Chapter 4 Liam
Liam
“Another one?” Jack asks as I slam my empty shot glass on the bar. I wince as the tequila burns its way down my throat, leaving a trail of fire. I blow out a breath and shake my head. “I’m too old to be downing this shite.”
He slaps me on the back and grins. “You’re never too old, mate. Besides, you’re what, twenty-eight?”
“Thirty-two,” I correct him.
Jack whistles. “Ooft. That’s pretty ancient, actually.”
“I’ve still got a bit of juice left in me,” I say.
I let out a rough laugh, the first genuine one in ages.
Around me, the other new guys are halfway to pissed already.
This is the first time the guys have invited me anywhere.
I’ve been in England about a little over three months now, and keeping my head down and giving it my all has finally earned me a bit of acceptance.
“Loosen up and have a bit of fun. You’ve been working hard,” Jack says.
Jack, Omar, and Ravi go out most weekends, but I’ve kept my distance. I can’t risk the wrong photo or headline when I’m trying to start over. My focus must stay on Finn and on proving myself here, not on pints.
I look around the bar and concede defeat. “All right. Hit me with another.”
“Attaboy,” Jack says with a wink, flagging down the bartender for another round.
Screw it. Roman’s got Finn for the night—the first time I’ve felt comfortable letting him stay over. When everything fell apart back home with Tash, Roman and Zoey were the first to reach out, offering Finn and me a place to crash until I could sort myself out. Roman’s been a lifesaver.
Finn still hasn’t heard from his mother, and I’m bloody livid. Months have gone by, and not so much as a phone call to check in. She actually did it—she packed her bags and ran off with Keogh without a backward glance.
I stop the spiraling: that’s not why I’m here tonight. Tonight’s about building bonds with my new teammates. About letting off some steam.
Some of the guys know my full story—why I lost control and beat Keogh to a pulp.
Others heard a version from someone who knows someone else and made up their minds before I even landed in London.
But the guys who actually listened? Who gave me a chance to explain myself?
I need them to see there’s more to me than the Irish brute who almost destroyed his career over a woman.
That I can be trusted on and off the pitch.
Jack hands me a fresh shot, and I knock it back, followed by a lick of salt and a bite of lemon. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I slide it out, swiping the screen.
Danielle. My agent.
I roll my eyes. Christ, here we go. I really stitched myself up after Tash left. When Emerald Rovers gave me the flick, Danielle flew in from London for damage control. One night drowning my sorrows in a bottle of Jameson, and I woke up to find her in my bed. And I don’t remember a damn thing.
I’m a bleedin’ idiot.
She hasn’t left me alone since. I have a feeling she thinks that night meant something.
The only reason I haven’t given her the arse is because she’s one of the best in the business.
She got me this deal with Chiswick Park United.
When every club in Ireland had written me off—when I was almost blacklisted—Danielle worked her contacts in England and opened the door to a new team.
She’s the reason I’m able to keep playing.
New city. New people. New spot on a Championship team. New memories that aren’t tarnished by Tash’s betrayal.
So, yeah, I was stupid enough to sleep with her. But she saved my career when no one else would touch me. That has to count for something, even if I spend half my time dodging her advances and pretending that night never happened.
I just want to forget about the past tonight and be a normal bloke having some drinks with his mates.
Danielle: Hey, you. How was your day? What are you doing tonight?
I ignore it, slipping my phone back in my pocket.
“You good, Murphy?” Jack asks, noticing the shift in mood.
I force a smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Excellent, because there’s a group of extremely good-looking women over there, and the brunette can’t stop looking at you.”
I follow his gaze across the bar to where he’s gesturing.
There’s a group of three women at a high table near the windows.
A blonde, a redhead, and a brunette. The brunette catches my eye immediately, and I do a double take.
She takes a slow sip of something bright and her tongue sweeps over her bottom lip.
She’s drop-dead gorgeous.
No. That’s not why you’re here.
I drag my gaze away and refocus on Jack. “Not tonight, mate.”
That’s when Omar and Ravi appear at the bar beside us, grinning like idiots. They’re our wingers—fast as hell on the pitch and, judging by their locker room talk, covering just as much ground when it comes to women.
“Lads, WAGs at two o’clock,” Ravi announces, clapping me on the shoulder enthusiastically. “Glad you finally joined us for a night out, Murphy.”
“WAGs?” I raise an eyebrow. “You really gonna call them that?”
“Course we are,” Omar says with a smirk. “They’re obsessed with us. They don’t care about who we are as people—just what we can give them as football players. The fame, the lifestyle, the Instagram photos.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “And our giant dicks.”
I bark out a laugh. “In Ireland we call them Badge Bunnies.”
“Well, whatever you want to call them, I’ve got dibs on the one in pink,” Ravi says.
Jack and I follow their gaze to a different group of women in colorful dresses giggling loudly in a corner booth.
They’re not even subtle about checking us out, whispering to each other and pointing.
“Christ,” I mutter. “They’re all yours, lads.”
“Not interested in a bit of fun, Murphy?” Ravi asks, nudging me.
I’ve got no interest in entertaining women right now. The last thing I need is to be distracted or used. The lads might see fun when they look at that group, but all I see is risk. One kiss-and-tell to the tabloids, and my name’s smeared across every headline again, dragging the club down with it.
