Chapter Thirty
This year was going to be Georgia's year.
The pub on Christmas day had ended a little awkwardly, but Georgia had taken Crumpet a belated Christmas present of sardines and stayed at Erin's right up until the thirtieth.
She wanted to stay longer, to maybe never leave their bubble, but they both had pre-existing New Year's Eve plans.
Erin had an AirBnB booked with her friends from the fireworks, and Georgia had promised to go with Rachel to see a terrible band at a dingy pub in Cardiff.
They'd parted reluctantly, kissing by the front door, a cold draft nipping at their feet. Her waterproof winter coat had crinkled in Erin's fists as she'd tugged Georgia closer, laughing into the kiss when Georgia's hood nearly swallowed both of them.
"Romantic," Erin said against her mouth. "Just you, me, and the world's loudest ski coat."
"Don't mock it," Georgia murmured, pressing in again. "Baby, it's cold outside."
Erin hummed, pretending to consider this, before pulling Georgia back in by the lapels.
The next kiss was the kind that made Georgia forget that she really should be going, before tonight becomes tomorrow.
She felt Erin's hands slide up beneath the coat, beneath her jumper, fingertips cold against her skin.
And then Georgia shifted closer, shifted her weight just so, and Erin gasped.
"Oh," Erin breathed, eyebrows lifting. "That's…"
"Oh?" Georgia attempted to lift her own brows, faux-innocent, and moved her knee again.
Erin's head thunked against the plaster behind her. Her breath caught, laughter breaking through between gasps. "You can't just… weaponise your height against me. Weaponise your…" She gasped loudly, her hands crinkling the coat again. "Your thighs."
"Want me to stop?"
Erin bit her lip, pretending to think it over even as she ground down against the pressure. She shook her head. "That would be a bad start to the year, I think."
Georgia's laugh melted into another kiss. Erin made a quiet, helpless sound, and for a few minutes the only thing that existed was warmth and movement and the creak of the wooden floorboards.
When they finally broke apart, both a little flushed, Erin tucked her face into Georgia's shoulder, still smiling.
"Happy almost New Year," she murmured.
"Happy almost," Georgia whispered back, brushing her thumb over Erin's cheek. "You know, I think this year's going to be a good one."
In fact, Georgia didn't just think it was going to be her year.
Georgia was sure of it.
Right up until the Wyverns kicked the ball into touch for their first match in the first week of January, and the final whistle blew.
Westcliffe had lost.
They’d been neck and neck for the whole match, right until a last-minute turnover and a touch of absolute brilliance from the Wyvern’s winger, dodging at least three defenders and diving over the try line right in the corner.
The crowd didn’t scatter in the way they’d done at the start of the season. They hung around the pitch side rails, hoping for autographs and a picture of their favourites close up. A few kids waved flags.
Georgia didn’t mind losing to that kind of play.
Well. Maybe that was going too far. She didn’t like any loss, after all. And it would have been better for her reputation as captain to start the new year on a high. But it was so far above the lows the team had faced earlier in the season that she could be… okay with the score line.
She hoped Maggie would feel the same. Talk a big game, she’d said, and you must play one, too.
Georgia could see the positives, both on and off the pitch.
They’d stuck to the game plan, been disciplined, been strategic.
The team played as a unit; Georgia had let them, hadn’t tried to control every play, every pass.
She’d trusted them, and it almost worked.
They’d just been outstepped at the last moment.
It boded well for the rest of the season.
Someone shouted her name and when she turned, she spotted a couple of girls in replica Westcliffe kits, all pink cheeks and big grins. She recognised one of them as one of the Redford girls and, as Georgia jogged over, the girl squealed with joy as she approached.
“Told you I knew her,” the squealer said breathlessly to her friend.
“You’re Georgia Hotchkiss,” the friend said, wide eyed, like this was brand new information.
Georgia leant on the railing. “Last time I checked.”
“You’re so cool,” the friend said, as though she couldn’t quite believe who she was talking to. “Would you sign my programme?”
She thrust the paper booklet and a black sharpie under Georgia’s nose, hands shaking. Georgia took them both, scrawling her name underneath the picture of herself on the cover.
“Here,” she said, handing it back. “Enjoy the game?”
The girls burst into a rapid-fire summary of the game. They’d noted apparently every tackle she made, how many metres she’d run. Maggie ought to employ them as analysts.
Behind them, arms folded, was the mother who’d assumed Georgia was Erin’s new girl. Georgia caught her gaze, her mouth twitching into a smile. How awkward it had been - and how right, ultimately, she turned out to be.
She said goodbye to the girls, and jogged towards the tunnel and the locker rooms, ignoring the calls from the gathering reporters, cameras and microphones ready to catch her next viral blunder.
Caroline hovered near the gaggle of journalists, ready to divert her from another press disaster.
As Georgia passed, she gave her a short nod of recognition.
Perhaps the worst of the fallout was behind her.
As Georgia pulled her phone from her locker to find a message from Erin promising to collect her from the staff carpark, she felt steady. She took a deep breath, typing out her reply, letting the girls chatter around her.
