going for goal
RISK BY GRACIE AbrAMS
The locker room is absolutely buzzing after today’s win—eight in a row and a clean sheet for Haz. Music is blaring from a portable speaker, towels are flying, and laughter echoes off the walls. It’s chaos.
I’m still coming down from it. My goal. The crowd. The way I looked up, found her, and saw her chanting my name.
Matt’s waiting down the hall for post-match interviews, so I know the locker room is private, at least for a few more minutes.
“Lads,” Brennan calls out, his voice cutting through the noise. “Anyone fancy some celebration tonight?”
“It’s gotta be low-key,” Carlos says, his towel slung around his neck. “I don’t want the crew there. Last time I couldn’t even take a sip of my drink without a mic and a ring light in my face.”
Most of the lads agree, and I smirk to myself at how quickly the glow of being on television has worn off for most of them. The bright lights were dazzling at first, but most of them see through Matt’s facade now.
Harry leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What about The Black Swan? It’s got that private back room.”
I smile. “That could work,” I say, trying not to sound too invested.
It’s not just about getting away from Matt and his crew for me. If it’s just us—just the team and our staff—Addison can come.
I want her there. Away from the cameras, the interviews, and the constant PR mask. Just her. The girl who makes me feel full of fire.
Carlos slaps me on the back. “You in, Cap?”
“Yeah,” I say casually. “But group chat only. No leaks. We have to keep this tight, yeah?”
The lads nod, and I head down the hallway to do my post-match interview, positively chuffed to bits that I know about something Matt doesn’t.
The camera light shines in my face, blinding white. I blink, trying to adjust my vision as Matt and a gaggle of reporters surround me.
“Oliver,” one of the reporters says, shoving a microphone into my face. “Huge win today. That’s eight straight. What’s been clicking for the squad lately?”
I nod, shifting my weight. “We’re unified. That’s what it comes down to. Every one of us knows the guy next to him will do the job. There’s power in that.”
The same reporter asks another question—something about my goal and whether I knew it was going in.
I give a half-smile. “I just had a feeling. Sometimes you just know.”
The interviews wrap up, and I thank all the journalists for their time before ducking out of frame. The moment I turn around, I see Addison at the end of the hallway, leaning against a wall, tablet in hand.
“You were incredible today,” she says, her voice low like she doesn’t want the film crew to overhear. She glances around like she’s worried the stadium is bugged with hidden cameras and microphones. It’s not, of course, but after her experience with Matt, I understand the skepticism.
My chest swells. “You saw?”
“You know I saw,” she says, a quick laugh under her breath. “It was amazing, Oliver.”
I grin and take a step closer to her. “There’s a thing tonight to celebrate. It’s just the lads.”
“Ollie, you know I—”
“It’s a secret,” I cut in gently. “No press. No Matt. Just all of us having a bit of fun.”
I can see it in her eyes—her rules running through her head, urging her to say no.
“I—”
“You don’t have to decide right now.” I shake my head gently. “I’ll text you the details, but I promise you, they don’t know. You’ll be safe.”
She swallows, and I can see her weighing logic versus want. “I’ll think about it.”
I nod, giving her a small smile before I walk away. I don’t want to push too hard, but god, I really hope she comes.
I’m sitting on my sofa, legs tucked under me, dressed in sweats. The television is on, but I can’t hear it over the war raging in my head.
Oliver’s face flashes on the screen in slow motion, replaying his absolutely clinical goal from this afternoon. He looked unreal out there today. He always plays well, but today was just relentless.
And when he found me in the crowd? That wrecked me.
I exhale, dropping my head against the back of the couch. I definitely should not go tonight.
I have my rules. No entanglements. No distractions. Nothing to derail me from the career and life that I’ve worked so hard to build back up after Matt torched it.
Those rules have kept me safe, but lately, they feel like a cage.
This isn’t just attraction anymore. Maybe it never was.
I like him. I like the way he listens when I talk.
The way he never pushes. I like that when he looks at me, it’s like he can see past the polished and professional PR expert.
He sees the mess, the flaws, the hesitations, and he isn’t scared of them.
I open my phone and stare at that photo of us again—the one in London. I’ve been telling myself it was just a friendly thing. His arm is only around me because the nosy stranger pushed us together. But then I catch myself looking at it all the time.
I stare at the photo, tracing my smile. It’s a genuine smile. It’s not forced for the photo. Even all those weeks ago, I liked him. I just didn’t realize it.
“Fuck it,” I whisper to the photo like a lunatic.
I get up, turn on my heel, and head for my closet.
I’m going out tonight, because I’m tired of pretending I don’t want him.