Chapter 25
The day is grim, rain chucking it down all practice, but Ballard refuses to let up.
The pitch is muck under my boots, and grime coats my entire body from running drills back and forth through sodden grass as my feet tear up the field, flinging mud onto my skin.
It’s miserable conditions, but matches aren’t exempt from bad weather, and neither is practice.
Yet, despite the piss poor weather, I’ve felt lighter on my feet today than I have in months.
My head is clear, and the constant noise and droning has eased to no more than a whisper.
It’s been bliss. The quiet, calm surety I feel after my weekend with Jade left me with a new perspective.
If she can believe in me that much, why shouldn’t I?
I’m the one who’s put in countless days becoming the best at my position.
I’ve been here the whole time as I fought to earn my spot.
It’s about time I remember that and start acting accordingly.
The guys have been looking at me like I’ve sprouted another head with the obvious shift in my playing, but no one dares to speak of it and risk jinxing everything.
Can’t say I blame them either; I’ve been holding my breath all day waiting for a slip up, something, anything that takes me right back to the shite poor excuse of a player I’ve been for months.
It never comes.
We practice for hours, and with every drill, every practice play, I feel like I’m coming back to myself. For the first time all season, the calls I make are the right ones, and I’m anticipating how the offensive players are going to move correctly.
Liberation hums through me, but once practice is over, the doubt starts to creep back in. We have a home match in just a few days. What will happen when I step out under the stadium lights to the sounds of a raucous crowd? Will I fly or fall?
Stop trying to move the mountain and climb it.
Jade’s words have drifted across my mind almost as much as she does since our night at my place.
Every time her voice, raspy and melodic, floats in, it feels like a balm to my anxious mind.
Her laugh, each biting remark, the soft sighs she makes—all of it feels like the answer to a question I’ve been asking myself for years, a final puzzle piece slotted into place.
A large hand claps my shoulder and nudges me forward as Cavan falls into step beside me on the walk back to the tunnels. “Good practice day.”
Cavan Darcey has always been a man of few words, but the ones he chooses always hold weight.
He measures them—their meanings—and speaks with intention.
That can be either terrifying or comforting, depending on what he says.
His quiet nature is a by-product of his childhood spent in the foster system, but despite his unstable upbringing, he’s always been a solid rock at my side.
I nod in his direction, not feeling the need to fill the quiet with words.
We walk together to the locker room, where Coach stands, hands on his hips, everyone around him clenching their arseholes tight with anticipation.
The serious look on Ballard’s face makes me want to hide instead of joining the fray like we are.
“I’ve heard rumours from other clubs that scouts have been seen at matches.” A rumbling from half the team builds in the pregnant silence permeating the air. “Settle down,” Coach chastises.
“Do you know if they’re coming to any of ours?” Amari asks from the back of the huddle.
“No, they don’t give out their schedules to avoid any attempts at any potential bribery or match fixing.
” He levels a glare at each of us, but it feels even heavier when it lands on me.
“It goes without saying that you should be playing to the best of your ability at every match, but if you want to be considered for the National Team, there can be no mistakes in the coming events. Do whatever the fuck you need to do to stay focused, and don’t embarrass me. ”
“It’s like a warm hug,” Myles whispers next to me, making me snort.
“I’m not taking the piss. Your futures are riding on impressing these scouts.
” He pointedly looks at me, face stoic, and I sober immediately.
“Today was an improvement, but that needs to extend beyond the practice field. Keep your game sharp and your name out of the tabloids. The blokes watching are a conservative bunch, and they don’t like their players being liabilities.
No drama on or off the pitch, you hear?” He looks around at everyone nodding their agreement—all but Davies, who’s rolling his eyes and scratching his balls until Cavan slaps him on the back of the head.
When Coach Ballard leaves, the rest of the players split off, some leaving to go home and some heading to the showers.
I take a seat on the bench in front of my cabinet, Cavan to my left and Myles settling in on the seat opposite.
I’m unlacing my boots, feet sore, when Cav speaks. “How’s your mum, Myles?” His voice is soft, so at odds with his gruff exterior.
Our friend hangs his head low, the stress visibly weighing on his shoulders. “The tests we’ve done so far have been inconclusive, but,” he pauses, and anxiety builds in my chest, “one doctor mentioned cancer.”
“Fuck,” I say, at a loss for words. “How is Candice handling that?”
“She’s carrying on as if we didn’t just have a two ton possibility dropped on our shoulders.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I know it’s because she’s trying not to worry the kids, but I can’t be the only one freaking out.”
“Just one mentioned it could be cancer? Did they say what kind?” Cavan asks.
“No, but she’s due for more tests this week, and it should give us a better idea if it is or not.”
“What can we do?” I feel helpless, thinking about how Myles must be feeling in comparison, knowing he’s carrying the emotional and financial weight so his mum and siblings don’t have to.
“Nothing. It’s a waiting game, honestly. Aanya and I are going up to Manchester later this week to help.”
My eyebrows raise into my hairline. “Oh? Already taking the missus to meet the family?”
The soft smile that lights up my friend's face is positively smitten. “She’s already met them, actually,” he admits.
“Really?” Cavan asks, also clearly surprised. We’ve both known Myles for a long time and have never known him to take a girl home to meet his family. “So it’s serious?”
“I’m going to marry her.” He says the statement with his whole chest, not an ounce of hesitation or trace of uncertainty. “I knew the second I laid eyes on her. Everything else melted away. She’s it for me.”
His words have amber eyes, one with a fire bright spot of blue, coming to the forefront of my mind. The way he’s describing how he felt meeting Aanya is the way I felt when I first saw Jade, and a lump forms in my throat.