By the time she’d changed and dried her hair, curling it into short ringlets, the stadium was almost empty.
The buzz of the crowd hummed in the distance as people made their way through residential streets towards the train station and the park and ride buses.
The bins overflowed with stacks of plastic pint glasses and polystyrene food trays, and the ground staff were busy sweeping up behind the departing fans.
Georgia tugged her bag higher onto her shoulder and slipped out of the staff entrance behind Kamsi and Jess, hoping for a quiet exit without any media following her.
The photographers liked to hang around the players’ door, hoping for an off-the-record comment, or a quick candid of the heroes or villains of the match.
Erin sent a picture of her parked car, and Georgia was ready to slink away, head home and sink into the sofa together. She didn’t even make it halfway to the carpark before all her plans disappeared into the cold air like smoke.
Matt stepped out from the shadows by the bike rack, blocking her path. His arms were folded, and the set of his face said this wasn’t going to be a friendly reunion.
“Oh,” Georgia said, stopping in her tracks. “Hi.”
Kamsi and Jess slowed to a halt alongside her, glancing between her and Matt and each other. Kamsi squared her shoulders and Jess’ mouth opened as though she was going to say something, but Georgia waved them on.
“I’m fine,” she promised them. “See you soon.”
“That’s all I get?” Matt asked once they were out of hearing. “No ‘hey Matt, thanks for coming to the game’? No gushing social media post about how great I am, what an inspiration to the next generation?”
Other than the brooding expression, he looked just as good as he’d had at Tam’s wedding.
He wore a smart wool coat, a pair of light blue jeans, and big tan boots.
His hair flopped over his forehead just right, the fading afternoon sun sparking coppery highlights.
He looked every inch the ideal rugby boyfriend.
Georgia’s stomach twisted. “You didn’t come for the game.”
He waved a torn-off ticket stub at her. “Course I did. Bought the tickets as a surprise, as a fucking show of support, back when I thought, you know, you’d want that.”
Georgia shifted. She had wanted it, once. Now she wished he’d sold them. Taken the hit and not turned up.
Matt rubbed his face. “Look, I’ve been trying to text you for weeks. For, like, more than a month.”
“I know,” she said, dropping the bag off her shoulder onto the ground at her feet.
“And you didn’t reply. You didn’t pick up, didn’t message me back.”
Over in the carpark, spotlit by one of the streetlamps, a man stood by one of the press vans. It was hard to tell in the semi-darkness, but Georgia thought he was turned in their direction.
“Matt,” she started, “can we, maybe…”
“No,” he stopped her, took a step closer. His voice was getting louder. “You’ve said your bit, very clearly. Now you will listen to me.”
The man by the van was definitely watching. He might even be close enough to hear them. This was not where Georgia wanted to have this conversation. This was not where Caroline would want her to have this conversation.
“I know, and I will, but can we…” She gestured over her shoulder, back in the direction of the stadium. She could take him back inside, face this long overdue confrontation in the privacy of the team-only areas.
Matt took a step backwards. She had underestimated how hurt he was, how angry still. “You fucking humiliated me on national TV, Georgia, and then you ghost me like I don’t even exist.”
Georgia rubbed her temples, hard. Somehow, she didn’t think this was the segue into the apology she’d hoped for.
Her practiced calmness was evaporating fast. The month of space, of Erin, of happiness, had started to close the wound of his comments. But having him here in front of her, blaming her for the whole mess, was starting to rip it open again.
“Who the fuck does that?” Matt was practically shouting now. “Who treats someone like that?”
Oh, that was it. The final straw. She didn’t care about the press watching them, about Caroline’s blandness. She was allowed to have feelings. “And what prompted me to act like that, do you think?”
Matt’s jaw tensed. “Is this about the pub? Ollie said you’d got your knickers in a twist over something or other. A joke.”
“A joke?”
Her voice had gone deadly calm, in a way even Maggie would be proud of.
“Oh, come on, Hotch,” he said, dragging his hand over his face. “I was with the lads, it was just banter. You know how it is.”
“I don’t know, actually. I really don’t. Because I’ve never told a room full of people that someone I apparently care about is shit at their job just to get a laugh.”
His expression faltered, the beam of approaching headlights throwing strange shadows across his features. “You’re blowing it out of proportion-”
“I’m not,” Georgia snapped. “You said it, and I heard you. You said that I, a professional, could never be as good as you or your sluggy mates simply because I’m a woman and you’re all guys. Well, you can go fuck yourself. I am better at rugby than you, and I can do than better than you, too.”
The car stopped, Georgia and Matt caught in its headlights, and the driver’s door opened. Erin stepped out, one foot still in the footwell, her hand on the door. “You okay, babe?”
Matt looked genuinely surprised now. “Is that what this is? You’d rather shack up with this uptight, sanctimonious…”
“Don’t,” Georgia warned. “Just don’t.”
The silence between them crackled.
“Okay,” he said eventually. “I guess that’s that then.”
“I guess it is.”