“Good.” Ayla clapped her on the back. “Because we’re not going out like this. Get on there and give 'em hell, Erin.”
She swallowed.
No pressure.
But she’d always thrived under pressure. She loved having her back against the wall, going against the odds. Being the difference maker.
Most of all, she loved playing football.
And she’d really fucking missed it.
Alex was the player who came off for her, and they yanked Erin into a bear hug as their paths crossed, holding her for one second too long before releasing her. All around the stadium, cheers rang out as the announcer called her name.
Nine months and she was back on the pitch, studs sinking into the turf as she took her place behind Lia, who was at the spearhead of their attack.
Somewhere in the crowd, Maisie and Jessica would be screaming, but Erin didn’t dare look for them. Emotion wasn’t something she often felt on the pitch. She did her best to push it down, to keep her thoughts rational. But as five thousand people chanted her name, she had to blink back tears.
Seeing Maisie’s beaming face would tip her over the edge.
A few metres away, Lia caught Erin’s eye and smiled. Erin refused to acknowledge the thrill it sent through her. Now was not the time to reminisce on what had happened between them a few days ago.
Now was the time to propel Albion into yet another cup final.
Thirty seconds in, Lia rolled the ball into Erin’s path. She raced onto the end of the pass, taking the ball past two defenders. The third forced her wide, the angle too tight for Erin to take a shot, and the ball was eventually bundled out of play for a corner.
Erin felt more alive than she had in months, a thrill in her veins as she was jostled about in the penalty box. Nothing resulted from it, the ball sailing over everyone’s heads and straight out for a goal kick, but the confidence of doing something to help her team for the first time in months was electric.
Four minutes later, Erin picked the ball up in midfield. Without needing to lift her head, she knew where Lia would be—on the shoulder of the last defender, ready to race goalwards if the ball was chipped over the top.
So that was exactly what Erin did.
The swiftness of the move—and the quality of the pass—took everyone by surprise.
Everyone other than Lia, who had been on the receiving end of similar passes on countless occasions during their training drills. Erin stood, hands on her hips, as Lia sprinted past Aston Villa’s defence to collect Erin’s pass with a simple touch of her boot. Taking it in her stride, Lia raced toward the keeper—and slotted it past her into the goal’s far corner.
“Yes!” Shanice roared louder than the crowd, hauling Erin into a hug. “That’s what I’m talking about, Finch! I knew you and her would be a good team!” Shanice shook Erin’s shoulders so hard, her teeth rattled. She then jogged off to celebrate with Lia by the goal.
Before going over to join them, Erin took a moment to herself. She cast her gaze toward the stand where she’d spent every home game for the past few months, searching for a familiar face.
There.
Maisie was on her feet, waving a sign in her hands. This far away, Erin couldn’t read it, but Maisie had sent her a picture of it before the match. It read Welcome back, Auntie Erin in big blue glittery letters, painstakingly done by hand.
Throat tight, Erin waved toward her before heading for the corner flag, where Lia had disappeared beneath the rest of their team. When she emerged, her eyes were bright, a flush on her cheeks as their gazes met.
And sure, Erin would have loved to bag the winning goal herself. It would have made for a better comeback story, that was for sure. But grabbing an assist was sweet, too. And the look on Lia’s face, the satisfaction at being the difference maker, yet again—that was perfect, too.
They didn’t have a chance to share a private moment, to speak to one another before they were being urged back to their own for the restart, but that was okay. Erin would have time to seek Lia out later.
To be properly thanked for her picture-perfect pass.
To properly thank Lia in return for putting Albion back ahead.
For the remainder of the game, Albion kept all eleven players behind the ball. Erin would have preferred not to be so much on defence, to try and score another goal and put the game to bed. But she wasn’t in charge of their tactics.
So instead, she held the front of the line, hounding Aston Villa’s midfield whenever they lingered too long on the ball. In the ninety-fourth minute, she timed a tackle to perfection, taking it off Villa’s number eight, to the delighted cheers of the crowd.
She passed the ball—only to be caught by the same player she’d dispossessed. The ground rose to meet her, and Erin crashed onto her bad knee as the referee blew her whistle.
