Chapter 2
TWO
St George’s Park.
It looked like something out of Alex’s childhood dreams, manicured grass shining in the warm haze of an afternoon sun, the training pitches surrounded by towering floodlights.
While Alex had been to the national soccer center once before, in preparation for those exhibition games earlier in the year, it was different this time—this was for the damn World Cup.
“D’you need a minute?” Jeff asked from behind him. “I can give you some privacy if you, ah… need to release some tension ahead of the team meeting. If you get my drift.”
Alex turned away from the window to find Jeff smirking at him, suitcase already open and spilling its contents all over the bed on Jeff’s side of the room.
Chaos was Jeff’s specialty and par for the course when sharing any kind of space with him, so Alex had come to accept it as the inevitable price he paid for Jeff’s company.
“Unfortunately,” Alex said dryly, “you’re just way too subtle. Please spell it out for me.”
“Y’know what I love about you, mate?” Jeff didn’t pause for an answer. “You’ve got everyone convinced you’re this bundle of sunshine, but really, you’re a sarcastic little shit.”
“Only with people I trust and like.”
“All four of ’em.”
“Yeah.” Alex inclined his head. “If that.”
“Color me honored.” Jeff joined Alex at the window, his smirk merging into a softer grin. “Fucking amazing, isn’t it? With some luck, I’ll even get to play this time around.”
Three years older than Alex, Jeff had already been part of the squad four years ago.
He’d watched three matches from the bench before the team had been sent home to shrill criticism for not even making it past the group stage.
Only a handful of players had survived the resulting overhaul of the team—Jeff, Oliver, and Lee among them.
With an average age of only twenty-five, the team Kieran had assembled was the youngest to ever represent England at a World Cup.
And Alex was part of it.
He bumped Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff bumped him back, and then they just stood there for a minute, gazing out at the state-of-the-art training facilities that contrasted with the backdrop of rolling hills.
They’d be here for a week before flying to Spain, with two more weeks of preparations at the team hotel in Alicante before the first match—against the Netherlands, no less, because why wade into the shallows if you can jump in at the deep end?
Alex stirred first. “All right, let’s go. Don’t want to be late to the first meeting.”
“Whatever happened to fashionably late?” Jeff asked wistfully, but he moved to dig his phone out from under a pile of clothes and was ready to leave by the time Alex had dabbed some toothpaste on his tongue.
They made their way down to the conference room and found several others already there—Oliver, for one, along with Lee, who Alex would have expected to be too cool for an early arrival.
He was lounging in one of the ergonomic chairs that surrounded the long, rectangular table at the center of the room, frowning at something on his phone, cheekbones highlighted in a rather irritating manner by the natural light flooding in through large windows.
When he glanced up, it was just in time to catch Alex looking.
After a curt nod, Alex took more time greeting other players he knew before he made it a point to sit as far away from Lee as possible. Jeff plopped into the chair next to him a moment later.
“If you believe that wall”—Jeff dipped closer to Alex and pointed his chin at what amounted to a framed exhibition of England’s soccer history—“we’ve got a damn impressive track record, eh? Glorious past, glorious future.”
Alex stifled a snort. “You might want to squint a bit. Makes it easier to ignore the date on that one lonely World Cup trophy.”
“Or just sing ‘It’s coming home’ until your brain starts leaking from your ears.”
Somehow, the exchange made Alex feel lighter, taking pressure off his chest that he’d been scarcely aware of.
Jeff was good at that sort of thing. People who didn’t know him tended to see the sharp tongue and miss his loyalty and the protective streak that ran a mile wide, honed by being the oldest brother of three.
The youngest was gay, and Jeff would bite the head off anyone who dared to say a word.
If Alex were to come out to him, Jeff would defend him in exactly the same way.
Which was why Alex hadn’t told him—he didn’t trust Jeff’s sense of discretion to override his impulse to protect and defend.
The other seats around the table had mostly filled up by the time Kieran entered with his light, bouncing walk. “Gentlemen!” he announced. “Lads, fellas, men. Welcome to St George’s Park, and welcome to the team!”
“Ave, Caesar,” Jeff muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Morituri te salutant.”
