Page 118 of Lucky Shot

Because it does have a feel to it. A lush richness to it despite its sleek, monochromatic furniture and décor. The only thing missing is personal touches—pictures, mementos, real things that say a life is lived. I move through the space mesmerized, taking in everything I was too out of it to notice before, but curiosity has me moving toward the windows to see what’s lighting up the space from the outside.

“At least you’re being cared for in what I can only assume is comfort. Give me the scoop. What’s his place like? You do know how hard I fought to bring you home to my house but the man was most definitely not having it. So details. Is it nice? Luxurious? Or a gross bachelor pad? Is there a pea under the mattress that keeps you up all night so you’re forced to go sleep with him in his bed?”

“A pea under the mattress?”

She huffs. “The Princess and the Pea? Do you not know that story?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Brain fog from meds.” I chuckle. “The bed is . . . the softest thing I’ve ever slept in in my life. Like clouds and cotton candy.”

“And the rest of the place? I’m nosy. I want to know what a man taking a two hundred-million-dollar contract for a year lives like.”

The thought of that kind of money is absurd and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m standing in this penthouse, I might not believe it. “The penthouse is ridiculous in all sense of the word.” I chuckle. “It’s . . . oh my God.”

It’s all I can think to say as I step up to the window and look out to see the soccer stadium beyond. The tall light trees are lit up and there is the team hard at work at a practice. But even from this distance, I can spot Hardy easily. To be an American soccer player you have to be skilled. I’m not taking anything away from them. But to be a player in the Premier League is a whole different level of skill that is apparent to the trained eye as I watch the team perform below.

“Hello? Whit? Did I lose you?”

“No, it’s just . . . there’s a soccer stadium outside his window.” It feels as stupid as it sounds saying it but . . . wow. “I mean, I know he told me his place looked down on it, but this is insanity.”

“Are you talking to me or to yourself?”

“I don’t know.” I stand there dumbfounded and in awe. “This is all just too much.”

“What is? The part where you didn’t go to the doctor when your side was killing you? The part where Hardy broke the door down to save your life or the other part where he whisked you away to his castle in the clouds to take care of you? Because I’m beginning to think this is a fairy tale, and the only person who isn’t believing it is you.”

“A fairy tale? Come on. No one is ever going to think that about my life.” But another look around at my surroundings has me wondering how I can argue with her.

“You don’t know, do you?” she asks cryptically.

“I don’t know what?” Her chuckle in response should be my first clue. “Suri?”

“Look at the internet. Type in Prestige Soccer Academy. Someone’s been mighty busy for the six days you’ve been incapacitated.”

“What are you talking about—”

“Oh look. I have to go. You can thank me for it later.” Her laugh fills the line and is still echoing in my ears as I type in my company.

There is article.

After article.

After article.

They all talk about how Miami Mayhem Football Club has taken over Prestige Soccer Academy. How phenom Alexander Hardy recruited some of the top names in the sport here in the United States to run clinics and drills with him in an effort to help out while its owner has fallen ill and been hospitalized.

If Mayhem wanted a human-interest, community-service story by having Hardy come to the club that first time, they now have one in spades.

A real one.

A non-manufactured one.

One that has tears springing to my eyes as I scroll through picture after picture and post after post about how awesome it is they’re helping out. The comments section is filled with people asking for more information about the academy so they can help too.

I’m stunned. Overwhelmed. Grateful.

And I sit in the dim light of an over-the-top penthouse, watching an elite athlete in the sport, but marvel at one of the greatest acts of generosity anyone has ever given me.

And I begin to wonder, I begin to hope for more, and it’s all because of that man down there.