Chapter 29
VINCENT
“Come on, Blackcastle!”
“Let’s go!”
“We want a goal!”
The screams and chants from the stands blurred into background noise. Sweat dripped into my eyes. My lungs burned, but I was still going strong compared to half the players on the pitch.
It was Boxing Day, the day of our first post-break match, and we were playing at home. That should’ve given us an advantage against Newcastle, but we were still tied zero-zero in the second half with ten minutes to go, not including extra time.
One of their forwards cut inside from the right wing and sliced between our center-backs. I tracked back and intercepted, passing the ball to Stevens. He passed it on to Asher, who sprinted toward the goal but couldn’t make it past the other team’s defense.
The cycle continued as it had for the past eighty minutes, with our two teams trading possession of the ball but unable to score.
I sensed the mounting frustration both on the pitch and in the stands. A draw was better than a loss, but no one wanted to walk away with zero goals during our first holiday match.
The opposing striker broke past the midfield and sprinted down the left wing with the ball.
I didn’t think. I ran.
My muscles ached, but I pushed harder, my eyes locked on the ball as he lined up his shot. If he got the angle right, it was going in.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I slid in, timing it so my foot clipped the ball and sent it skidding away right as he kicked.
But before I could fully regain my balance, his knee collided with my ribs, knocking me backward. Sharp pain exploded up my side as I crashed onto the ground.
My teammates swarmed around me, but for once, they didn’t need to argue. The referee blew his whistle and quickly made his decision.
Foul. We were awarded a free kick.
The stadium erupted with cheers, and after a quick deliberation, my team decided I should take the free kick even though that usually fell on Asher or Gallagher.
However, I’d taken plenty of free kicks in my career, and thanks to Coach’s relentless conditioning over the break, I was still the freshest player on my team this late into the game.
I took a deep breath and lined up my shot. My stomach churned as I tried to drown out the noise.
“Let’s have it!”
“Make it count!”
“C’mon, DuBois!”
I’d played hundreds of matches at this point. I was used to performing on a public stage, but there were certain moments when the import of it really hit me. Seventy thousand pairs of eyes, all on me, and that wasn’t counting the people watching from home.
The pressure to deliver clamped down on my chest. Every player felt that pressure, but as the captain, I carried an extra weight.
Everyone’s watching. Don’t fuck up.
You deserve to be here.
You don’t deserve to be here.
If you don’t make this goal, everyone will know you’re a fraud.
Voices crowded my head before I shoved them aside. This wasn’t the time to wallow in imposter syndrome.
I had a goal to make.
I forced another breath until the crowd’s shouts dulled to a muted roar beneath the heavy thumps of my heartbeat. A light breeze brushed my nape. My focus sharpened, locking in the angle, the curve, and the distance to the net.
My foot connected with the ball in a clean strike. It soared through the air in seeming slow motion, clearing the other team’s defensive wall and sailing toward the goalkeeper. He tried to stop it, but he only managed to graze the ball with his fingertips before it sank deep into the net.
There was a beat of silence before waves of deafening cheers shook the stadium. The static muffle from my concentration fell away, and the sound washed over me all at once as my ecstatic teammates crowded around me.
A smile spread across my face as the rush of my goal finally sank in.
I fucking did it.
“Hell yeah!” Samson yelled. “That’s how you take a shot!”
“Not bad.” Asher slapped me on the back with a grin. “Not as good as me, but not bad.”
“Fuck off, Donovan.” I laughed.
We resumed our match, but the energy was noticeably lighter, at least on our side. We had several minutes and extra time left on the clock, but it was easier to defend when we were winning than try to force a tie-breaking goal.
The other team’s players were tired, and their morale was down. But us?
We were fucking back.
brOOKLYN
The final whistle blew minutes after Vincent’s free kick, making it official.
Blackcastle had won.
“Yes!” Seth punched his fist in the air. “That’s how you do it! Let’s fucking go!”
I pressed my fist to my mouth, trying and failing to hide a grin. My body buzzed with so much excitement I couldn’t find a proper way to express it, so I just stood there and smiled like an idiot while the rest of the team celebrated on the sidelines.
The Blackcastle players had hoisted Vincent on their shoulders and were carrying him across the pitch like a hero returning from battle. His grin dazzled even from a dozen yards away, and I was so damn proud of him I could burst.
