his feet like it was a walk in the park.
The stadium explodes. Fans are leaping to their feet, scarves waving, drums pounding.
Millie shrieks beside me. “HE TOLD HIM! HE LITERALLY TOLD HIM!”
Fallon smirks, still seated but clapping. “Oh, he’s good.”
I clap harder than anyone else, my lips twitching into a slow, proud smile. Yes, that he is.