Chapter One
Ezra
“Hiya, had a good break?”
I smile at my reflection, tipping my head upwards in greeting.
Tosser. I sigh, bracing my hands on the sink, before straightening my shoulders and fixing a more subdued smile on my face.
My reflection gives me a nod, and I tuck my right hand into the pocket of my trousers.
Yeah, this is better. Casual, relaxed. Not looking like a wanker who’s trying too hard.
“Heya, you alright?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I slam a hand against the counter. “Fuck’s sakes, what is wrong with you?”
I hadn’t seen Ricky in weeks. I thought it’d be easier with the break from each other.
I’d lain on a beach in Miami, told myself that the bullshit in the gossip rags was going to go away, and I’d come back indifferent.
I could face Ricky, easy. Even this morning I’d told myself that coming back to training was going to be a walk in the park.
Now I’m in the locker room bathroom, rehearsing just saying hello to him.
Loser behaviour, you bloomin’ tossbag.
I square my shoulders, smiling brightly at my reflection, lifting my chin in that stupid greeting again. I can do this. It’s no big deal. Easy smile, and a casual greeting. It’s just Ricky bleeding Santos.
“Hey mate, good to see you.”
“Who are you talking to?”
I nearly jump out of my damn skin as Jordan Sumner strolls into the bathroom. My face burns with shame, and I turn around, crossing my arms over my chest with an awkward laugh.
“Nobody, mate, just myself.”
Jordan nods and claps a hand on my shoulder. “I do that too, only way I can save myself an argument.” He gives me a bright smile, brushing a hand through his shoulder-length blond hair. “Had a good summer then?”
“Uh, yeah, went to the US for a bit.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Nice. Did you go to Disney?”
I laugh and rub the back of my neck. “Bit old for that. No, I went to a concert in New York with some friends, and hung there for a bit. Then headed down to Miami. It was nice. No one knows who the fuck I am over there.”
Jordan looks into the mirror and scrapes his hair into a bun at the back of his head. “That must be very welcome.”
I swallow, staring at my shoes. “Yeah, it’s a nice break from reality.” I clear my throat and glance over at him. “You get up to anything exciting?”
“Just went to Morrocco for a couple weeks, cleared my head. Then headed home to Ireland for my mam’s birthday.” He shrugs, giving me a quick side glance. “I guess you saw the headlines over the summer?”
My stomach drops, and overhwhelming shame presses on my shoulders. That fight, that stupid fight between me and Ricky during the final game had dominated every sports channel and paper I’d had the misfortune of laying eyes on. Arlington hadn’t been the winning team - we’d been the brawling team.
“Oh, mate listen, I want you to know, I’m going to rein it in, I promise.” I raise my hands, and Jordan lifts an eyebrow. “I’m not going to let you down. You finished your first season as captain on a win, and I feel like I ruined it for you. I’m really sorry.”
Jordan turns to face me, and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Ezra, calm down. I didn’t want it messing with your head. You know, putting you off for the season.” He raises his eyebrows, his expression becoming earnest. “But if there’s something going on between you and Ricky, I need to know.”
Anxiety raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “Going… on?”
“Yeah.” Jordan nods. “This, I don’t know, this animosity between the two of you. One second you’re laughing at a party, the next you’re trying to decapitate each other on the field. I don’t get it.”
My gaze drops from his, and I nod. “Yeah, I know. It’s weird.” I take a step back from him, folding my arms over my chest. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing to worry about. Just stupid egos I think.”
Jordan’s eyes bore a hole into the top of my head, and I shuffle my toes into the floor before turning and heading into the locker room. He follows me, dropping his kit bag on the bench next to me.
“Ego?” He asks.
“Mhmm.” I nod, opening my own kit bag and retrieving my jersey and shorts. “That’s all. He’s a hot-headed wanker, and I probably am too. That’s all it is.”
Jordan leans a hand against the frame of his locker, his gaze still fixed on the side of my face. “You’re sure?”
“Yep.” I gulp down more words, because Jordan ‘Priest’ Sumner has a terrible way of getting people to tell him everything.
He really would have made a good priest, getting everyone to confess their sins in his confessional on a Sunday.
He’s one of my best mates. I know I could probably tell him anything. I trust him.
But not with this.