“Aye, I’m just here for the drinks and the company,” I say.
“Your loss.” Ravi shrugs, straightening his shirt and plowing a hand through his hair, bumping elbows with Omar. “They’re proper fit.”
“Let’s give it a crack,” Omar replies, fist-bumping Ravi. “Watch and learn, boys. This is how it’s done.”
I let out a low grunt of a laugh, watching them swagger toward the women, already laying it on thick. Jack snorts beside me.
A small part of me wishes I’d been in a place to join Jack more often on a night out, instead of hearing about their exploits secondhand.
But I can’t do what Tash does. I can’t look at Finn and think of what I’ve lost or wonder about a life without him.
Because a life without Finn isn’t worth living.
“They’re young. They’re having their fun,” I say.
I was just like them when I signed with the Rovers at twenty-four.
Everything was new and exciting. The money.
The fame. Being recognized in public. Women throwing themselves at you.
I had enough fun in my early twenties to last a lifetime.
But then Tash came along. I fell hard and fast and, four fun months later, she was pregnant.
I wave the bartender down and order us another couple of pints.
Ravi’s already got one of the blondes rolling her eyes at whatever line he’s spinning while Omar’s trying to work his magic on another.
That’s when my eyes sweep the bar and land on her again.
The brunette from the other group. She’s not interested in the sea of people around her.
She doesn’t give a shit who we are. She’s just smiling at something one of her friends said.
I watch as her face lights up and she drops her head back, laughing.
There’s something about her—the authenticity of her joy.
The blonde and redhead grin back at her before they lean in and start chatting.
I vaguely register Jack’s voice beside me. “Huh?” I look at him then back at her. I have no idea what he said. And, honestly, I couldn’t care less. Not when she smiles like that. It’s like feeling the sunlight on your skin after too long in the dark. He can’t compete with that.
Jack waves a hand in front of me, pulling me from my daze. “I said here,” he says, passing me my beer.
“Oh. Thanks,” I say, accepting the drink.
This time when I look in her direction, I lock eyes with her and, I swear to God, something inside me sparks to life.
Jack follows my gaze, releasing a low whistle when it lands on her again. He turns back to me with a shit-eating grin. “Not interested, huh?”
I shake my head, incapable of a response, settling for a long pull of beer instead.
Christ.
Her hair’s falling in dark waves past her shoulders. She’s got this glow about her—maybe it’s the dim lighting, maybe it’s whatever she’s dusted onto her skin, but she looks… fuck, she looks stunning.
Her little black dress fits her perfectly, elegantly, showing a stretch of olive skin that has me wondering what the rest of her looks like.
Oh right, classy. That’s the word.
Her legs are long, smooth, and bloody perfect—her gold heels make them look even longer.
I can tell she has just enough curve at her hip to fill my hand.
But it isn’t just her appearance that catches my attention.
It’s the way she looks when she’s with her friends.
Like she doesn’t care who’s watching. She isn’t a woman who needs to rehearse or fit in; she’s too busy having a good time.
She has one of those honest faces you don’t often see.
“Buy the girl a drink,” Jack says, pointing to her with his glass.
I crinkle my nose. “Nah. She’s out with her friends. I won’t interrupt her night.”
Her head turns and our eyes lock. She catches me staring. Instead of looking away, her lips tug up and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before turning back.
“Yeah, I don’t think she’ll mind,” he chuckles, downing the rest of his beer.
“You’re Liam Murphy, right? The footballer?” A hit of sugar perfume hits my nose, followed by a set of neon-pink nails clamping down on my forearm.
I turn and it’s one of the blondes Jack and Ravi were eyeing up earlier.
“Yeah,” I reply, my tone flat. I don’t want to give her an inch of encouragement.
She pushes her chest out, running her talons up and down my arm. “I heard you’re, like, really bad,” she says, drawing out the word.
I shrug her hand off and have a long pull of my pint, hoping she’ll take the hint.
Of course, she doesn’t.
“So I saw you were standing over here, all lonely and everything,” she continues, pressing closer. “And I thought maybe we could get a drink? Or maybe we could just… get out of here?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not interested,” I say, shooting her a tight-lipped smile.
She looks taken aback, like she can’t comprehend that she’s been told no. “But I’m—”
“I’m still not interested, sorry.”
Jack stifles a smirk beside me as the blonde storms back to her friends. “Real smooth.” Amusement dances in Jack’s eyes.
“She’s not my type,” I say. My eyes automatically drift back to the brunette.
“Do you think she recognizes you?” he asks.
I lift a shoulder. “Not sure.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Just go talk to her.”
Jesus. What if she does recognize me? Do I want her to recognize me? I’m not so sure. I’m so out of touch. I haven’t done this in… well, eight years.
I drag a hand through my hair, releasing a long exhale.
You know what? Screw it. Why not. What’s the worst that could happen?
“What do you think she’s drinking? Some fruity shite?” I ask Jack.
He narrows his eyes, trying to get a clearer look across the bar. “Cosmopolitan.”
My brows furrow. “How do you know that?”
He shrugs. “They’re nice drinks, mate. Don’t judge.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Stepping forward, I flag the bartender. Time to find out if I’ve still got it.
“What’ll it be?” he asks, flinging a tea towel over his shoulder.
I jerk my chin in her direction. “Another round of whatever they’re drinking.”