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It's just that this is the kind of family you read about in fantasy or watch on the telly. This is a mother and father who like each other’s company, an intelligent sister and a goofy younger brother. This is a family who have welcomed me in with open arms and given me anything I need without question.
If I didn’t know this was real life, I’d have dismissed it as being picked right out of the pages of a story. I guess some people really do live like this. That thought makes my heart ache.
Miguel cheers with everything he’s got when I make the final goal. It’s not close enough to the end to be that exciting, but it was a pretty good one. We thrashed Luton that day, four-nil. I scored two of the goals and felt pretty damn good about it.
And if Miguel has watched this before, he knows that too. The fact that he’s still reacting so vocally despite knowing what happens almost makes me want to cry. It’s like he actually cares for me.
It’s stupid to get this attached. I’m a well-known player — lots of people care about me. Lots of people put me on this weird pedestal like I’m some kind of superhuman just because I’m good at kicking a ball around a field. I’m not. And Miguel barely knows me.
It’s kind of him to pretend, but I can’t let myself get taken in. I can’t give myself even more to miss about this place.
I pull my phone out as the game draws to an end and blink in surprise to see the time. I’ve been here for hours and hours and no one’s told me to go away yet. Even Olivia hasn’t got sick of me yet. Not that she’s been paying any attention for the last hour or so because she’s been dozing off on the sofa next to me, only occasionally stirred by her father’s reactions.
Still, I suddenly start to feel the creeping sensation that I've outstayed my welcome. I stay to the end of the game that we're watching, and before Miguel can put another one on, I get slowly to my feet. “I should get going,” I say. “I’ve bothered you all for long enough.”
“Not at all,” says Miguel, getting up too. “It’s been a thrill having you here.”
“Yes,” says Andrea dryly from the dining room. ”It’s good for him to have someone else to talk sports with for a change.”
I grin. “Well, dinner was absolutely perfect, Andrea. Thank you so much for having me.”
We all congregate in the dining room, Andrea with a dish towel in hand, while Chris scrubs away in the sink. “Olivia tells us you're going back to England soon.”
“Yeah. At the end of the month.”
“A shame,” she says. “I would have invited you back. It’s good for Olivia to have a friend.”
“Mom!” says Olivia, covering her face in embarrassment. I wish she wouldn’t. I want to make the most of looking at it while I still can. “I’m not five still!”
“But I will always be your mother,” says Andrea, taking a step towards us as if to sweep Olivia up into a big hug.
Olivia sidesteps her mother’s affection and says to me, “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.” She ushers me out into the hallway and watches as I put on my shoes.
On one leg, not looking at her, I say, “I really enjoyed myself tonight. Thank you.”
“I thought you would,” she says, raising a smug eyebrow that I see out of the corner of my eye.
“Your family are great.”
“I know.”
“I wish I could have come again. It was cool to hang out.”
“I’m sure Mom would have liked that too.”
I scramble to think of something else to say as I stand up straight, but my traitorous tongue falls short yet again. The evening is drawing in outside, casting golden light through the window by the door, lighting Olivia up, giving her an aura that I can barely take my eyes off. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” is all I can manage.
She takes the latch off the door and cracks it open before looking at me again. “I’ll come pick you up at the usual time. Be on time for a change? It’s your last game before you go. I wouldn’t want you to be late.”
“For sure,” I say, still hesitating. I don't even know what I should say here to express what I’m feeling. I don’t think I can put the sensation into words. I don’t think I can explain the warm glow inside my chest every time I look at her.
I love you is what I should say. That would probably describe most of it. Instead, what I actually say is, “Good night, then.”
I lean in to kiss her on the cheek, and I want to linger there with my lips on her skin so badly, I ache, but I don’t. I don’t want to make things any harder than they already are for either of us.
So all I do is pull back, smile warmly, then turn away into the night, my heart twisting as I hear her call goodnight after me.
CHAPTER 25
