I laugh. “Yep.”
“Leni, we don’t want him being inappropriate with any other members. Send his name to Jeremy so we can revoke his membership. There’ll be no fallback on you with no formal complaint. Please?”
My chest tightens. I don’t want anyone to feel unsafe, and I definitely felt uncomfortable with is advances. “Okay.”
Diego’s relief is clear, and he smiles. “Thank you.”
We reach my car, and I reach up on my tip toes to press my lips to his cheek.
“You’re a good man, Diego. My cousin is lucky to have you.”
“We’re not…” he splutters, but I just grin at him.
“Whatever you are or aren’t, he’s still lucky.”
Diego rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks, Len.”
“Be patient with him,” I say as I climb into my car.
Sometimes you’ve got to let people work through their own shit before they can truly let you in.
Chapter 8
Ethan
My phone burns in my pocket as I sit on the team bus to our away game against Eastshore University. I haven’t contacted my little devil in over a week, and guilt lies heavy in my stomach. I need to stop calling her that. She’s not mine. She can’t be mine. I feel like a real arsehole because I’ve essentially abandoned her, just like her father. But she deserves better than me. I’m not the right man for her.
The noise on the bus only makes me feel worse. All I can think about is that she’s a similar age to my players, and the question of whether she’s a student at Beckford University rears its head again. This is why I need to cut ties. It’s too risky.
I can’t deny the way she called me ‘sir’ felt so deliciously forbidden, but that’s what makes it all the more wrong. I could be her professor.
“Are you alright, coach?”
I glance up to find my centre backstudying me.
“Fine.” I clear my throat. “What can I do for you, Bentley?”
Noah holds up his phone. “I’ve been studying footage from Eastshore’s game last week against BHU and their right side is their weak link, I think we need to switch up with an overload formation to exploit them.”
I raise my brow, accepting his phone and pressing play. It’s easy to miss if you don’t know what you’re looking for, but sure enough, the right back is slow off the mark and he’s caught out of position more often than not.
“Good catch,” I tell him, impressed. “Talk to Whitford and Ritter. Work out your strategy. I trust your judgement out there.”
“Thanks, coach.”
I nod, and Andy grins at me as Bentley makes his way down the back of the bus to talk to his teammates.
Andy keeps his voice low. “The kid’s got potential to be the next captain if Whitford gets the call up.”
“I agree.”
We had a phone call earlier this week from his manager giving us a heads up he’s been in talks with Middlesborough FC. Whitford has no idea his life could change any day now, and I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.
He’s focussed now—sharp, grounded, with one eye on the prize—but when the spotlight hits, everything shifts. Expectations, pressure, noise. Whitford has the talent. There’s no doubt about that, but talent’s only half the battle. The real challenge will be keeping his head on his shoulders and learning to block everything else out.
As if to reinforce my thoughts on the bus, Whitford shows nothing but composure on the pitch, and his first goal comes fifteen minutes in.
He drifts wider than usual, dragging Eastshore’s centre back with him. Ritter times his overlap perfectly, surging into the space left vacant by the oppositions sluggish right back. A one-two pass slices through the defence, and Ritter squares it across the box for Walters to tap in at the far post.
