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No, not yet. We don’t know him well enough
Ainsley:
Heard about your feud ahaha. That real?
Reuben:
Man’s got jokes innit
Lars:
Sometimes I think my English is better than yours, Reuben
Reuben:
Hahahaha!!!!!
Me:
There’s no feud, it’s just a ridiculous rumour
The last thing I wanted to do was to make them nervous. We needed to focus, to prepare for not only tomorrow’s home game against Chelsea but next week’s game against Arsenal because it was going to be a tough one and Jordan’s first time in the spotlight. There would be enough eyes on us as it was—I wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardise the game.
Me:
You’ll meet him tomorrow
I’ll book the club for us all
Grant:
Sign me up. Yes to team bonding. I was going to suggest golf at Nottswood Country Club but this is better
There was our final group chat member. Grant Evans, our team captain and midfielder. He was the most sensible of us all, but he still liked to party hard, and he could drink almost all of us under the table.
Reuben:
I’m shit at golf so I vote this
Pocketing my phone, I left them arguing about the merits of golf, climbing into my Aston Martin to make the drive home. As I drove, my mind kept replaying the conversation I’d had with Jordan earlier. Could we really manage to stay civil? Was there any way I could get my position on the right wing back and, preferably, get rid of him in the process? Why, of all the people in the world, did he have to be the one to join my team?
Taking slow, measured breaths, I reminded myself of what was important. I’d come this far, and I wasn’t going to let Jordan Emery ruin things for me.
I closed my fingers around the small blister pack in my pocket. At least I had a guaranteed way to forget about him tonight. I’d be able to forget about everything that was troubling me and sink into blissful oblivion once again.
4
JORDAN
I’d survived my first week of training, and my body ached all over. Prodding one of the bruises on my arm, I winced, deciding that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to touch it.
I couldn’t complain too much, though. Going from League Two to the Premier League hadn’t been as much of a learning curve as I’d thought it would be training-wise—mostly, the difference was in the size and quality of the facilities. But because the gaffer wanted me to gel with the team as quickly as possible, that had meant hardcore training all week, and my body was feeling it. Lucky for me, the team physio had been on hand, along with the ice baths that I hated but helped more than anything.
I still couldn’t believe I was here. About to play my first Premier League game, at Arsenal’s Emirates stadium, in front of over sixty thousand people, with millions more watching on screens around the world. I knew my dad was out there somewhere in the crowd with the contingent of Glevum supporters that had come down in the fan coaches. He was probably bursting with pride that his son was playing for the team we’d both supported all our lives, and I’d do my best to make him proud. I’d make the team proud. And…I’d remind Theodore Lewin just how fucking good I really was.
Eyeing my reflection in the away team bathroom mirrors, I grinned. I definitely looked the part. My brand-new kit was crisp and clean, and damn, I made it look good.
Glevum FC’s home kit consisted of a deep red shirt with gold trim around the collar and the club’s golden Roman helmet badge positioned in the top left corner, black shorts, and red football socks.
