The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1)

by A. Meredith Walters

  “Why Johnny Parks?” Morgan asked.

  I sat down in the seat and turned my face towards the window, speaking low. “It’s my dad’s name,” I told her. “He’s not around, so no one would think it’s me.”

  “Oh. Okay then. Well I’m leaving here in ten minutes to catch the train. I should be there around twelve-thirty. So I just get a cab to the hotel from the station?” She sounded nervous. She had asked me to repeat the details half a dozen times since I had finalized our plans.

  I had gotten a room at a trendy hotel in Shoreditch. I let Anna make the reservation. I was useless when it came to that sort of thing. She assured me it was a nice hotel in a part of town with lots to do. I hoped she was right and not setting me up to look like a numpty.

  The plan was she’d come to the game this afternoon and I would stay on in London with her for the rest of the weekend. We’d catch a train back on Sunday evening.

  Asking Morgan to come to London for the match had been impulsive, to say the least. I hadn’t asked a woman to go away with me in years. Not since my last disastrous relationship.

  I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I had been adamant about not making things with Morgan serious. Given the chaotic insanity of my life, I wouldn’t subject someone to that. Yet I had asked her to spend the weekend with me. As if we were a couple.

  Here I was overthinking shit like I was a damn thirteen-year-old girl.

  But I couldn’t deny that I was incredibly attracted to Morgan Carter. She was gorgeous. She was sassy. And that bloody accent drove me wild. I liked the way she said my name. Loo-cus. Lazy and slow. Like an early morning fuck when you’re still half asleep.

  I wanted to spend time with her. More than I thought I would. Yet my schedule made that nearly impossible. So I had asked her to come to London.

  After the dance around who would pay for what, she had seemed excited about it. I, on the other hand, was edgy.

  Because I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing with Morgan. Things seemed to moving along in a way I hadn’t anticipated. And I couldn’t decide if I was terrified or happy about that.

  “Yes. You’ll be fine. Stop stressing,” I told her. Someone threw a pair of socks at my head. I glared at the few teammates on the coach and every single one of the wankers laughed.

  “Your game is at three?” She seemed to be going through a mental checklist. She was obviously a nervous traveler.

  “Yes, three. I’ve booked a car to take you to the stadium at two. You’ll get there in plenty of time.”

  “I’ll have trust you,” she said, though she didn’t sound sure.

  “You can trust me. I won’t let you get lost in the wilds of London.” Bruno and Stefan started singing a football chant, trying to get the rest of the guys to join in. I had to cover my ear so I could hear what Morgan was saying.

  “It sounds loud,” she commented.

  “I just got on the coach. It’s the fucking peanut gallery you’re hearing.”

  Alan tossed me a bag of crisps as he took his seat across the aisle.

  “Who are you talking to? Is that Anna?” he asked.

  “No. It’s not Anna,” I said to Alan before returning to the conversation with Morgan. “Look, I’d better go. If you run into any trouble, give me a ring.”

  “Who’s going to run into trouble? Who is it?” Alan kept on, trying to snatch my phone. I punched him in the arm and gave him a warning look.

  “Do you think I’ll have trouble?” Morgan sounded panicked. She had admitted she wasn’t used to travelling on her own much, so I knew she needed me to walk through everything with her step by step a few hundred times, but I didn’t have time for that. I had to get my head into the match. As much as I wanted to think about her, I couldn’t.

  “You’ll be fine, love. I promise. I’ll see you this evening.” I tried to speak softly so Alan couldn’t overhear me.

  “Who are you going to see tonight, Lukey?” Alan sang, trying to grab my phone again.

  “Bye,” I said quickly before ending the call.

  I shoved the phone into my pocket before slapping his hand away. “Back off,” I warned.

  “Someone’s touchy,” Nolan piped up, taking a seat in front of me.

  “Don’t start, Frenchie,” I said tiredly. It was too early in the morning for Nolan’s shit.

  “Were you talking to Morgan?” Alan deduced; his face way too excited.

  “It’s really none of your business,” I muttered, putting my earbuds in.

  “I heard you telling the gaf you won’t be coming back with us on the coach. So you’re staying in London?” Nolan asked. Nosy bastard.

  Alan made a sad face. “You’re staying in London? But I’m having a people over after we get back tonight.”

  “You’ll live without my company for one night,” I told him, trying to find a playlist on my phone so I could drown out the muppets around me. I loved my teammates. Most of them anyway. We had become something like family. But that didn’t mean they didn’t drive me mad. Particularly when I was tired and grouchy and wishing I was making the trip to London with a certain beautiful American woman.

  “Do you think Anna would want to come over?” Alan asked.

  “Why do you keep talking about my sister? Is there something you need to tell me? Do I have to remind you that you will be swallowing teeth if you try anything?” I growled, feeling my blood boil at the possibility.

  Alan Cole was a lad through and through. He was my best friend, but that didn’t mean I wanted him anywhere near my baby sister. She deserved better than Alan’s short attention span when it came to women.

