Chapter 10
Ethan
My decision to leave Beckford weighs heavily on me, and I have no idea why.
With my failed marriage, and my son moving on with his life in Blue Haven, there’s nothing keeping me here.
But as I sit in my office on Wednesday morning staring at my laptop, something holds me back from sending my notice of resignation.
I glance at my phone, lying face down on my desk, silently taunting me for being a coward. Is this what’s holding me back? Some kind of mid-life crisis fling with a younger woman. It’s crazy. I don’t owe her anything. We don’t even know each other.
Leaning back in my chair, I run a hand over my face. Sure, the release was intense, and I can’t deny how hard it got me watching her play her body like the little devil she is. But there’s no future in this—for either of us.
With a groan, I straighten and press the send button before I can change my mind. The little swoosh sound of the email leaving my inbox causes my stomach to swoop.
A knock on my door is the perfect distraction, and I call out for whoever it is to enter.
“Hey, Coach.” Luca pokes his head through the door. “Got a second?”
I nod, closing my laptop and motioning to the chair in front of my desk. With a solemn expression, he strides into my office and takes a seat across from me. Despite knowing he has no idea what I just did, my chest tightens at the concern in his eyes. “What’s up?”
He drops his gaze and rubs the back of his neck, heightening my sense of paranoia. My chest tightens as I wait for him to speak.
“I’m worried about Peters.”
The words hang heavy in the air, and I frown, trying to pinpoint why Luca might be concerned for our keeper. Nothing seemed off with him at training yesterday, and Andy hasn’t mentioned anything. “What’s wrong with Peters?”
Luca grimaces. “He wasn’t in class today, so I went past his dorm to drop off some notes for our upcoming assignment, and he was icing his shoulder.”
“Right,” I say slowly. This isn’t great news, especially with the game against BHU this weekend. I need all my players to be in top physical condition.
“What are we going to do, Coach?” Luca presses. “With all due respect, I’m not losing to Dyl. Your pansy-arse son would never let us live it down.”
I huff a laugh. Luca and Dylan have had a friendly rivalry since playing together in high school. While my son is a good player, Whitford has the determination and dedication to be the best he can be. He pushes himself harder, and goes above and beyond with his training to become elite.
“I’ll check in with him.”
“Do you want me to work with Kincaid just in case? I can spend a few hours with him this afternoon at the stadium.”
Pride washes over me at the young man sitting in front of me.
In the ten years I’ve known him, he’s never let anything get in the way of his team being the best they can.
When Dylan was struggling with his first touch back when they were thirteen, Luca spent hours passing the ball with him in the backyard until he improved.
No matter how much Dylan complained about it, his competitive nature, which he inherited from yours truly, made him want to prove to Luca that he could do it.
My son was determined to be better than his teammates, but unfortunately, he was too selfish to be the best. Dylan was too focused on scoring the most goals, but what he didn’t think about was his teammates, who were loading him up with assists.
The one thing he never truly grasped was that there’s no ‘I’ in team.
I grab my stadium keys and toss them to Luca. “I’ll check on Peters at training tomorrow, but it will be good to have Kincaid ready just in case.”
“Thanks, Coach.” He gives me a sharp nod.
He understands why I’m leaving it overnight.
If I go to see him tonight, it’ll be obvious Luca ratted him out.
I can’t have my players losing trust in each other before a big game.
By waiting until tomorrow, it gives Peters some time to rest his shoulder, and then we can really assess the impact of the injury by the way he moves.
If he’s favouring it, he’s out. I won’t risk my players for the sake of winning a game.
“Whitford?” I call as he gets up to leave.
He raises a brow, hovering in the doorway.
“You’re a really good leader. Well done for bringing this to my attention.”
He fights a grin, instead offering me another curt nod before leaving.
I expect to feel guilty over my resignation, but with my notice, I said I’ll stay on until the end of the trimester, which is three months away.
The season finishes in six weeks, and we’re on track to win the Championship.
Luca has given so much to this team over the past four years, and I don’t want to let him down.
If we beat BHU, we should be top of the ladder, and based on the draw, if things keep going our way, we should maintain that spot.
My phone vibrates, and my heart races as I pick it up. I’m hit with a rush of disappointment when I see Vanessa’s name on the screen. Not in the mood to deal with whatever her problem is this week, I silence it. I’m sure it has something to do with the game against BHU this weekend.
Almost immediately after the call rings out, my office phone rings, and I eye it warily.
With a heavy sigh, I pick it up.
“Ethan Rourke,” I say, bracing myself for the grating sound of my ex-wife’s voice.
