Chapter 23
AJ
I can’t believe it. Our names. Both on the starting eleven for England against Brazil! This is nuts. Everyday my life seems to get better, and I am eternally grateful.
The roar of the Wembley crowd is mesmerizing. I look out to them, a sea of white, and the famous yellow shirts of Brazil. Both bands competing for top billing somewhere in the stands. I remember being near that very trumpet when I was younger, watching my heroes on the pitch.
This is what dreams are made of. I look over and see Kyle, and he’s almost smiling.
The game is more stretched than the last one, and as a striker, I keep having to drop back into the midfield to help out.
I don’t mind using my taller frame to my advantage.
My headed flick-on’s to Kyle are catching the defense off guard, but he is thwarted at the last hurdle each time by the impeccable goalkeeper.
In the eightieth minute, there’s a breakthrough. One of their players delivers an uncharacteristic short pass to their teammate, and Kyle, who is somehow still full of energy, pounces on the mistake and runs toward goal.
I bust a gut to get into the area and find myself unmarked at the back post. I scream for it; he looks up and delivers a sensational cross that loops over the goalkeepers outstretched hands and onto my noggin.
The ball hits the back of the net. I wheel away with Kyle and the rest of our teammates to celebrate. Unreal.
Back in the dressing room, the boss is congratulating us on a hard-fought 1-0 win.
I’m still on cloud nine, and that’s what scoring the winner against Brazil with a goal set up by your best…
friend does. I look over to him, and there’s a hint of a smile again.
The rest of the team are celebrating, and this is the last time we will see most of them before the Global Cup.
I hope it’s not the last time I see Kyle for a while.
I know we’re in the same city now, but with our football commitments, it might be difficult.
“Drinks out in town, lads, to celebrate?” Rockwell asks the dressing room. There’s an almighty roar and banging and all sorts of other things, like inside jokes that Kyle and I aren’t a part of yet.
“You guys are welcome too. The new leaders of the revolution and all that,” Rockwell says, and I think I detect a tone in his voice.
“Nah, I’m good. I don’t drink,” I say.
Rockwell sits himself down next to me, arm around my shoulder like we’re best mates all of a sudden, and says, “You can still have a good time without drinking. As Vice Captain of the squad, I’m ordering you both to come out with us.
It’s one evening for a few hours. And besides, it’s what we do.
It’s our tradition. And you have to have at least one drink. It’s another tradition.”
Well, fuck. I look over to Kyle, and he seems less pleased than me.
“Fine, I’ll go. I’m not staying out late, though.”
“That’s the spirit, Kyle…” He slides over to him with the slickness of a snake hunting its prey.
“Kyyyyle, come on. I need to see you loosen up. I need to see a smile from you tonight. And I know how to do it. I’m gonna get you some women.
One on each arm and a third on your lap. That’ll make any lad smile.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and watch Kyle’s face. He’s not giving anything away.
“I’m in,” he says, and I don’t know why, but my heart sinks a little. Surely, he doesn’t want what Rockwell has proposed. I attempt to communicate with him telepathically, but to my utter surprise, it doesn’t work. I text him instead:
AJ
You okay with this?
I finish getting changed and watch him read the text. He looks around to see if anyone is watching him. Most of them have headed back to the hotel room and some are coming back from the showers.
Kyle (the not much of a tosser)
Sounds like the fourth ring of hell. But at least you’ll be there.
I chuckle silently at this and finish tying my shoes.
AJ
Meet you back in the room in ten?
Kyle (the not much of a tosser)
Sure thing. But please, don’t bring any women. Rockwell has already sorted me some and I’ll have my hands full.
AJ
You’re a dick.
Kyle (the not much of a tosser)
You love it.
AJ
Your dick? Yeah.
I watch as Kyle’s sly smile blooms on his face, and then I leave the changing room, slightly adjusting myself as I go.
The nightclub is extravagant, and I hate everything about it.
People are literally falling over themselves to try and get to us in our VIP booth.
Kyle and I arrived separately to avoid any suspicion—not that there is anything to be suspicious about, as he made his feelings clear, again.
Right now, though, we’re like two wallflowers, sitting at the end of the huge table.
Rockwell has been trying to palm at least four women off on us already, and we have politely declined, using as many excuses as we can.
The music reverberates in my chest, and quite frankly, I would like to die. This is not my vibe.
“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Smith announces, brandishing a tray full of what looks like Sambuca.
I sniff mine once it’s handed to me, and yes—it’s Sambuca.
Brilliant. In the sense that this is not, in fact, brilliant but really quite shit.
I can’t decline this too, or I’ll be the laughingstock of the team. The “wet wipe,” as some of them say.
“On three?” I say to Kyle.
“Can we make it on a bigger number, like one trillion?”
I laugh, “One, two, three.”
We both down the foul-tasting drink, and my whole body wriggles.
“Well, that was foul.”
“You sure? I didn’t see you dive.” I look at him, and he has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. God, I love that smile.
I dig him in the ribs, “Fucker.”
He leans into me and whispers in my ear, “Her? Not my type.”
“When did you get so funny?”
“Always have been. I’m known for my wit and stunning personality.” The grin is still there, and this time, he accompanies it with a wink.
“Now I know you’re joking. You barely say anything to anyone, ever. I’m surprised you're still talking to me.” The music feels as though it’s getting louder, I glance over at the rest of the squad, and they’re being entertained by an assortment of women.
“You’re not just anyone, and you know that.
” My heart. Somehow he always manages to say words that have the capacity to make my heart burst with joy, or deflate into oblivion.
I want to move closer to him, close the gap between us, but there are too many eyes.
Too many people with camera phones these days, waiting to sell a story to the paps.
Another tray of shots comes around, and we begrudgingly take them.
The number of times I’ve tried to tell people I don’t drink is a little ridiculous, but nothing compared to the faces I get when I tell them.
It’s one night, I say to myself, as I really don’t want to deal with Rockwell and his dickish attitude.
Thankfully, we are going back to our squads in a few days, and there isn’t a match again for our home clubs for a week.
By the time 1:00 am rolls around, we’re a few shots in, and I’m getting bleary eyed.
“I’m going to call it a night,” I say to Kyle.
“Don’t leave me here with them,” he pleads, looking over his shoulder to see Rockwell having a bottle of Champagne being poured down his throat by a woman sitting on his lap.
“I’ll tell them I’m off. You follow me a few moments later. Meet me around the alleyway.”
“That what you say to all your Grindr hookups?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Nope, normally I tell them to bend over,” I say, winking back. I hope he knows I’m not actually a player. Well, that kind of player.
The alleyway is dark, smells of piss, and is full of bins and graffiti. There’s an overhead street light that basks most of it in a dingy orange hue.
Kyle strolls up to me, well, staggers, as he’s had as much as me, and I can’t help but get lost in his eyes.
“How are you still so hot?” I ask him.
“You’re drunk,” he says, but closes the gap between us.
“Not drunk, just tipsy. Merry. Happy.”
“Me too,” he growls, and I want to take him right now.
I grab him by his white shirt collar and close the distance even more.
Flash. Flash. Flash.