  Nolan snorted, clearly enjoying the exchange. I glared at him. Alan grinned, not bothered in the least by my warning. “I like Anna. She’s smart. And she doesn’t put up with any shit. But that doesn’t mean I want to shag her, Luc. She’s like family,” he insisted.

  “Okay then. Sorry for jumping down your throat, mate,” I apologized.

  “Who’s Morgan?” Nolan piped up.

  “No one,” I replied quickly.

  “The fit bird our boy met at the pub a couple of weeks ago,” Alan answered at the same time.

  “Shut the fuck up, Alan,” I growled.

  “Hmm. That’s interesting,” Nolan commented.

  “Yeah why is that?” I countered a little aggressively. Nolan pushed my buttons. He knew it. He reveled in it. He probably liked how close I was to punching him in the face.

  “I just thought you had your hands full already.” Nolan glanced towards the front of the bus to where Craig had just boarded.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, arsehole,” I seethed. My hands were clenched. I knew I was dangerously close to pummeling our right-winger. Which wasn’t good. Not so early in the season. And not before such an important match.

  I stood up and pushed past Alan. I knew my limits. And Nolan seemed hell bent on pushing me to the brink. “Where are you going?” Alan asked as I stepped over his feet to get down the aisle.

  “Away from his shit,” I said, heading down the stairs to the lower level of the coach. I found an empty seat near the support staff. The players typically rode on the upper level of the coach. Down here was usually reserved for Millwood and his staff.

  “Everything all right, Bradley?” Mario asked when he saw me.

  I put my earbuds back in and turned on my music. I gave him a thumbs up rather than answer. I needed to be in the right headspace today. I had to prepare mentally for the match. I couldn’t think about Morgan. I couldn’t think about Nolan Dubios and his bullshit.

  I had to prepare.

  I had a game to win.

  THE FIRST THING you hear when you step onto the pitch is the noise.

  It’s deafening.

  It’s impossible to ignore.

  The crowd could be your best friend.

  Or your worst enemy.

  The fans loved and hated with equal passion. And when you had their affection, it was a drug unlike an
y other. Their adoration was consuming.

  And right now, for this moment in time, the fans fucking adored me.

  My name rolled off their tongues like a mantra.

  “Lucas! Lucas! Lucas!”

  It fed me. I had an insatiable appetite for everything they gave.

  I couldn’t allow myself to think about a day when they no longer loved me. When I wasn’t the man they shouted for.

  Today was certain. There was only today. This match.

  That was it.

  I walked calmly towards the center of the pitch. It wasn’t raining in London. Instead the sun was out and the sky was blue. A perfect day to play some footie.

  The ball boy beside me was shaking like a leaf. I could feel his little hand sweating in mine. I gave it a squeeze.

  “It’s loud isn’t it?” I asked him.

  He looked up at me, eyes wide, and nodded. “It hurts my ears.”

  “Only a few more minutes and it will all be over. But think of the great story you can tell your mates at school on Monday,” I reminded him. He grinned up at me and seemed to relax.

  “Lucas! Lucas! Lucas!”

  My name could be heard above the cacophony of Barnet fans. The Chester fans that had made the trek to London were the die-hard. The dedicated. They loved the hardest. They expected the most from you.

  And I would give them exactly what they came for.

  I wore the yellow band of captain. I had been surprised when Jack handed it to me in the dressing room.

  Usually the honor was given to one of the more senior members of the team such as Shane Given or Rhys Hughes.

  “Why?” I found myself asking, not entirely trusting Jack. Or his reasons for anything.

  “Because you’re their leader,” Jack had said matter of factly. Begrudgingly. But with a note of respect.

  I had slid the band over my arm and felt ten feet tall.

  As we jogged to our positions on the pitch I glanced up into the stands. It was a sold out crowd. Everyone was on their feet. Banners waved in the wind.

  Morgan had texted a few hours before letting me know she had checked into the hotel without a problem.

  I made it here alive.

  I had been eating a light lunch, having just gotten into the city. The ride had been quiet and I had been able to get some more sleep. Though not much. Alan had eventually come down to sit with me.

  You on your way to the stadium? I messaged back.

  Not yet. The car is on its way. Do I have time to make you a poster?

  I had grinned which prompted more ribbing from Alan.

  Now I looked for her.

  I couldn’t help it.

  I found myself scanning the faces. I knew which section she’d be in. I had gotten her a seat in the away box reserved for wives, girlfriends, and friends of the club. I could see Marla Denham and my stomach dropped. Shit. I had no idea she had made the trip to London. She didn’t normally go to the away games. It took away from time to do whatever she did while Craig was gone.

  But then I wasn’t thinking about Marla because there she was. Morgan was on her feet like everyone else. I could see her clapping her hands.

  In a stadium full of thousands of people, I saw only her.

  My heart thumped in my chest. The adrenaline coursed through my veins.

  And there she was.

