“Who was it? Someone at Wanderers?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that.” Lia’s gaze dropped to her hands, and she wrung her fingers in her lap.
“So that’s a yes. Give me a name, and I’ll rough them up next time we play.”
At the reminder she’d soon have to face her former teammates—and Hannah—Lia shivered. She hoped Carol wouldn’t still be in charge by then, though the investigation had fallen suspiciously silent. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, it’s fully necessary. Trust me.” When Lia remained silent, Cerys nudged her. “You really not gonna tell me?”
“I don’t want you being red-carded on my conscience.”
If Cerys knew Lia was brushing her off, she didn’t protest, instead leaning further into Lia’s side. “Okay. But if you ever do want to share…”
“I know where you are.”
“So, Rockefeller tonight, huh?”
Lia turned to Cerys with an eyebrow raised, though she was grateful for the change of subject. “What happened to being too tired?”
“Maybe you’re right. We should seize the moment, or whatever. And who better to seize it with than you.”
“You hitting on me?”
“Ew, no.”
“Wow.” Laughing, Lia pushed Hannah from her mind. “Ew?”
“I’ve known you for years. You’re like my sister! I think ew covers it. Not to mention the fact that I have a boyfriend waiting for me at home. I’m not sure Xander would be happy sharing.”
Lia slung an arm around Cerys’s shoulder to pull her close. “I’m kidding. You know that, other than my grandmother, you’re the closest thing to family I have.”
“I know it’s under supremely shitty circumstances, but I’m glad you’re here, Lia. We’re gonna kick ass this season.”
“I sure hope so.”
* * *
Erin was in for a long season.
She’d known that, in theory, from the moment her knee had twisted. It was common sense—the surgery, the rehab, the slow slog to get back to match fitness. But Erin hadn’t fully considered how it would feel to sit in the stands and do nothing but watch.
Ten minutes into Albion’s first game of the season—albeit a friendly match against an experienced National Women’s Soccer League side—Erin itched with the desire to be out there with them.
How would she feel when they played a competitive match? When the league or a cup or the Champions League was hanging in the balance, and Erin could do nothing to help?
If she burned with longing now, watching a shot sail well over the crossbar, she might not make it to the end of the season.
Erin followed every kick, every header, every run. Sitting on the sidelines didn’t come easy. She wasn’t a player benched often, and her injury record was relatively light. How did the fringe players do it week in and week out, never knowing if they’d make it onto the pitch? They might not be the most technically or physically gifted, but mentally? They were stronger than Erin had ever given them credit for.
The minutes ticked on, and Erin’s attention kept being drawn to Albion’s attack. Specifically, the number thirteen.
Lia slotted in with an easy grace, making intelligent dashes into the box off the shoulder of defenders, either to try and get on the end of a long ball or to create space for other players in the box.
Objectively speaking, Erin had known she was good. Had to be, to be mentioned so often in the same breath as Erin. But other than watching tapes of Wanderers’ games when they had a match coming up against them, Erin had never seen Lia play. And even then, her focus had always been on the defenders or the goalkeepers, searching for weaknesses to exploit.
But now she could barely tear her eyes away, because Lia was magnificent. The only negative was that she’d yet to score, but Erin knew it wouldn’t take long. She was fast, had excellent positioning, and her left foot was deadly. Her first shot on target was deflected wide, stinging the goalkeeper’s gloves with such ferocity that she winced.
And Erin should be happy. With Lia, Albion might be unstoppable. Elsewhere on the pitch, they were strong, and their squad was deep enough to allow them to rotate players when it came to fighting in four competitions at the same time.