Alex bit his lip against a smile. Across the length of the conference table, he caught Lee giving him a critical look, presumably judging Alex’s level of dedication and finding it wanting. Screw him.
“In the coming weeks,” Kieran continued brightly, “we will train together, eat together, sleep together.”
Sleep together. Ha. Alex nudged Jeff’s foot, and Jeff nudged him right back.
Kieran executed a pirouette that might have seemed flamboyant on someone a little less…
macho. “We will learn to read each other’s fucking minds so that when we’re on the field, we don’t move as individuals but as a unit.
You are all exceptional athletes—that’s why you’re here.
There’s very little I can teach you in the way of performance in a few scant weeks.
What we will focus on, gentlemen, is strategy, behavior, and attitude. ”
If Kieran had hoped for enthusiastic reactions, he’d have been sorely disappointed. He didn’t seem the type for disappointment, though.
“Any questions?” he asked, and a tentative hand went up. “Yes?”
“How do you define behavior and attitude?” Lewis, one of two goalkeepers that acted as Oliver’s backup, lowered his hand again. Natural twists in his hair added an edge to his clean-shaven look. “Seems like everyone’s got their own versions.”
“Excellent question, keep ’em coming.” Kieran nodded happily.
“Here’s how I see it. Behavior is your direct response to a concrete situation.
How do you react to an opponent baiting you in the heat of the moment?
Attitude is the bigger picture. Your mental disposition, your confidence and self-awareness, your resilience.
Way I see it, you and everyone else around this table—you’re not just star athletes.
You’re people, and my responsibility extends to that. ”
Huh. That was… different. The Liverpool coach routinely asked them to check their daily grievances at the door because no one cared—they were professionals, and they were expected to deliver.
Kieran went on to answer further questions, from logistics and how he would decide on the starting line-up, to whether he planned to emphasize attack or defense, to his rationale for having players share rooms, and visits by partners and family members at the team hotel.
Not really a concern for Alex, that last point—his parents were unlikely to make the trip unless it was for the final and the royal family was in attendance, and his last relationship had fizzled out like a stale bottle of soda some months ago.
So far, he’d resisted Jeff’s attempts at matchmaking.
“That’s it for now, lads!” Kieran clapped his hands. “Take the rest of the day to look around and check in with the fitness staff so we can set you all up with a personalized program. I’ll see you at dinner, and then bright and early tomorrow morning for our first proper training session.”
Murmurs acknowledged Kieran’s statement, then players started filtering out of the room. Alex was among the last to leave with Jeff already some steps ahead, and because Alex’s luck clearly just happened to work that way, he reached the door right as Lee did.
Lee’s mouth twisted into an exaggerated smile as he gestured for Alex to go ahead. “After you.”
“Oh, no, I insist.” Alex planted his feet and smiled back just as obnoxiously. “Age before beauty.” That was a load of shite, of course, because Lee was fucking gorgeous. But if he insisted on calling Alex ‘pretty boy’, the least Alex could do was humor him.
“Backhanded politeness?” Lee’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Impressive. Is that what they teach you at posh-boy school?”
“Yes. Along with the Queen’s English and a strong sense of entitlement.”
“Prat training comes at a price,” Lee said. “Money well spent, I’m sure.”
That was when Alex noticed Kieran right behind them, quietly watching. Oops. Alex molded his smile into something more conciliatory and nodded at Lee, who flicked a glance at Kieran before he smiled back at Alex, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Just kidding,” he said blithely and Christ, he was hot. Shame about the personality.
“Obviously,” Alex agreed, shoving both hands into his pockets. Kieran’s soft snort suggested their performance had been found wanting—there went Alex’s backup plan of a career in theater.
Lee seemed to arrive at the same conclusion because he cleared his throat, hesitated, and then turned to leave with an awkward little shrug of his shoulders. Alex followed suit and hoped that come morning Kieran would have forgotten all about that little moment.
Posted by @AlexanderBeaufort (May 23, 6:19 p.m.):
And so it begins! Such an honor to be part of the national team. We’ll do our best to bring it home! Today’s challenge though - don’t get buried under the mountain-high piles of clothes @TheJeffWhitlock left in our room.
Their first training session started with printed handouts, of all things. And it wasn’t anything to do with soccer strategy either.