Fuck, I want to see her.
I miss her with a fierce, persistent ache in my chest. That ache makes me feel a little crazy, though.
How can I miss someone so much when I only just saw her the day before?
When we had only just sort of accepted what we are to each other?
I never felt this way with Olivia, and I was with her for a year.
As if my longing conjured her, a text from Jade lights up my phone.
Hellfire
I booked us an activity this time.
It’s for Sunday. Are you busy?
I had dinner with the family in the evening, but I would blow it off if it meant getting to spend time with her again, especially since this time, she’s the one initiating the date. She’s choosing this. She’s choosing us.
Tieran
I’ve got a couples massage with Mrs. Cline, but I think I can get her to agree to a throuple situation if you’re up for it.
Hellfire
You know damn well she wouldn’t let me through the door.
I’ll butter her up.
She’ll carve me up like a Thanksgiving turkey with the butterknife. She did not like me.
Only because she saw you as a threat.
A threat?
She could tell you wanted me.
Oh could she? Was that before or after I almost stabbed you with a crochet hook?
A crime of passion, to be sure.
Whatever you need to tell yourself.
“What are you smiling at?” Myles' question brings me back to the present.
“Nothing,” I say, placing my phone face down on the bench.
“Oh? So it wasn’t a certain brunette who asked my girlfriend for your address a few weeks ago?”
“Is that how she got it?” The question is an admission, and I realise I basically just confessed to two other players that there is something going on between me and our boss. I glance sidelong at Cavan to gauge his reaction, sure he’ll be reasonable and tell me it's a bad idea.
Instead, he’s smiling softly to himself. “Did you know too?” I ask.
“You look for her during matches, you know,” he says plainly. “It’s like knowing she’s there grounds you.”
Fuck. The fact that he noticed isn’t good. It means someone else could too, and Jade definitely wants to keep this thing between us quiet. “Is it obvious? I mean, obviously, this isn’t something we wan—” He cuts me off.
“Don’t worry. It’s just because I know you so well.” Something else passes over my friend's face, something that looks suspiciously like longing, but I don’t have the chance to ask him about it. Two seconds later, a harried Lottie is bursting through the door to the men’s locker room.
Her eyes are red rimmed and puffy, mascara smeared down her face.
Cavan bursts up out of his seat, taking two steps toward her before he stops, growling low under his breath, “Give me a name.”
I get up, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Settle down, Rambo.” Moving past Cavan, I step toward my sister. “What happened, Charlie?”
One of our stadium security guards launches through the door. “Miss! You cannot come in here. I’m calling the police if you don’t follow me off the premises.”
“It’s okay, Reginald. She’s Tieran’s sister; we’ll handle it,” Myles says. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“Are you okay?” I ask my sister.
“Li—” A shuddering breath expels from her throat, and my chest constricts with worry. “Liam broke up with me.” Another tear falls down her cheek, and behind me, I hear Cavan shifting in place.
“Did he hurt you?” More sobs. “Charlie, please answer me.”
“No, he didn’t hurt me physically.” Some of the tension leeches out of the room.
“Did he say something to you?” The growl of Cavan’s voice asking the question sets my teeth on edge.
Lottie looks at him for a beat longer than necessary and nods in reply.
“He said—” she starts but breaks off when some of the guys come back from the showers, towels slung low on their hips.
Lottie looks around, eyes red and swollen as they widen in horror. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I just barged in here like this and made an absolute arse of myself.”
“You did not,” I rush to console her.
“I did. This is what he was talking about. This is exactly why he broke up with me. I’m so—”
I’m about to ask her to elaborate when Connor walks into the room, face morphing from surprise to cocksure delight upon seeing my sister.
“Aye, if you wanted me naked, Tinkerbell, all you had to do was ask.” Lottie rolls her eyes, not responding, but he doesn’t let up. “I still have a few tricks up my towel I could show you.”
Connor goes to swing his arm around Lottie’s shoulders, but Cavan steps forward, grabbing hold of his wrist. “If you want to have a working wrist to play with, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”
“Why don’t you let her decide what she wants, old man?”
“Fuck off, Davies. No one on the team is dating my baby sister.” It’s my one effort to get him to bow out before I have to escalate the situation.
“Who said anything about dating?” the little shite says.
Both Cavan and I take a step forward before Lottie spins on Connor and lands a swift punch to his crotch. “Memorize that feeling, because that’s the only time I’m touching your willy.”
“You bi—”
“I suggest you don’t finish that sentence,” Myles advises before Connor hobbles off, bent over at the waist, writhing in pain.
“I’m sorry I caused a scene. I’m going to go now—nurse my wounded pride with an entire packet of Jaffa Cakes, and rewatch Gossip Girl.”
“Do you want me to keep you company?”
“No, I think I need to be alone.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry. I had a teeny tiny meltdown and came here cause I knew you’d be getting out of practice, and my friends are still in class. I’m fine… I’ll be fine. Promise.”
She puts on a brave smile I think is more to convince her that she’s alright instead of me. A family trait, apparently. Even still, my stomach churns when she pops up on her toes to kiss my cheek before skipping away without another word.
Cavan’s body leans toward her retreating form, a concerned furrow to his brow. I want to ask him about it, but Myles pipes in, voicing the thought on all our minds.
“We might need to pay a special visit to the university.”
I snort out my agreement. If my game play or relationship with Jade isn’t the thing to get me barred from consideration for the National Team, a smug professor might be if I ever find out what exactly he said to my younger sister.