‘I’m good here.’ I declared, folding my arms over my chest—a much better idea than falling face-first.
Oliver chuckled. And with far more grace than a person deserved to have, sauntered towards me. He took a few stepsto the right from where I stood and lifted a latch, opening up a different part of the railing.
I glowered at him. ‘You couldn’t have done that earlier?’
Oliver shrugged. ‘You amuse me. I like watching you struggle.’
I strolled past him as he held the gate open for me, muttering under my breath.
‘Dipstick.’
His grin stretched even wider.
’Now, now, don’t poutFal.’He put extra emphasis on my shortened name.
My head snapped to his as we walked to the middle of the pitch. ‘Don’t call me that.’ My tone came out more severe than I’d meant. Oliver looked taken aback for a minute. ‘Please.’
He considered me for a moment before dipping his head in a nod.
‘I’m guessing you two don’t get on.’ The grass crunched under our feet from the frost.
I shrugged. ‘What families do?’
‘Mine do.’
‘Well…’ I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘Then you’re lucky.’
He huffed a dispassionate laugh, ‘I don’t know that I’ve ever thought of myself as lucky.’
‘Are you kidding? You? This amazing footballer with an impressive record that no one could compare to. You’re practically a god to some people. Like my insufferable brother.’
Oliver shook his head, hands back to being buried in his pockets. ‘Being good at football wasn’t luck. I worked really fucking hard. Nothing about my life has been lucky.’
I scoffed. ‘I’m sorry, didn’t you sign a multi-million dollar deal with your club?’
He changed course and headed to a goal at one end of the pitch. I don’t think he even consciously knew he’d started walking there. He hadn’t looked up from the ground for a while. It’s as if his feet knew where they wanted to go and were taking him there.
‘Money isn’t lucky. In fact, I get more and more convinced every year that it’s the most unlucky thing in the world.’
‘Why is it the people that have it are the people that tell you it’s not a good thing to have.’
His head cocked to the side to look at me. ‘Money doesn’t solve anything, Fallon. It creates more problems than it fixes.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Like hunger? Poverty?’ My blood started bubbling with anger.
’That’s not what I’m talking about.’ Oliver sighed, his shoulders drooping.
We made it to the net, which was considerably larger than I was expecting in real life. A few rogue footballs had been tucked into the net’s corner.
I leaned against the post. ‘Then tell me. Please tell me what is wrong in your world where champagne under a thousand dollars is considered cheap, and everyone drives Bentleys and Porsches?’
Oliver rubbed a hand down his face. ‘That.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘The judgment you’re giving me right now is the fucking problem.’
The hostility in his voice shocked me.
‘You think I can’t possibly have any problems because I have money. Being rich doesn’t stop your best friend selling stories to the paper about you to get his fifteen minutes of fame. It doesn’t stop the journalists that hounded my father day and night. Trespassing on private property, peering through his window, knocking on his door all hours, scaring him half to death. It doesn’t stop that now; he no longerleaves his house unless my brother drives him. It didn’t stop people rummaging through my trash bins because my frequent Amazon purchases were worthy of a national headline.
‘Do you know what it’s like to never be able to trust a single person, afraid that anything you say would be used against you in some way? I can’t have a bad day. Because then I get labelled an arsehole. I can’t break down because then I’m the poor rich guy who wipes his eyes with hundred-dollar bills. That is what’s wrong with my world. The world where, inyouropinion, money solves everything.’
