I hurry back upstairs, taking a deep breath and trying to calm myself down. I need to look like the respectable owner of one of the biggest clubs in the Premier League, not some rampant brawler who wants to take a fist to his stupid son’s face. The owner beating the shit out of the captain and the darling of the British fucking media probably wouldn’t be a good look, even if he is my kid.
By the time my investors appear on the screen, I’m back - Dominic Graves, owner of Arlington FC, jovial and professional as ever.
And with one eye firmly on my phone, waiting for it to light up and tell me this day was all a fluke.
“Trouble with your motor?”
The gravelly voice sounds behind me just as the mechanic hands me the keys to my now-repaired car. I turn to face my father, and am taken aback for a second when I see he’s wheeling his oxygen tank along with him. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight.
“Should you even be out in this weather?”
My father waves me off with a weathered hand. “Don’t you worry about me, lad. I want to know why I’m hearing from the press that my useless grandson has scarpered off to Spain.”
Shit. I quickly turn back to the mechanic, thank him and send him on his way, before ushering my father inside and out of the relentless drizzle that has settled over London today.
“What are you talking about?” I ask him. “When did Archie go to Spain?”
“The telly said he was snapped at Heathrow last night,” my father says, pausing to catch his breath. “It was a blurry photo taken by a fan on their phone, but I’d recognise that stupid mug anywhere.”
“Dad,” I warn in a low voice. “That is my son you’re talking about.”
“And he’s useless. I warned you, didn’t I?”
I grit my teeth, balling my hands into fists and shoving them into my pockets. “He is the captain of the team, Dad.”
“I never said he was a bad player, Dominic. It’s his bloody attitude. No sense of loyalty. Always running around with the press, showing off his pretty hair. And now look, disappeared right in the middle of the season.”
I lean heavily against the wall behind me and rub the back of my neck. “Could have done without this today.”
“Has Mia said anything about it?”
“She was here this morning screaming bloody murder because she found some lingerie in her house.” I give my father a pointed look. “Lingerie that isn’t hers.”
My father wheezes and sputters, shaking his head. “See? No loyalty, not even to his wife. Married to a bloody model and it’s still not good enough.”
I bristle at my father’s words, but quickly put a lid on my anger.. “I need to find Barry and figure this all out.”
“Tell Barry to make Sumner captain.” My dad wags his finger in my face. “The boys respect him and they’ll listen to him. And he’s a bloody excellent player.”
“Barry’s the manager, Dad. He’ll know-”
“Ifucking know, son.” My dad narrows his eyes at me. “This club is still as much mine as it is yours. I know what I’m talking about. Jordan Sumner is in, you tell him.”
“What do we do about the press?”
My father shrugs. “Nothing. Hopefully Archie comes back from wherever he’s run off to before our match against Salford and we’ll never have to address it at all. And if he doesn’t…”
He trails off, and we both know that’s where the PR disaster for the club will begin. But with all this looming over me and a headache creeping at my temples, I can’t give that much thought.
“Dad, I really should go and sort things with Barry.”
“Right you are,” my father says with a nod. “I’m going to go see my granddaughter and make sure she’s alright.”
“Are you joking? Nothing shakes that one. Archie’ll be lucky to survive her with all his teeth still in his face.”
“Ey, now.” My father fixes me with a stern stare. “Mia might seem tough as nails but she needs looking after just like anyone else. You’d do well to remember that.”
I inhale through my nose. “I meant no offence.” My dad’s adored Mia since the moment he met her. Me and her, on the other hand… “You go see she’s alright, just watch out for the sniper on your way to the door.”
