I see some heads start to swivel in our direction, so I slip my arm around Ophelia's waist and gently tug her toward me. Somehow, she fits me perfectly, like my favorite cleats.
Good news travels fast apparently, and the only thing that could upstage my being here in the first place is the fact that we're here on our wedding night. It's as if the cocktail party to celebrate the Buzzards has become our personal reception.
This is not good.
I can see the ire forming on several faces. Not a good start. Not at all. "Buggers." I lean down and whisper into Ophelia's ear. Again. "We've got to do some damage control. I'm not the sort of wanker to come in and nab the attention. This night is supposed to be about the Buzzards and their successful season, as well as their playoff bid."
She nods, "Got it."
I want to kick myself. Showing up here with Ophelia was a stupid move. It's just going to draw attention that I don't want or need.
It's so much easier just to play the game and train and only focus on being an athlete. All of this other stuff is too complicated. For the briefest of moments, I look around this posh room, filled with talent and money and opulence, and wish for a dirty old barn filled with crotchety birds. Life there certainly is much more simple.
And it's good, honest work, saving owls and hawks and the like.
And while yes, you get bit and covered in shit, at least it's in the literal way and not the figurative way that this life I'm currently in seems to do.
"Xavier, are you okay? You don't look too good right now."
I glance down to see Ophelia staring up at me with concern. "I was just thinking about … home." I don't know how else to put it.
"Oh, did you want to go? I'm sure Sunny is wondering why we've been gone for so long."
Her vision of home is nothing like mine. This is all a terrible mistake. I can't get any air. What have I done? I'm starting to feel like I did the night of the accident, as the car was speeding down the road, knowing that Phaedra was out of control and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Except I'm the one who's made this car veer out of control. I'm the one who makes poor decision after poor decision. I'm incapable of being smart unless it's on the soccer field. I have no business—
My off-the-rails train of thought is upended when Ophelia's lips crash into mine. Her hands, soft yet strong, hold my jaw, keeping my face flush with hers. Without thinking, my mouth parts, yielding to her. My hands seek her waist, pulling her close to me. As my fingers curl into the fluffy fabric of her skirt, I feel the panic recede, replaced by a more intense need.
"Good," she says into my mouth. "Now that I've got your attention, it's time to leave." She takes me by the hand and pulls me toward the exit. I'm barely aware of what I'm doing. I head toward the stairs, but Ophelia pulls me back. "Coat check."
Right. Of course. I nod and pull out our tickets and some cash to tip.
"Taking off so soon?" I turn to see Callaghan Entay leaning against the wall. He's the keeper for the Buzzards. He played for a few years in Manchester, one of the few Americans to play in the BSL.
"Yes, well, I didn't want to focus on us. It's your night. You should be celebrating. Best of luck to you next week."
"Are you really coming to us?"
I shrug. "Tryin' to. I'd be happy to play for Janssen again."
I see Callaghan's gaze focus on Ophelia for a brief moment, looking her up and down, before returning to me. "I hear congratulations are in order."
I have to remind myself it would not be a smart career move to growl at Callaghan simply because he appreciates a beautiful woman. I've always known she was beautiful. Now that she's dressed to the nines, she's practically glowing for everyone else to notice as well.
I'm not a fan of the Ophelia fan club.
I don't share well with others.
"Yes, well, we're going to go off and finish our celebration, if you don't mind."
Callaghan laughs. "Yeah, big night. See you soon."
He doesn't seem irritated by my presence, which is good. If the keeper likes you—and trusts you as a defender—it's a good omen for playing time.
We're relatively silent for the Uber ride back to Ophelia's. I search my phone again for some sign of life from Tony. It's not like him to be this radio silent for so long. I hope nothing's wrong. I say as much to Ophelia.
"What if he's in the hospital with amnesia and doesn't remember what he's working on for you? What if he is being held hostage in his house? What if he took off with all his clients' investments to some island nation never to be heard from again?"
