“Except when their actions reflect the wrong type of publicity for this club.”
Seth sat for a few beats, rubbing the back of his sore knuckles across the scruff of his jaw. “I’m sorry, sir, but I made a commitment in Germany. Besides, I’m not sure the rest of the team would appreciate me putting a damper on their fun.”
Leon stood. “That’s too bad. A team that plays together—although, not too hard—stays together.” His gaze drilled into Seth.
Leon’s unspoken message was clear. For the cohesiveness of the team, he wouldn’t think twice about trading Seth, most valuable player or not.
How did Seth feel about that? A quick, introspective look at his heart and he was surprised to find himself indifferent. A new team would mean different men, but he wasn’t so naïve as to believe it would solve his problems. The temptations that followed him around like club groupies—and let’s face it, most of themwereclub groupies—would still hound his heels if he were with another team. He’d still be surrounded by teammates living the fast life, giving him a hard time because he no longer functioned at that speed.
Maybe he should quit football altogether.
That thought brought a quick, sharp pain between his ribs. At the heart of it all, he loved the sport. Strip away the trappings and his pulse beat with the rhythm of a ball between his feet. His earliest memories were of himself in garbage-littered back alleys, kicking aluminium cans between cardboard boxes he’d set up as goals. Football had saved him more times than he could count. He wasn’t sure if he was willing, or even able, to give it up.
“That will be all, Marshall.” McCallister bent over some paperwork on his desk.
Seth rose and retraced his steps out of the office. As he shut the door behind him, Justin pushed his hulk off the wall he’d been lounging against.
“So?”
Seth shrugged. “A fine, as expected.” Now that his wrist slap had been given, his thoughts drifted back to Kayla. He needed to get home. Have a talk with his little sister.
“Uh-oh. I know that look.”
Seth scowled at his mentor.
“Take a moment to calm down. Kayla doesn’t need you yelling at her.”
“I don’t plan on yelling.”
“And I’m sure you didn’t plan on breaking Davie’s nose, either.”
Seth pulled to a stop. Dragged his fingers through his hair. “What am I supposed to do, Justin? I can’t sit back and watch her throw her life away and not say anything.”
Justin gripped Seth’s shoulder. “Look, I’m not telling you to stay silent, but I am advising you to be careful. Kayla may act like she’s tough and doesn’t care what you or anyone else thinks, but I have a feeling that under that bravado, your sister is fragile. You don’t want to say or do something that will break her.” He squeezed. “Check your heart. Pray before you say anything. Or just listen. Maybe she’s the one that needs to do the talking.”
“Yeah.” Seth nodded. “All right.”
They parted ways, Justin promising to pray as well. It took forty minutes for Seth to drive his Land Rover from the stadium to his two-hundred-year-old home. The unique calendar house had been his first purchase after signing on to the League. Most teenagers would have gone for a swanky modern flat in the heart of London, but Seth had needed to escape the streets and buildings that hemmed him in.
He’d always dreamed of pastoral, countryside living, but when the estate agent said she had a calendar house to show him, he hadn’t known what she was talking about. A tour of the house and its quirky architectural calendar elements—seven archways, one for each day of the week; twelve doors to represent the months of the year; fifty-two chimney stacks; three hundred and sixty-five window panes—and he was sold. Four years ago, he’d renovated the stately house so there were three private flats. His family could be together but still have some personal space as well.
“Kayla, you home?” He knocked on the entrance to his sister’s apartment, ivy crawling up and over the archway.
The door opened with a creak, and Seth was blasted to the past. No make-up enhanced Kayla’s soft complexion, and her long dark hair was woven in a thick plait that hung over one shoulder. She wore a pair of denim dungarees with only one snap of the bib fastened and a plaid flannel shirt tied around her waist. He hadn’t seen his sister looking this fresh and innocent since she’d become a teenager. Then it became miniskirts, midriffs, and enough attitude to keep everyone around her a safe distance away.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She shrugged like she couldn’t care one way or another, then turned around and walked back into her flat, leaving the door open for him.
Pretty much as warm a welcome as he expected. Shouldn’t hurt so much anymore, but they’d been close once. More than close, really. For a while there, it had felt like all they had was each other.
As half-siblings conceived through different sperm donors, they’d had no father to support them, and their mum had worked her tail off just to provide a leaky roof over their heads and near-spoiled food on the table. Seven years older, Seth had felt responsible for his little sister. He’d needed to protect her from the neighborhood gangs and distract her when the violence of the streets came too close to their doorstep. He’d learned how to plait her hair and get her ready for school, and in turn, had taught her how to shoot a goal from the midfield line.
Seth closed the door behind him. Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what to say. Or rather, how to say it.
“Heard you guys won the game. I’m chuffed for you.” Kayla picked up a bag of tomato ketchup flavored potato crisps from a side table and dropped into the designer couch he’d paid for the year before. Seemed like his money was the only thing she wanted from him these days.
But if she’d watched the game, then maybe something had changed. Maybe their relationship could begin to mend.