To my surprise, a familiar man’s voice replies, “Ethan, Felix Sampson. How are you?”
My wide eyes shoot to the door Luca exited only moments ago, and I sit straighter in my chair. “Good mate. I’m good. How can I help?”
Luca’s manager chuckles. “I’m afraid I’m about to steal your best player and captain away from you.”
I grin, knowing this moment had been coming for a while. “Where’s he off to?”
There’s a pause. “Middlesborough.”
“The Middlesborough?” I ask, unable to hide the awe in my tone.
“The Middlesborough,” he confirms. “Our boy’s off to the big leagues.”
“Holy shit, that’s fucking incredible. When do they want him?”
“Next week. They’re impressed with what they’ve seen so far, and Gerard Lombalia just tore his Achilles. They have a replacement, but he’s not quite up to scratch. The game against BHU will be his last.”
“Yeah, of course. Good on him. He’s just left my office. I assume he doesn’t know?”
“I plan on telling him after the game on Friday night. No point in putting him off.”
“Appreciate that,” I say with a laugh.
“I’ll see you Friday night. Good luck, mate.”
“Cheers. See you Friday.”
One of my players is heading off to the Championship League in Europe.
While I’d love to take some of the credit, Whitford got here through his own hard work and dedication.
He’s been a good leader for the team, both on and off the field, and we’ll miss him, but thanks to his selflessness, one of our reserve left wings will be ready to step into his place.
That’s the type of player Middlesborough will be getting.
Sharp wind bites across the pitch as the boys run through warm-up before training.
I stick my hands in my jacket pocket, steeling myself against the cold.
Peters and Kincaid are in the box, and I watch with a keen eye as Peters reaches up to grab the crossbar.
When he drops his arms, he loosens his shoulders.
It’s not obvious unless you’re looking closely, but he’s definitely favouring his left side.
“Keep a close eye on Peters,” I tell Andy as he blows his whistle for the boys to come in.
He doesn’t ask questions, just gives me a sharp nod. “Set-piece drills?”
“Let’s run some corners,” I confirm, running my thumb over my bottom lip.
Andy relays my instructions to the players, and they set up for the drill.
Luca blasts the first one in on the whistle, and while West’s timing is perfect, Peters reads the ball well.
His footwork is solid, there’s no hesitation, and he stretches out to the right side. He has no problem saving the shot.
The next ball goes high, and there’s definitely tension in his body as he prepares to lunge, like he’s bracing for something. He grimaces as the ball deflects off his right glove.
Luca frowns and catches my eye.
I’m about to make the call for Kincaid to step in so I can chat to Peters when it happens.
Without waiting for the whistle, Walters takes a corner from the left, curving the ball on the outside.
It’s like the ball moves in slow motion as it sails towards the box.
West moves in for the header and drives the ball low and to the right.
Peters dives with textbook extension, getting fingertips to it.
Then he lands, hitting the ground hard, shoulder first, his full weight slamming into the turf. He doesn’t get up.
I’m already moving towards him, my heart hammering in my chest. This is bad.
The players give us space, and Andy’s hot on my heels as I reach our keeper. Mitch is on his side, teeth gritted as he cradles his right arm. The pain is etched deep on his face.
“Talk to me, mate. What is it?” I crouch beside him, keeping my voice calm while my gut twists.
“Shoulder,” he grinds out. “Popped… or worse. I heard something.”
Shit.
Andy’s already on the phone to the team’s physio.
I shoot Mitch a look. “Why didn’t you tell me you were carrying an injury?”
He says nothing, groaning in pain as he tries to sit up.
Andy and I help him, bracing him so he doesn’t fall back and do more damage. I clench my jaw, biting back my lecture. It won’t do him any good now. This isn’t just a niggle anymore; this is out for weeks, maybe longer.
When the physio arrives, she and Andy help Peters off the pitch, his arm locked tight against his chest. The rest of the players gather around me, their faces solemn, each of them understanding the gravity of the situation.
“Right, boys,” I say, clearing my throat.
“There’s nothing we can do for Peters now, but he’s in good hands.
We still need to focus on tomorrow’s game and be ready to go out there and win for him.
Kincaid”—the terror on the kid’s face as he looks at me is unsettling, but I have faith in my players—“jump in the box. Let’s see what you’ve got. ”
I don’t miss the thunderous expression on Noah Bentley’s face as he mutters something under his breath, but I can’t focus on my centre back’s attitude right now.
I need to make sure our reserve keeper is ready for the game tomorrow.
Dylan and his teammates will look to exploit any weaknesses in our defence.
It’s my job to make sure there are none.