Chapter 19
The final whistle blew, and Erin sagged with exhaustion, resting her hands on her knees.
Having just completed her first full ninety minutes since her injury, Erin should have been filled with joy at achieving another milestone. Instead, she’d played her part in a drab nil-nil draw, meaning Albion had dropped their first points in the league that season.
Not ideal.
Their otherwise perfect start meant they still had a four-point lead over their nearest rivals—Wanderers—but a win for Wanderers the next time they met would make things uncomfortably close.
Erin hadn’t been able to make the difference, most of her shots going wayward. She’d struggled to focus, distracted too often by Lia’s eyes burning into her back from the bench, by thinking about the fact that they hadn’t spoken since the cup final.
Dragging her feet as she shook the hands of the opposition players, Erin marvelled at how far she’d fallen in the space of a week. She was not looking forward to the coach journey back to Manchester, even if it would only take an hour.
Returns to her hometown were usually sweeter.
Before heading into the tunnel, Erin dropped into one of the seats on the bench, taking a moment to look around the emptying stadium.
As a child, she’d never dreamed she would be able to play on a stage as big as Anfield.
Her dad had drawn her into the men’s game, the pair of them watching every week, curled on the sofa.
It was his love of football that had sparked Erin’s interest, and she still remembered her first Anfield match—a cup game when she’d been ten years old, shivers running down her spine as the crowd sang “You’ll Never Walk Alone. ”
Twenty-one years later, she’d played her first game on that same pitch, in front of a crowd of fifteen thousand.
Nowhere near the capacity of the stadium, but even a few years ago that kind of turnout for a women’s game would have been unbelievable.
Being able to play at a so-called ‘men’s’ stadium would have been unbelievable, too, but thanks to the growing interest in the women’s game, it had become a possibility—one Erin would usually revel in, but today, her mood was sour.
She hated having a bad game. On the coach home, she’d replay all of those missed chances, ruing the fact that she hadn’t done better.
“You’re missing Ayla’s team talk.” Alex sat in the seat beside her, their hoodie drawn to their chin to ward off the cool air. April hadn’t brought with it any warmer weather.
“I don’t need to hear it—I can guess what she’s saying: ‘That wasn’t a good game, but we need to pick ourselves back up. We can’t afford to dwell on it with another important game next week.’”
“That was uncanny. Have you considered going into impressions once you retire?” When Erin didn’t react, Alex sighed. “You can’t crack a smile?”
“What do I have to smile about?” Erin dug the heel of her boot into the ground. “I played like shit today.”
“You did.” Alex had never been one to pull any punches. “But so did everyone else. Not a single one of us played well today.”
“Even more reason for me to step up and sink one of my chances.”
“Hm. Are you going to talk about why you didn’t?”
“Because I had an off day?”
“And why is that?” Alex let the question sit a few moments. “Is it, perhaps, because you’re too into your own head over whatever the hell is going on between you and Lia Ashcroft?”
Erin stared at the pristine white painted lines on the pitch. “There is nothing going on between me and Lia Ashcroft.”
“Anymore?”
Tilting her head to rest it against the back of her seat, Erin blew out a sigh.
She could deny it, but Alex wouldn’t believe her.
And it was clear from the poisonous looks Cerys kept shooting Erin’s way when she thought Erin wasn’t looking that Lia had spilled the whole sorry tale to her best friend.
Not that Erin could blame her. She wasn’t mad: Lia wouldn’t have said anything if she didn’t trust Cerys not to keep her mouth shut—and she was glad Lia had someone to talk to about it all.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Alex’s tone was gentle, like they were speaking to a spooked animal. “But we can. If you want.”
“How long have you known?”
“Hard to say. I first suspected something in December—but from her side, not yours. I didn’t think you’d ever go there.
And I’ve thought it a couple of times since.
You interacted with her differently. You softened to her, and I’d never seen you do that with anyone.
Then I thought maybe it was because you enjoyed playing alongside her—I know you relish being around talent.
