She should be ecstatic as Lia slid a volley into the top corner of the net, opening her Albion account. Their teammates watching on the bench a few rows below certainly were. As she watched them exchange high-fives, dread curdled in Erin’s stomach and rose in her throat, threatening to build into a scream.
Biting on her bottom lip, Erin forced herself to do some breathing exercises. Her lungs expanded as she took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before breathing out through her mouth. Usually, she did them before a match, taking a few moments to calm herself before she stepped onto the pitch.
This season, she hoped they’d get her through being stuck in the stands, nothing more than a spectator to the game that she loved.
Chapter 6
Lia stepped off the elevator onto the seventh floor, surprised to see a black cat sitting in the middle of the hallway. Some would say that was a sign of bad luck, but Lia was delighted as the cat flopped onto its back, big brown eyes watching Lia approach, its tail flicking lazily against the carpeted floor.
“Well, aren’t you gorgeous?” Lia crouched beside the cat, offering her hand for it to sniff before scratching behind its ears. “But I don’t think you should be out here. Where did you come from?”
The cat purred, leaning further into Lia’s touch. It was clearly well looked after, eyes bright and coat shiny, and when it tilted its chin for more scratches, Lia caught sight of the flash of a silver tag on the cat’s red collar.
“What does this say? Gerrard? Is that your name, or your owner’s name?” Lia flipped the tag over, happy to see an apartment number listed. It was 6F, the floor below. “How did you get here? Did you take the elevator or the stairs?”
Frantic footsteps sounded from the stairwell at the end of the hall as Lia was about to scoop the cat into her arms. The door was open; when the culprit came into focus, Lia swore under her breath.
Of course.
Erin Finch paused a few feet away, the panicked look in her eyes fading as they landed on the cat—only for her gaze to harden when it settled on Lia.
Since Erin’s unapologetic apology in New York, they hadn’t spoken. Lia had seen her around, of course. They’d had plenty of time together as a team. She had even caught Erin smiling at her phone on top of the Empire State Building, amazed that the woman had something of a heart after all.
“Let me guess.” Lia retracted her hand and rose to her feet. “This is your cat?”
“Yes.” Hearing Erin’s voice, the cat meowed and trotted over to Erin, winding around her ankles. “Maintenance were in my apartment earlier—he must’ve slipped out without them noticing.”
“And here I thought you were about to accuse me of stealing him.” Lia dug her hands into the pockets of her Albion sweatpants, wondering how Erin had such a friendly cat. So much for pets taking after their owners.
Not even a ghost of a smile crossed Erin’s lips. “You did look like you were about to pick him up.”
“To return him. Gerrard, huh? As in Steven Gerrard?”
“Obviously.” Erin folded her arms across her chest, and Gerrard pressed himself more firmly against her legs, like he could sense her unease. “What better name than one of the greatest English players to ever grace the game?”
Lia refrained from pointing out that Erin’s Liverpudlian heritage might make her biased. “What about one of the greatest female players?”
“He’s fourteen years old. You know how many big female players there were back then? Who were shown on the TV? Who I didn’t already play with?”
“Not many.” Lia had been lucky. At least during her teen years, women’s football had been accessible. Not in the same way as the men’s game, but she had been able to catch games when they were televised. Had known that it could be a career. Some of her teammates who had been in the game a lot longer than she had, hadn’t been as lucky. Instead, they’d been the trail-blazers. The ones to break through. The ones to make it possible for Lia to see what could be achieved.
And one of those players stood staring at her with a jutted jaw.
“Exactly,” Erin said. “‘Kelly’ or ‘Smith’ doesn’t have the same ring to it. Enlighten me, though—if you’re going to act so high and mighty, who would your hypothetical cat be named after? Who did you watch, week in, week out, wishing you could be like them? Who did you watch lift the biggest trophy in the club game—and if you think that’s anything other than the Champions League, you’re wrong—and dream that one day, that would be you?”
“Um.” Lia didn’t want to answer that question. Not honestly. Because Erin was already a gigantic egomaniac, and Lia didn’t want to give her any more ammunition.
But Erin seemed to take her hesitation as some kind of bizarre win. “See? You can’t name one. And you have no excuse—we’ve been televised since you were young.”
It was a taunt, the aim to rile Lia, but goddamn her, it worked. “I can name one.” She ducked her head, focusing on Gerrard’s brown eyes, blinking at Lia from between Erin’s legs. “My hypothetical cat would be called Finch, okay?”
“Bullshit.” Erin scoffed. “You know, if you’re trying to win me over, lying won’t do it.”
“It’s not a lie.” Hands clenched into fists by her side, Lia raised her head. “The first time I ever watched women’s football on the TV was the 2012 Olympics.”
“We didn’t make it past the quarter-finals.”
“No. But I saw the first group game. You scored two goals like it was nothing. You were so quick and so good, and you were nineteen—the youngest player in the squad. I kept watching to see you play. Men’s football was all I’d ever known until then. My stepfather and stepbrother were obsessed with it, but they said it wasn’t for women. That I couldn’t play, I could only watch. Seeing you and the others on that pitch, playing so well…that changed things for me. Whether you want to believe it or not.” As Lia spoke, she kept her gaze on Erin’s face.
