Chapter 52 Liam
Liam
Amber rays throw scattered light across the room. I’ve lain awake all night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what Anna’s doing. She won’t answer my calls—not that I blame her. I wouldn’t either.
I’ve ruined everything.
Stupidly, I reach for my phone again, pulling up the video for the hundredth time. Each time I watch it is worse than the last. The moment my knuckles smash into Roger’s nose. The way he crumples to the ground.
The horror etched on Anna’s face.
And, every time, I hear his words over and over again: It’s not like I want her used-up, tacky cunt anyway. God knows where it’s been.
That vile piece of shit.
But then I hear Anna’s voice too. The part where she begs me and I didn’t bloody listen: Liam, please. Just walk away. I was walking away. I was doing exactly what she asked. Until I wasn’t. The moment he opened his mouth, it was like my body switched to autopilot.
I used to think my da was weak. That physical violence was the refuge of men who couldn’t articulate their feelings.
Who mistook force for power. That he was pathetic for picking on his family, who couldn’t fight back because we were so much smaller.
But thinking about my actions yesterday, I’m no better.
Maybe my weakness was believing my rage was noble.
Stupid. So bleedin’ stupid.
The comments on the video have multiplied by thousands overnight. Some call me a criminal. A thug. Others call me a monster.
And you know what? They’re not wrong.
I drag myself out of bed, shower, and head to the kitchen to pour myself a giant mug of coffee. The whole flat feels too quiet without Finn.
Shite, how am I going to explain this to him? He’ll hear about it at school on Monday, no doubt.
Just when he’s got better.
I haven’t heard from Coach Miller yet, but I’m sure he’s seen the video by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if my contract’s terminated.
I open the contact Roman gave me last night. My finger hovers over the green button for a long while before I finally pluck up the courage to hit “call.”
After booking a consultation with the trauma therapist, I load myself into the car and head to Jed’s office.
The call came this morning. The one I’d been dreading. To meet him and Coach Miller at his office. Nausea claws at my throat as I take the lift up to Jed’s floor.
The receptionist greets me with far too much sympathy. “Mr. Murphy, they’re expecting you. Conference room three.”
I nod my thanks and head down the long corridor, when a door suddenly opens. It’s the last person I want to fucking see, with a venomous grin.
Danielle.
“Oh, Liam.” She lurches back slightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
I shake my head and keep walking, but halt at her next words.
“Shame about that video, isn’t it?”
I pivot slowly and stalk back toward her. The smugness dims as panic flashes across her face.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” My voice is lethally low.
She purses her overfilled lips and pretends to examine her cuticles. “Nothing at all. Just making friendly conversation.”
My eyes skim over her with contempt and I force myself to keep moving, planting one foot in front of the other. Conference room three is the last room on the right. Through the glass walls, I can see Jed and Coach Miller seated at a giant rectangular table, their faces set tight and stony.
I take a breath and knock once.
“Come in,” Jed says.
When I enter there’s no handshake, no smiles, no pleasantries.
This isn’t good.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Murphy,” Coach Miller says, gesturing to the lone chair across from them.
Once I’m seated I notice the thick folder in front of them.
“I assume you know why you’re here,” Jed begins.
“The video,” I reply.
“That video currently has over ten million views,” Coach Miller says. “It’s been shared across every major sports outlet in the country. That video has sponsors threatening to pull their contracts if we don’t take immediate action.”
I blink, swallowing hard. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Jed leans forward. “Liam, you’ve handed every critic who called you a hothead the exact ammunition they needed. Coach Miller has been rebuilding your reputation ever since he signed you on, managing the narrative around Keogh, and you’ve just blown it up in seconds!”
“I can’t let you play, Murphy. You understand that, right?” Coach Miller says, steepling his fingers on the file.
I nod sharply.
“The woman in the video… she’s . . .” Jed starts.
My girl? “Aye.”
“Right,” he says. “She’s the reason you hit the teacher, I assume?”
I give another sharp nod.
“Right,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment.
I clench my jaw. “That man was harassing her. Assaulting her. I hit him because he grabbed her and wouldn’t let her go—I’m sure you can see the bloody bruises on her arm—”
“That doesn’t matter, Murphy! The video doesn’t show that, all it shows is you punching an innocent teacher for no fucking reason! All people are going to care about is the fact that you lost control… again!” Coach Miller spits.
“The board met this morning, Liam. They wanted your contract terminated immediately,” Jed says, leaning back in his seat.
Shite.
I open my mouth to speak but Coach Miller beats me to it.
“We managed to persuade them to agree to a suspension. Two weeks. And we’ll be attending a formal disciplinary hearing.
” Coach Miller waves a hand between him and Jed.
“We’ll do our best to get them to agree to let you play again, but I can’t promise you anything. ”
I look to the ceiling. It’s not over yet.
“Our contract was based on you keeping a clean slate, Murphy. You promised me you’d do better, that you’d stay out of trouble. You’ve just shat all over that—you get that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, dropping my gaze to my lap.
Coach Miller rubs his temples. “Jesus, Murphy, what are we going to do with you? You’re one of our best players.”
“It won’t happen again,” I promise.
He scoffs. “I’ve heard that before.”
Jed slides a pile of documents across the table and offers me a pen.
“Here’s what happens next. You’re suspended with pay pending the hearing.
You aren’t to do any interviews, no social media, nothing.
You need to remain quiet. We’ve prepared a statement acknowledging the incident and confirming an internal investigation.
” He taps the papers. “These are your suspension conditions. You aren’t to step foot in any training facilities.
If you violate any of these conditions, termination becomes automatic.
You’ll be gone. All you need to do is stay at home and out of trouble. Clear?”
“Clear,” I say, signing the dotted line with a shaky hand.
Coach Miller stands, adjusting the lapels of his sports jacket.
“Murphy, you’re one of the most talented players I’ve ever worked with.
But you need to sort yourself out. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to play for me.
But if your spot on this team falls through, good luck finding another club willing to take you on. You’re a bloody PR nightmare.”
The words hit me like whiplash. With that, they both stand and I take it as my cue to leave, grabbing the signed paperwork.
“Try to stay out of trouble,” Coach Miller says and I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
I should feel relieved: I still have a chance to salvage this. But all I can think about is Anna. Her career. How she’s feeling.
Rain pelts down in thick sheets outside. I’m soaked through by the time I make it to my car, my cold shirt clinging to my body uncomfortably.
With that shitshow out of the way, there’s only one thing I can focus on.
My body tells me to wait and let her have some space.
I’m not coming to her with any answers—I wouldn’t know where to begin.
But what I do know is that I love her. That I need her in my life.
That I’d do anything to make this right. That I’m sorry.
I might not have the answer for how we can fix this, but I’ll be damned if I don’t lose myself trying. Because the truth is, if I don’t have Anna, is any of it—even my contract with Chiswick Park United—worth it? Does any of it mean anything?
She might not be taking my calls, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to get to her. If I didn’t at least try to hear her voice. My heart surges into my throat as I start the engine, drop the now-wet documents in my passenger seat and shift the gear into drive.