It wasn’t until last weekend, when I saw the look on your face when Adrianna’s hands were on her, that I knew for sure. ”
Great. If Alex had noticed, had anyone else? When had Erin lost the ability to regulate her emotions, her expressions, her feelings, when she was around others? When had Lia stripped away her ability to do that?
“And now you’re back to making awkward small talk and avoiding being alone together,” Alex finished, looking far too pleased with themself. “And neither of you were yourselves on the pitch today. Sooo, what happened?”
“I happened. It was supposed to be just sex. No attachment, no feelings, no drama. Last week, I realised that maybe it was turning into more than I’d bargained for.
” Admitting the words aloud didn’t feel like the weakness she’d feared.
Getting it off her chest felt better than expected.
“And I do think anything more would be too complicated. I’m not cut out for that, and I don’t think she is, either, after what happened with her ex. So we called it off.”
“And how’s that worked out for you?”
Erin glowered. “Not well, obviously.”
“So call it back on,” Alex said like it was the simplest thing in the world. “If you’re so worried about it affecting your performance—well, not talking to her isn’t doing you any favours. What would be so bad about dating her?”
“If we’re like this now, when all we did was sleep together a few times, what would it be like if we broke up after months of being in a relationship?” Erin shook her head. “I swore I’d never risk it again. And so did she.”
“Sometimes risks are worth taking, Erin. Would you rather be miserable?”
“I’d rather be safe.”
Frustration stared back at her from behind Alex’s eyes. “Well, you’re an idiot.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Alex climbed to their feet.
“If you can’t get your head out of your arse about this and admit that you want her, then get over her.
Fast. Because we’ve got a busy few weeks coming our way, and we need everyone at their best, not pining over the chances they’re not brave enough to take. ”
The words were harsh, reverberating through Erin’s skull as Alex left her alone, but she’d needed to hear them. Alex was right: If nothing was ever going to come out of this thing with Lia, she needed to forget about it.
Before another season slipped through her fingers without four trophies to hold at the end of it.
If only it could be that easy.
* * *
Lia stared out of the airplane window, watching the world flash by thirty thousand feet below.
To say the mood on the private team plane was black would be an understatement. Three hours ago, Albion had been knocked out of the Champions League competition after a miserable 3-0 thrashing by Wolfsburg.
It was a shitty feeling.
Albion had gone into the second leg of the two-game semi-final with a 2-0 lead, confident about seeing out the tie, but a string of defensive mistakes had cost them—not to mention their lack of finesse in front of goal.
Lia hadn’t played well, and she sat alone toward the middle of the plane, beating herself up over the chances she missed.
And she wasn’t the only one.
Behind her, Erin would be doing the same. Arguably, she’d missed the clearest chance of the night in the dying seconds—a near-open shot at goal that would have dragged Albion through to extra time and the chance to save themselves.
Instead, the shot had skittered wide of the post, and Erin’s shout of frustration had rung loud in Lia’s ears.
Around Lia, her teammates on the plane were silent, most of them sitting alone and contemplating the match. The last thing any of them wanted was to be stuck together in a tin can for two hours. Lia herself couldn’t wait to get home and slip into bed.
She couldn’t sit still for another second. She rose to her feet and paced toward the front of the plane. When she turned, she glanced toward where Erin sat, on the back row, away from anyone else, her jaw clenched as she stared out the plane window.
They hadn’t spoken—beyond polite small talk whenever anyone else was around to overhear them—since the day of the League Cup final.
Even on the pitch, they didn’t tend to speak.
Didn’t need to most of the time; instinct ensured they knew where the other player would be.
They could communicate with passes and crosses better than they’d ever be able to with words.
But it was still so hard seeing her all the time—aching to reach out for her, to bridge the gap that widened between them with each passing day.
Lia didn’t understand where it had all gone so wrong, wished she could rewind the clock and brush Adrianna off before things had taken a turn for the worse.
Seeing the pain on Erin’s face, Lia wanted nothing more than to go to her. To try and comfort her—to draw some comfort from her in return. To go home with Erin when they got back to Manchester and forget this evening’s misery by falling into one another, never coming up for air.
