Chapter 7 Tieran #2
One metre away, and I dive for the line, extending my arm and the hand holding the ball as far as it will go—right as Stamwell clamps onto my calves, dragging me back.
We hit the ground with a resounding thud that echoes throughout my body, sending pain splintering up my torso, the ball never leaving my hand.
But when I look up, it’s to find it two inches away from the in-goal, and no time left on the clock.
I failed.
Stamwell lifts himself off me, jogging backward as he salutes. Sitting up, I rest my arms on my knees for a moment before Cav helps me up and claps his hand on my shoulder in solidarity.
“It’s alright; it’s just the first match.” He’s always so level headed; nothing fazes him, and I envy his ability to self-regulate his nervous system.
I walk off the pitch, toward the tunnel and all the post-game interviews I’m about to endure, and the people who were once faceless now burst into crystal clear view.
A mix of anger and disappointment lines each and every one of their faces as they watch me walk past, shame making it unbearable to look any of them in the eyes.
An hour later, after soul crushing press interrogations and a debrief from Ballard, I’m standing in the showers, letting scalding hot water beat down my back and give me second degree burns.
Absent-mindedly, I note that the pressure coming out of the pipes has significantly improved—Jade’s doing, if I had to guess. She’s left no stone unturned.
“You coming to the pub, Cap?”
I glance back to see a couple of the younger guys gathered, all dressed for a night out. Envy roils through me, hotter than the water pelting down on me at their ability to shake off the night’s loss so easily.
“Nah, I gotta get home.” They almost look disappointed, though I can’t imagine why after our defeat. I quickly add, “Next time, though.” I wouldn’t next time either. I’m not good company after a loss, last year proved that.
After I finish washing up and change into fresh clothes, I head out of the locker room and toward the staff car park.
But I never make it there. Of their own accord, my legs carry me until I find myself back on the center of the pitch.
The stadium lights are blindingly bright, a stark contrast against the empty, quiet stands.
Despite the lack of noise around me, all I can hear is the collective disappointment that ran through the crowd sitting in these seats when the final whistle was blown.
My heart races, my head spins, my knees bend until I plop down in the middle of the field as the night grows darker by the minute, trying and failing to calm my racing mind. I drop my head between my legs.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
“You know you won’t get overtime pay for moping on the pitch after hours.” I nearly jump out of my skin, having not heard her walk up.
“It’s alarming, how quiet you are,” I grumble.
“My father taught me to never let them see you coming.”
I huff, plucking blades of grass out of the turf, thinking she’s succeeded, because I’ve never once seen her coming. Well—no, not going there.
Subtly looking her over, I take in her game day outfit of beige plaid dress trousers accented with a sleek belt and a white button down.
She has simple gold hoops looped through her ears and black stilettos dangling from her hands.
That shocking realisation causes me to look down at her bare feet, painted a delicate robin's egg blue. It’s oddly endearing, that little spot of colour when she only ever wears neutrals, as if that’s the only spot on her body where she allows herself to let loose—somewhere no one will see.
The juxtaposition of that fact makes something in my chest tighten.
“What are you doing out here, Tieran?” she asks, not gently—never gently with her.
“I don’t know, to be honest. Just sort of wound up here.” It’s not a lie but it’s not the full truth either.
“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Other than the global warming crisis?” Jade levels me with a glare, and a frown marring her full lovely mouth. I paste on a smile, glancing up at where she’s standing above me.
“I can’t help if you won’t be honest with me. How can I make this team a success—you, a success—if I don’t know the issue?”
“Are you always this serious? I’m concerned for your blood pressure, boss.” My smile grows wider, and I lean back on the palms of my hands. Her gaze flits down to my mouth briefly, brow furrowing, before it shifts and settles on a spot off to the side of it.
She looks me square in the eyes, that spot of blue surrounded by deep topaz holding me in its snare. “The loss wasn’t your fault. It was the first game back; it could have been anyone's match. We’ll review the footage and adjust our strategies accordingly.”
Maybe she’s right, but my brain can’t catch up to what she’s saying, and I don’t like that she’s reading me so easily. All I do is nod in response.
“You really won’t talk to me?”
“I’ll talk to you about what I want to talk to you about,” I say, wanting the topic to be off me and my failures.
“And what’s that?” She crosses her arms over her chest, and I try my best to keep my gaze from wandering to the open neckline of her blouse.
I lift a brow and suck my lower lip between my teeth in answer.
“No.”
Back to one word answers, I see.
“Because we can’t talk about what never happened, right?” I hold her stare in challenge.
“Right.”
I sit upright, and my hand falls so my finger grazes her foot. She jolts at the infinitesimal touch as if on fire, before she steps back. "Well, if you decide to pull your head out of your ass long enough to talk to me about what’s bothering you, I have an open door.” She turns to walk away.
“That sounded like an HR violation,” I call after her.
“Then call them and complain.” She shoots over her shoulder. I don’t think I'm imagining the slight curve at the corners of her mouth.
As she walks away, I allow myself to look my fill, imagining the extra sway in her hips is for my benefit. And for the first time since I stepped into Knightsbridge today, the small smile on my face isn’t forced.