The locker room door flies open, laughter and mingled conversation flooding in. I don’t even need to turn around to see his face, I can already hear his laugh, that lyrical accent.
“Hey!” He drawls, and Jordan reaches out to accept a slapped handshake, pulled in swiftly for a hug. “Captain! Good to see you!”
“You too, Ricky.”
An arm is slung across my shoulders, and with a start I turn to look into his face.
Ricky’s slow smile is right there. Big brown eyes in a face of smooth, tanned skin.
“If it isn’t the world’s worst goalie,” he murmurs, before pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Did you miss me?"
I shrug him off with a sharp laugh. “Not fucking likely.”
Ricky slaps a hand to his chest, mouth torn open in mock dismay. “Now that hurt. I am hurt.”
“You’ll get over it,” I grumble, and the others let out awkward laughs.
“You two fight like an old married couple,” Troy Everest chides from across the room, pulling his number 9 jersey on over his head. “Honestly, get a room.”
Ricky gives me a grin, running his tongue over his brilliant white teeth. “Sounds like a plan, what do you say, Ezra?” He flicks his jersey and whips me across the backs of the thighs with it.
“Oi!” I shove him in the chest. “Fuck off, Santos.”
“Or what?” He laughs, throwing his jersey over his shoulder. “You going to try and beat me up again?”
Adedayo groans as throws his shoes into his locker. “More of this? Really?” He looks from me to Ricky with a disapproving look. “We won last season, and what was everyone talking about? Our goalie and defender beating each other up on the field.”
Ricky’s mouth quirks and he shrugs. “I guess we need to play better if we want them to talk about something else.”
Adedayo’s jaw tenses. “That was uncalled for.”
Jordan moves between the two of them, no doubt sensing another round of fisticuffs is about to break out between two of his players. “Alright, enough. Everyone.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Ricky mutters, and Jordan points a finger at him.
“Put a sock in it, Santos.” He shakes his head, and looks around the room.
“Now, we’re going into the season on a win, and I want you all to bloody remember that.
We’re a family, we’re a team, and we’re not going to let all this gossip and speculation wear us down.
We did that, we won the last season, together.
” He looks at Ricky and me with raised eyebrows.
“Together, yeah? Egos stay at home. Here, and on that field, we’re brothers. ”
“Yes, captain.” Ricky pulls me against his side with an arm wrapped around my shoulders. “We are the best of friends, promise.” He looks at me with a warm smile. “Even if he can’t stop a ball to save himself.”
With a growl I shove Ricky away from me. “Go fuck yourself, Santos.”
“Ey, what’s this then?”
The room falls silent as Dominic Graves strides into the locker room.
He was intimidating before, when he was just the owner.
Now he’s our manager, and being up close to this giant of a man and Premier League legend, I feel so fucking small and stupid.
I dip my head, not wanting to see that critical gaze cast in my direction.
“Sorry, sir,” I mumble.
“Dominic,” he barks. “I told you this before, enough of the sir bullshit. Now.” He moves to the centre of the room, and all I can see is his shoes and bottoms of his black trousers as my eyes stay firmly fixed on the floor.
“We are not starting this season with arguments, do I make myself clear? You’re all meant to be happy and rested, and I walk in here to you all squabbling like a pack of geese? ”
“It’s them two,” Everest protests, and I throw him a poisonous glance through narrowed eyes. “Bickering and squabbling like George and bloody Mildred.”
“Who’s that?” Nath Sutton, our youngest and newest recruit, asks, and Ricky chuckles behind his hand.
Everest opens his mouth to explain, but Dominic throws up a hand for silence.
“Enough!” He roars. “I need your heads in the game, lads. Our first match is against Man City, and they’ve recruited de Maris. We have our work cut out for us, so you will all be on your best behaviour.” His meaningful look lands on me and Ricky. “All of you, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Ricky and I say at the same time, and I wish the ground would swallow me up.
“Good. Now get yourselves ready and up on that field.” Dominic leaves the locker room, his hulking figure barely clearing the top of the door frame.
With a sigh, I turn back to my locker, pulling my trainers from the bottom of my kit bag.
“Guess we’ll have to save getting that room for later,” Ricky murmurs next to me with a snicker, digging me in the ribs with his elbow.
I choke on my own spit like a fucking eejit. Ricky just chuckles louder.
It’s going to be a long fucking season.