I’d always been, and would always be, a Blackcastle supporter, but watching the matches hit different when my boyfriend was playing. The highs were higher, the lows were lower. It was like I was right there on the pitch with him, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I finally roused myself from my daze and bypassed a giddy Seth to approach my dad. He was talking to Greely, who quickly excused himself when he saw me coming.
“Congratulations,” I said. “That was a great win.”
“It was okay,” my dad grunted, but his eyes shone with pride.
Our relationship had improved by leaps and bounds since our talk over the break. We’d set up a weekly dinner where talking about football was off-limits, and he’d stopped scowling every time I told him I was going out with Vincent.
Things weren’t perfect, but we were trying. That was what mattered.
“Are you coming to dinner tonight?” I asked.
“We’ll see. I have some work to finish first. If I get it done, I’ll drop by.”
The team had training yesterday on Christmas Day, so Asher and Scarlett had organized a holiday dinner at their house tonight instead. Everyone at Blackcastle was invited, including the staff.
I wasn’t surprised my dad was iffy on attending. He avoided big gatherings if he could help it, and since we’d had a nice father-daughter meal last night, I wasn’t too upset about him potentially skipping out on what was sure to be a raucous party.
“Let me know. I’ll save a plate for you if I can,” I said. “No guarantees. These guys are like freaking wolves when it comes to food.”
He smirked. “I will.”
While he left for his post-match press conference, I checked in with Jones to see if he needed anything (he didn’t) before I met Scarlett and Carina outside the stadium. We were heading to Scarlett’s house early to help prep while the players spoke to the media and cleaned up.
They hugged me, their cheeks red from the cold despite the thick black-and-purple Blackcastle scarves wrapped around their necks.
“I propose we build a giant dome over the stadium for winter use,” Carina said as we walked to my car. “A heated indoor pitch. How nice does that sound?”
I laughed. “Put it in the suggestion box. Maybe Vuk Markovic wouldn’t mind coughing up hundreds of millions to build that dome.”
“I will because we cannot keep doing this.” Carina’s teeth chattered. “I think I have frostbite.”
“I’ll buy you a portable space heater for your birthday. That way, you won’t complain throughout the entire match,” Scarlett said good-naturedly. “Also, just so you know, Antarctica is way colder than this.”
“That’s different,” Carina said. “There are penguins in Antarctica. There are no penguins here to make the cold worth it.”
“Maybe you’ll feel differently if you date one of the players,” I teased. “They can be your version of a penguin in London.”
“Ha!” She snorted. “I doubt it. None of the players are anywhere near as cute.”
Despite her words, I noticed a telltale blush creeping across her cheeks, but I held my tongue—for now.
We bundled into my sedan. Scarlett sat in the middle backseat, as always. Because of her accident, she had a lot of anxiety around cars. I was one of the few drivers she trusted, and I made sure to be extra careful with the speed limit when she was in the backseat.
Carina settled into the passenger seat, and we were on our way.
My nerves intensified as we got closer to Scarlett’s house.
Vincent and I had spent most of the break together, and it’d been a dream, filled with lingering dinners and aimless wanders through the city.
But he’d told me one thing that had stuck in my mind for the past week, and I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening any longer.
“Did your dad confirm?” I glanced at Scarlett in the rearview mirror.
She nodded. “He’s dying to meet you.”
“Oh, great.” I tried not to freak out and focused on the road instead.
I’d met Scarlett and Vincent’s mom before, but I’d never met their dad. He lived in Paris, and they usually alternated holidays between their parents. But this year, he’d flown to London to celebrate with them and his ex-wife. It was a big deal.
“Don’t worry. He’ll love you,” Scarlett reassured me, obviously picking up on my anxiety.
“If he doesn’t, he has bad taste,” Carina added.
I let out a forced laugh. “Right.”
Their mom liked me. Their dad should too, right? Then again, their parents were divorced, so maybe they had different tastes in people.
My stomach cramped. I’d never felt this nervous about meeting the parents, but I’d never liked anyone as much as Vincent either. What if his dad hated me? What if he thought I wasn’t good enough for his son and told Vincent to dump me?
It was unlikely, given what Scarlett and Vincent had told me about their father, but it was possible.
Scarlett’s parents had skipped the match to prep the food, and their cars were already parked outside when we arrived at the house.