Rhys gave a short nod. “She makes my job easier. They’ve picked up a couple of nice endorsements as a couple. Maybe you should get yourself a girlfriend.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe that might cure some of your need for speed. Get some on the regular and you might not need to lose your licence again.”
I made a noise that sounded not unlike a hybrid of a cow and a monkey that had inhaled helium. “Not going to happen.”
“Ever?” Rhys looked curious. “You’ll never do a Rowan?”
My laugh this time sounded more human. “No. Don’t need the hassle.”
Rhys shrugged. “Fair enough. Want me to drop you off somewhere?”
I nodded, wishing again that I could throw that ash tray. This would be my life for the next six months. Reliant on lifts, taxis and a professional driver, if I gave in and got one. “Nate’s, if that’s okay?”
“I’m on my way to Rowan and Dee’s, so it’s we’ll go past it.” He stood up. “It could’ve been worse, Jesse. You did the right thing, keeping it together.”
I nodded, hearing the truth in his words. There had been a good chance that the system might’ve decided to make an example of me and I’d have gotten a harsher punishment. There had been criticism when a footballer got off with a fine and ten hours of community service a couple of months back; he’d ended up having his character assassinated in the media, which had thrown up a couple of previously well-hidden skeletons, and he’d lost at least two sponsorship deals and taken a wage cut when he’d renegotiated his contract. Pete had warned me that we had to keep our heads down and not try to justify my speed or throw my bank balance at it.
I’d had the sense to take his advice, fully aware that I wasn’t God, even if I could eat for free in pretty much any restaurant in Manchester and find a woman to take home any night of the week. I was more cross at myself than the reality I’d ended up with, because I shouldn’t have put my foot down when I was driving the Aston Martin like I had.
But fucking hell, it had felt good.
What didn’t feel good was being a passenger. I hated being a passenger. An ex-girlfriend had told me I was a control freak — not with her; I couldn’t have given a crap about what she wore or where she went — but I apparently had to have control in every aspect of my life, including in the bedroom, which she didn’t complain about.
Rhys’ driving was similar to that of a seventy-five-year-old who was about to be reassessed to see if they could keep their licence. He dawdled at lights, wouldn’t overtake, and slowed down even when lights were on green.
He also crawled up people’s asses while fiddling with the aircon, meaning I almost got a stress fracture from trying to press down on an imaginary brake pedal.
“Will you hire a driver?” He pulled up on Nate’s driveway.
“As long as they come with a sedative. Thanks for the lift.” I opened the door, knowing that my blood pressure was now high enough to scare our medical team. “I’ll sort out the times for the soccer school. Thanks for managing everything, too.” Because while he was a shit driver — albeit he still had his licence — he’d looked out well for me.
“Not a problem. Let me know if you get stuck for a ride. I’m about for the next week or so.” He gave me a salute. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t drive anywhere.”
I shook my head. “Unlike some of my esteemed colleagues, I’m not that fucking stupid.”
He laughed and tootled off, out of Nate’s electric gates and back onto the country roads that were so different from the ones where I grew up.
Nate’s front door was open, the man himself leaning against the door frame with his arms folded, watching me as if studying an animal in captivity.
“How does it feel? No wheels?” His grin was not pretty.
He jumped, his arms moving with no coordination whatsoever, which was a bit concerning given he was our first-choice goalkeeper.
Nate Morris was one of the best people I knew. Steady, hardworking, loyal — I’d tell him all of this, but I wasn’t much of one to talk about such things.
I figured he knew I had respect for him because of the amount of time I spent at his house.
“Amber!” He looked behind him and ended up with a very pregnant physiotherapist in his arms. “You could’ve made me pull something.”
She laughed, her gaze up at him making me feel like an intruder. Which I was — not that I was ashamed of it.
“Hey, Jesse.”
Her smile for me was wide, too. I’d checked with her a few weeks ago about whether she was cool with me hanging out, and she told me direct that if she wasn’t, I’d know about it by now.
Amber and Nate had recently gotten together, the baby they were expecting at the start of October a very big surprise. Nate had two girls from his previous relationship, a marriage which had left him a widower and a single dad. Chan had been a good lady, and she’d adored Nate. When she’d died, it had affected all of us, and until Nate had found light again with Amber, he’d struggled.
Amber had him smiling again, and the baby they were expecting in three months couldn’t have been more of a blessing, however much of a surprise he was.
“How’s my godson?” It was a standing joke from a lot of my teammates that we all expected to be the baby’s godfather.
