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Mother lowered her sunglasses and surveyed me. “The women don’t get a fraction of the investment and time the men get. It’s an injustice and I want to put it right. Your dad only wanted a women’s team because he wanted to give the appearance of a modern organization. You could take this team and make something great.”
A pulse pounded in my temples. This was unacceptable. “Calverdale United is the best team in the Premier League. I’ve waited my entire life to—”
“If you had anything about you, darling, you’d see this as a challenge to get your teeth into, not throw your dummy out of the pram and whine about it.” Mother waved a dismissive hand and turned her attention back to the pitch. “If you applied yourself to something useful the way you’ve applied yourself to chasing women this past year, you could achieve something incredible.”
Anger burned my throat. Bull. Shit. This was utter bullshit. I’d been down this road with Dad, jumping through every hoop in the hopes he might finally relent and give me what I wanted. No. It was too much. Mother would string me along like Dad had.
I folded my arms. “No.”
Mother’s eyes narrowed in warning. “I’m throwing you a lifeline. You can’t carry on like this. It’s embarrassing. I’d hate to have to issue an ultimatum.”
I snorted. Mother would love nothing more than to issue an ultimatum. “Dad did this to me. He made me promise after promise and then he kept moving the goalposts.”
“I’m not like your father. Keep your name out of the papers. We’ll get the best PR and clean up your image. No partying. No gold-diggers. Show me that you can commit to a change, and I’ll give you what you want. Or …” She transferred her gaze to the match.
“Or what?”
“I don’t know, Gabe. What am I supposed to do with you? If you won’t fall in line, then maybe it’s time you learned the hard way. No more allowance. No more penthouse suite with every whim catered to. Maybe we’ve spoilt you too much. It hasn’t done you any favors.”
My stomach dropped. Mother was always threatening to “cut me off.” Maybe she’d go through with it; maybe it was an empty threat. It wasn’t worth the risk of testing her. Life was cushy living in a hotel.Myhotel.
A roar of applause went up from the opposition sideline. A pretty, mud-splattered girl with a bouncing blonde ponytail had possession of the ball. She raced past two opposition players and danced past a third, then placed the ball with fluid grace past the keeper. It was a beautiful goal. Any idiot could swing a foot and bang the ball into the top corner, but it took skill to keep the ball at your feet. Another roar of celebration erupted from the opposite sideline. Claire winced.
Mother raised a questioning eyebrow. “What’s happened? Was that good?”
“The other side scored. It’s not good,” Claire said dryly.
Nope. Nothing about the Calverdale Ladies team was good. It wasn’t their fault if they hadn’t had investment. In fact, it was a travesty. We had the best men’s team in the country and our women’s team was languishing in the amateur league.
The rest of the opposition players in red shirts piled on top of their goal-scoring number seven. A beaming smile lit her face. The ball came back into play and she got possession of it immediately. She dominated the pitch. She wasn’t just fast, but an intelligent player, too. Number seven dashed the length of the pitch, but a much bigger Calverdale player barged her with a mean, dirty slide tackle. They both went down. The referee didn’t blow her whistle. What the fuck? It was clearly a penalty.
I threw my hands in the air. “Ref!”
The blonde number seven didn’t wait around. She was on her feet in a flash, regaining possession of the ball and scoring another effortless goal. The opposing sideline erupted with a jubilant celebration.
“Bloody Miri Forster,” Claire muttered. “We should be winning this. The Swans are below us in the table. They are part-timers, but they have Miri Forster. She’s head and shoulders above any player I’ve ever seen.
“Number seven?”
Claire nodded and patted her gloved hands together. “She’s good enough to play for England.”
“Why doesn’t she?”
Claire shrugged. “I’ve tried to bring her on board. She won’t hear of it.”
A young man in a ball cap and dark overcoat appeared. Another guy stood next to him balancing a camera on his shoulder. My jaw tensed. How had the paparazzi tracked us down here?
Mother followed my gaze and smiled smoothly. “I invited them. We’re making a documentary. The PR team suggested it would be good for your image.”
My teeth gritted. Like hell I was making a documentary. “Nope.”
Mother put a hand on my arm. “This is your perfect redemption arc. Gabriel Rivers taking over a women’s football team. You smile and give them some nice sound bites. You won’t notice them.”
“Except I don’t need a redemption arc, because I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Well. Yes. Of course you haven’t, darling. We all know that.” A thin tight smile stretched her lips. “You know the tabloids love to make up their stories. Villains sell papers. We need to work on your brand. Your image needs some … rehabilitation.”
The papers had chosen my brand. I’d stopped going on social media. I’d watched my own father die and then had to live through a bunch of wankers speculating on Twitter about whether I’d pushed him. My own fucking father. Some idiots had made a podcast about it. I’d inspired a million Reddit threads. At least the lawyers had managed to shut down the Netflix series.
