“I genuinely didn’t mean to hit him.”
“I know.”
I look between them. “You’re all remarkably relaxed about workplace injuries.”
Jack’s mouth twitches, but his attention is still mostly on me, like he’s checking whether I’m actually okay or just pretending.
“I think I should stay away from all football-related activities,” I say.
“Probably sensible.”
“Is there a safe observation distance?”
“You’re in it.”
“That feels optimistic given my track record.”
He smiles properly then, warm and quick, and something in my chest does an inconvenient little shift.
Not helpful.
Definitely not helpful.
I fold my arms, trying to recover some dignity. “For the record, I was under pressure.”
“You had no pressure.”
“I had witnesses.”
He chuckles softly, then glances back at the players before looking at me again.
“You ready to see what they’re actually meant to be doing?”
“I assume ideally not being attacked by journalists.”
“Preferably not.”
We turn back toward the session.
I’m supposed to be watching the training.
I’m not.
I’m watching him.
Chapter 9
Jack
Training ends the wayit usually does. Loud, sweaty, and full of opinions nobody asked for.
Boots scrape on concrete as the lads head toward the changing rooms, still arguing about a missed chance in the finishing drill like it mattered. Someone is already talking about food. Someone else is blaming the pitch for something that was very obviously his own fault.
“Gaffer,” Liam calls as he passes me, nodding toward Ava, “you sure she’s not here to replace us?”
“Only the underperforming ones,” I say.
“That’s most of us then,” he mutters.
