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Alf shrugs, clearly not privy to the answers of a single one of my questions. “She’s supposedly a PR manager.” He shrugs. “I think they’re sending her to give our team some more status. Build up our reputation.”
“Status?” I debate the ludicrous thought. “Reputation? We don’t need either of those things, nor do we need some girl thobbing about here. The guys are hardly focused as it is.” I let out an exasperated groan as my attention was diverted to the lads over on the field. “These Americans…they’re always trying to glamorize everything. We’re running a simple operation here— kicking footballs around the field. There’s nothingtantalizingabout it. Tell them no! It’s not happening?—”
“Warren!” Alf interjects my rant with annoyance. “This isn't a question of whether or not she’s coming. Sheiscoming, and she’ll be here within the next few days. So, get over yourself.”
I suck in a prolonged breath in and release it out slowly. “Fucking hell,” I grumble, shaking my head as I chew on theinside of my cheek. “I’m not letting some rich girl come down here and tell me how to run my team, club, and boys.” I point in their direction, dropping my voice slightly so that they don’t hear. “Ira might not have left the team to me, Alf, but he sure as hell left it in my hands, and there’s no chance…no way, I am letting him down!”
Alf places a hand on my shoulder to settle me.“First of all,” he begins, his voice soft. “She’s not just some ‘rich girl,’ Parker. She’s Ira’s granddaughter.”
Ira’s granddaughter.
I shut my mouth and take a deep breath—diverting my eyes back over to the field where, although I’m watching the scrimmage take place, I’m hardly paying attention. Instead, I’m focusing on my almost immediate regret for my harsh words—forcing me to chew on my bottom lip as I ruminate.
In the rare instances that Ira talked about his family, his eyes would light up at the mention of his granddaughter. Hissunshine, he used to call her. I’ll admit, I never asked much about her. I’d always just allow Ira to take the lead, but without any follow-up questioning, I knew that he loved her with his entire being. It was clear all over his face.
“And second,” Alf’s increasingly bothered tone snaps me out of my thoughts. “She’s just coming to do some PR, social media…some shit like that. So relax, lad.” I look over at him. “It’s not like she’s coming here to take your job. In reality, that’ll be me if you don’t snap yourself out of this rut.” He playfully nudges my shoulder.
I release a breath, the tension of the conversation slowly feeling as though it’s subsiding—but now I’m internalizing it, and instead of getting mad, I’m bottling it all within. “Listen, Warren,” Alf’s voice picks back up. “I know this isn’t ideal, trust me, but this is the best-case scenario for us. We’re pleasing both parties here.”
I’m silent as I take in his response. Some days, I’m certain I have a thing or two to learn from Mr. Wise Guy to my right. I’d never admit it, though.
“You said she’ll be here soon?” I change the subject and focus on another, more pressing one instead. “When’s soon?” I hope to clarify.
“Three days,” Alf reveals point-blank. “So, we’d better start preparing and letting the boys?—”
“That’s fucking right, lads!” My attention is drawn away from Alf as I watch the ball soar into the net. “That’s what I’m talking about.” I crack a faint smile as Wilks rejoices with his group.
“You see that, Coach?” He calls out to me with a cocky grin, followed by a wink. “‘Cause all I see is free pints tonight!”
I roll my eyes as I blow my whistle a final time, officially calling it a day. “Alright, alright.” I attempt to settle the group's enthused state. “As promised, we’re done for the day. Now, hit the showers. We’ll meet up at Tenner’s in an hour.”
Despite the long-hauled practice, the boys find energy to sprint their way down the tunnel, hooting in delight. “We’re going to meet some birdies tonight, boys!” I hear Green’s voice echo down the tunnel as Alf and I follow closely behind.
“Three days,” I tell him with assurance, though my gaze is fixed upon Ira’s photo atop the tunnel as we walk. “Tell the family we’ll see her then.”
SIX
D E L A N E Y
“People of Instagram,you’ll never guess where I am!” I speak cheerily into my phone camera as I strut out of the airport, an assistant trailing behind me with my six suitcases in tow.
Okay…he’s not really my assistant. He’s just an airport employee who I convinced to help me load my bags into my cab. But he’s cute and buff and clearly knows how to manage things in his hands.
I love it here already.
“I’m in London town!” I squeal excitedly. “Not for long, though. This country girl is headed to the town of Crawley!” I say with amusement. “Never heard of it? Well, that’s all about to change. Swipe up to follow my new dedicated soccer page, where you’ll get all the inside scoop on my new life here in the U.K.”
I flip the camera onto the airport worker, who’s now stacked my bags into the trunk of the cab. “Do you want a shoutout?” I ask him, playing with the filters on the screen.
He drops my suitcases in the trunk before he flashes a blank look. “Piss off,” he tells me before walking away.
Piss off?I run the phrase through my mind but come to no conclusion, instead, I shrug off his comment and end the video.“Call me?” My voice weakly lingers before he’s out of sight, and I step into the cab out front.
“Right, where to, love?” He asks, peering at me through his rearview mirror.
Love. God, Ilovehow the guys talk here. “Love” is the equivalent of “darling.” Only, it sounds ten times hotter when it comes out of the mouth of someone with a British accent—even if he’s a good 20 years older than me.
“Crawley,” I tell him—frankly, I only really know just the name of the town, not much else.
