She nodded, but it was weak. “I have to get to work.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
She didn’t quite meet my eyes as she waved and walked away. “Next time,” she said over her shoulder.
Dread filled me because I knew that I’d inadvertently broken some kind of trust with her.
I ran a hand through my wet hair, my fingers sliding over the right side of my head with an awareness I couldn’t shake. My last scan showed the skull fracture I’d suffered last season had healed.
But it was there, like a fucking phantom crack.
Maia disappeared around the corner out of sight.
“Fuck.” I kicked my motorbike, taking sadistic pleasure in the pain that ricocheted up my shin. I glanced back down the street where she’d just been. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
CHAPTER TWO
BAIRD
“Oi, oi! What’s the tea, boys?” I announced as I strutted into the locker room of Caledonia United Football Club a half hour later like I hadn’t a care in the world.
Caley United FC was currently Edinburgh’s top team in the Professional League and number two overall. Glasgow’s teams had been dominating the top of the league table for decades, and finally after making our way up, we’d knocked Kingston United into third place last year. This year, we were aiming to take the number one spot from Dalmarnock Thistle. There wasn’t much of the season left, but we were on course to do it. It was a lot of pressure.
And I had external shit going on too. My teammate and best pal, Callan Keen, and I had a small real estate portfolio, but we were planning our future, knowing football was a short-lived career. We’d put together a business proposal to turn Blantyre Castle, an estate on the coast just outside Edinburgh, into a hotel and spa. That castle was owned by Braden Carmichael, who was Beth’s, Callan’s fiancée’s, dad. Instead of buying it off him, we got into business with him.Callan, because of the association, had decided to be a bit more hands-off with the project than planned. Which meant I was coordinating the management of the renovation with Braden and his team.
Was there any wonder, on top of the season, I needed to blow off steam whenever I got the chance?
“You cut hair!” Kaito Tanaka, our Japanese central defender, stopped in the middle of the room to gape at me. “Your sex power is gone.”
I gave a bark of laughter as I self-consciously ran my hand through my hair. “Nothing on earth could take my sex power, Kaito, mate. Trust me.”
“Baird.” Callan stood up from the bench at his locker area. He was the team’s captain and the league’s best midfielder. “You’re late. Gaffer wants to speak to you.”
“No nice hairdo?” I spun around, arms wide. “I always compliment you on any physical changes you make to your appearance.”
“Is that before or after you mercilessly mock him?” John queried from opposite Callan.
Callan spoke before I could. “Fuck your hair. You’re late.”
I shrugged. “I’ll pay the fine.” The gaffer fined us fifteen quid for every minute we were late.
John Tessier, my other best mate and the team’s Canadian center forward, stood up from tying on his football boots. His brow was furrowed. I knew that worried expression. He and Callan had been giving me that look for over a year. “It’s not about being late.”
“It’s about your tabloid exploits.” Eric Baumann, our Swiss left wing, shrugged on a T-shirt. He scowled at me. “No one cares about your hair. You’re making us look like a bunch of unprofessional pricks.”
My anger and fear that simmered just beneath the surface started to boil. But I grinned with my usual carefree cockiness. “I thought I was the only one in the photos. Did I miss something?” I winked at him because I knew my blasé attitude would piss him off more. Didn’t take much. Eric was a temperamental turd.
Baumann was suddenly in front of me, blocking my path. He was a good few inches shorter, but that didn’t stop him from stabbing a pointed finger too close to my nose. “Every single one of us represents this team when we’re on the outside.”
“I’d suggest you get that appendage out of my face before I use it to plug your arsehole.”
I heard choked laughter around me as Baumann’s cheeks turned purple with anger.
“Listen—”
“Enough!” the familiar voice of the gaffer rang around the locker room.
Dread cut through everything else as I turned to look at Brian O’Kelly.