Maybe that could still happen, if she reached out. Lia had had the last word, after all. She’d thought that was for the best, that she needed more than just sex from Erin to be happy. But the last two weeks without her had been torturous.
Maybe a night of comfort sex could be enough. It couldn’t be worse than this, could it?
Lia drifted to the back of the plane, closer to Erin and her stormy expression. She was only four rows away when a hand clasped her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
Glancing down, Lia half expected to see Cerys, asking her what the hell she was thinking. Instead, she looked into Alex’s grey eyes, their lips pursed as they gazed at Lia. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Do what?” Lia asked, as if her intentions—given the fact that Erin was the only person beyond Alex’s seat—weren’t obvious.
“She’s no good after a loss.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lia extricated herself from Alex’s grip. “I’m stretching my legs.”
“Bullshit. It’s not a good idea, Lia. Not after…everything.”
“And by everything you mean?” Somehow, Lia had a feeling Alex wasn’t referring to the match. Had Erin told Alex about them? Surely not. They were close, but was Erin that close to anybody?
Alex held Lia’s stare, unblinking. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”
Well, that answered that question, didn’t it? Lia swallowed. “Are you going to stop me?”
“Your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With those words of caution ringing in her ears, Lia forged onward, toward the last row of the plane. Erin didn’t glance away from the window, even when Lia sat in the seat beside her, their shoulders brushing as she made herself comfortable.
Erin drew in a slow breath before she spoke. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.” Lia leaned her head against the back of her seat, trying to ignore the familiar fruity scent of Erin’s perfume and the blazing warmth of her body, so tantalisingly close but still so out of reach.
“You won’t like the person I am when I lose. I’ve never been good at it.”
“There’s something the great Erin Finch isn’t good at? Shocking.”
In the reflection from the window, Erin didn’t so much as crack a smile. “I mean it, Lia.”
“I just want to check you’re okay.”
Erin’s eyes fluttered closed, and the next breath she let out was ragged. “Of course I’m not okay. But I don’t deserve to have you come over here to try and make me feel better. I don’t deserve anything from you.”
“Why not?”
Finally, finally, Erin turned to face her. For the first time in two weeks, their gazes met, and their gazes held. Lia’s heart thudded fast—too fast—in her chest.
“Because I hurt you.” Though no one was close to them—save for Alex, who already, presumably, knew the whole story—Erin kept her voice low, the words little more than a murmur Lia had to strain to hear.
“I think I hurt you, too.”
Erin didn’t nod, but she didn’t deny it, either. “Why did you come over here?”
“I told you. To check that you’re okay. And because I don’t think staying away from you is doing either of us any good. I miss you.”
“Lia…”
“Come on.” To take some of the weight off her words, she tried to make her voice lighter, teasing.
She didn’t want Erin to think she wanted more than what they had—even though deep, deep down, that was exactly what she wanted—because wanting more than they’d had was what had turned things so sour between them.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to end the night in bed together?” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice as she spoke into Erin’s ear. “Distract ourselves from an otherwise terrible evening?” She was gratified when Erin shuddered, goose bumps visible on her neck and upper arm.
“I thought you didn’t want that anymore.”
“I may have been too hasty.”
“I don’t know if I want that anymore.”
“Oh.” Rearing back, Lia felt the words like a sucker punch to the chest, knocking the air from her lungs. “Okay.”
“Shit, that’s not what I—” Erin shook her head, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“What did you mean?”
“I don’t want to talk about it here.” She glanced meaningfully toward the front of the plane, where their teammates were gathered. “Can you come over tonight? To talk? I can give you a lift back to our building.”
Something in Erin’s expression—a vulnerability shining bright in her eyes—made a tiny spark of hope ignite in Lia’s chest. But she dared not get ahead of herself, dared not read too much into it, dared not hope too hard that Erin might feel the same way she did. “Okay, yeah.”
Erin reached out, fingers brushing the back of Lia’s hand. “Thank you.”
Though the contact was fleeting, it sent a thrill through her, all the way to her toes.