I slip past them all and march straight into the stadium, treading through the tunnel and toward the circular locker room. I’m the first one there, soaking in the peace and quiet before everyone else trickles in.
After our warmup on thepitch, we file back into the dressing room, change into our match kit, and wait for François to burst in with his usual pregame speech.
He arrives shortly after, positioning himself in front of the rolling whiteboard. With a flourish, he grabs a dry-erase marker and draws a heart on it.
“Love,” he says dramatically.“L’amour. How did you all get here? You fell in love with football. The same way you fall in love with a person—slowly at first, then all at once. You give it your everything. Your time, your energy, your sleepless nights. You fight for it. You forgive its bad days. You show up, even when it’s hard.” His thick French accent gives me a headache, but I try to understand his point.
“But you don’t just fall in love with the game. You fall in love witheach other.” His eyes rove the benches, flitting between us. “What we have here—this team—it’s not perfect. No team is. But it’s real. Like a good marriage, it takes trust. Patience. Showing up every single day. Having each other’s backs, even when things go wrong.”
He marks a pause, and I look around. Most of the guys are now glancing at each other, some withholding smiles, others nodding along with steely determination.
“So today, I want you to play like you’re in love—with the ball, with the team, and with each other. Love demands effort. So give it everything you’ve got! Let’s go!”
Everyone applauds and high fives, pumping themselves up for the match before pouring into the tunnel. Just ahead, a group of kids are waiting for us to walk to the pitch—a football tradition put in place to promote sportsmanship and community values.
Today, I’m paired with a pigtailed girl who reminds me a bit of Millie. I offer my hand, and she hesitates to take it. When I give her a faint smile, she evidently decides I’m not going to eat her alive and slips her hand in mine.
Finn and Archie, who are standing in front of me, are teaching their kids their secret handshake, and behind me, Cameron is making conversation with the girl he’s paired with.
Finally, it’s time to go. I take a deep breath as I walk onto the pitch, ready to do what I do best.
Chapter 5
Millie
The stadium is roaring with the chants of sixty thousand fans, and it’s as intimidating as it is impressive. Philip told me it was my call whether or not I attend the matches, and I decided it’d be good for me to see it all in motion—at least for the home matches. I make my way to the VIP section where Roxy said we’d meet. A large lounge with food and drinks sprawls before me, and glass doors lead to the seats outside. As soon as I step back out, the overwhelming energy washes over me again.
“Millie!” Roxy calls from her seat a few rows down, waving me over. There are a lot of seats in the VIP section, but only a few are taken.
I stride past the empty seats to join her and her friend, a girl with fair skin and dark brown hair.
“Hey,” Roxy says, grinning. “This is Fallon, Finn’s sister. Fallon, meet Millie, the team’s new social media manager.”
“Right,” Fallon beams, shaking my hand. “Finn told me. So nice to meet you.”
She has a beautiful Irish accent, which helps me remember which one Finn is.
“Nice to meet you too.”
“So, this is it,” Roxy roves her gaze around the packed stadium, stretching her back.
I take in the packed stands once more. “It’s—wow.”
“I know,” she chuckles. “But you’ll feel right at home in no time.”
“I should have bought some merch.”
Naturally, we’re in the home tribune, and everyone around me is decked out in white and blue. Fallon is sporting a Regents hat, and Roxy is wearing a Wade jersey over her jumper, plus a blue scarf and a cool-looking foam finger.
Roxy takes herseat again. “We can get you some merch afterwards, but honestly, we’re usually the only ones who bother in this section.”
Fallon shrugs. “Yeah, the WAGs usually dress to the nines, but we don’t really hang out with them anymore. Too much drama.”
“Wives and girlfriends,” Roxy explains, probably seeing the confusion on my face.
“So, are you also dating someone on the team?” I ask Fallon.
She shakes her head. “Oh, no. I’m just here for my brother. I do like football, but statistically speaking, people in relationships with elite athletes are twenty-eight percent more likely to suffer from jealousy and time imbalance. Not to mention the unwanted media attention. I’m better off dating a banker.”