  Adam Koffi, our right midfielder, patted my arm, pulling my attention back to the match.

  I found my position.

  The whistle blew.

  And that was it.

  I became Lucas Bradley, striker.

  Lucas Bradley, the star of Chester.

  I was on fire.

  No one could touch me.

  When the final whistle blew, we had won. Two to one. Both of those goals were mine.

  I was on top of the world.

  My teammates converged around me in a pile. Shouting. Back thumping. Craig took off his shirt and gave it to a young boy in the crowd, who promptly started crying.

  We shook hands with the opposing side. Jack congratulated us. It was a moment that can’t be described.

  For those few minutes I was exactly what these people wanted. I was everything.

  I found Morgan in the stands. Still on her feet. Still screaming my name with the rest of the fans.

  I couldn’t describe exactly what I felt seeing her there, cheering for me and my team. Women had come to my matches before. It wasn’t new to me.

  But I couldn’t deny that I felt a twist in the center of my chest having her there.

  And there was a definite twinge in my shorts when I thought about seeing her later. After all the madness was over. Just her and me.

  I had told her to head back to the hotel and I would meet her there.

  Because the chaos wasn’t over yet.

  I was promptly grabbed for an interview on the side of the pitch. I was awarded the auspicious honor of being named Man of the Match. They handed me a golden brick, which looked more like a doorstop than a trophy.

  “You’re the man of the hour. The talk of the town. How does it feel to take down a top flight team like Barnet United in your debut season?”

  I held up the brick. “This says it all. I’m on top of the world.”

  The interviews kept going. One for Sky Sport. Another for BT. On and on they went and I answered the same damn questions over and over again.

  “How does it feel to win against such a strong team?”

  “What did you think about the penalty in the first half?”

  “Can you comment on rumors you’re already thinking about transfer in January?”

  I was learning the art of vague sound bites. Gaz would be proud of how far I’d come.

  The dressing room was crazy.

  “We did it! We fucking did it!” Alan shouted in my ear, throwing a pair of dirty pants in my face.

  “We sure as fuck did!” I shouted back, putting my friend in a headlock.

  “Chester! Chester! Chester!” A chant started and we all joined in.

  Part of the time I couldn’t stand some of these fuckers, but today, that didn’t matter.

  Today we were part of something bigger than our egos and personalities. Today we were fucking winners.

  “Jack tells me you’re not coming back on the coach,” Mario said, sitting down on the bench while I dried off and changed into street clothes.

  “That’s right.” I shoved my dirty kit in my bag.

  “He’s being super mysterious about it, don’t expect him to tell you what he’s doing,” Alan piped up, spraying deodorant a foot from my face making me cough.

  Mario raised an eyebrow. “Why won’t you say what you’re doing? It’s nothing illegal is it?”

  “No, it’s not illegal. At least I hope not,” I joked.

  “I think it has to do with a woman,” Rhys joined in. Alan nodded.

  Mario gasped in feigned shock. “A woman? No. Not Bradley. He’s as chaste as a monk.”

  Everyone laughed at that and I rolled my eyes. That’s why I wasn’t telling the lot of them about Morgan. I’d never hear the end of it. And sometimes you want to keep things to yourself.

  For as long as possible.

  Because once other people knew, it wasn’t really yours anymore.

  Particularly for a footballer.

  My private life was available for public consumption. It came with the gig. Normally I didn’t care. Normally I let it roll off my back.

  With Morgan, I didn’t want to do that.

  I wasn’t willing to slice up pieces of her yet. If this thing between us lasted more than a fuck or two, eventually we’d be found out. For now it could be a secret.

  “I just want to stay in the city. Go to a museum or something,” I evaded with a laugh. My teammates wouldn’t believe it, but they got the hint I wasn’t giving them what they were looking for.

  Mario clasped my shoulder and gave me a stern look. “Be good, buddy. I don’t want to read about you in the papers. J
ack won’t be happy.”

  “He’s not happy anyway,” I snorted but when Mario remained serious I nodded. “I promise. I’m not going to embarrass Jack or the team.”

  It irritated me that had to even be said. That my life had become such that people had to question what I was up to or what I was doing.

  But I only had myself to blame.

  “I’d better get out of here,” I said, grabbing my kit and heading for the door. I was antsy. The adrenaline that had gotten me through the match was still coursing through my system.

  “I expect all the dirty details when you get back to Chester,” Alan called out as I left the dressing room.

  I responded with a crude gesture and made my way to the car I had booked to take me to the hotel.

  I sent Morgan a quick text.

  I’m on my way.

  There were fans still milling around outside the stadium.

  “Lucas! Oh my god, it’s Lucas Bradley!”

  Security kept them back. There was a family with a young boy towards the front. He held up a replica of my number 10 shirt.

  I could see the black car waiting for me but first I jogged over to the people waiting patiently to see the players they had travelled so far to support.

  “Do you want me to sign that?” I asked the boy, pulling out a sharpie I kept in my bag for such a reason.

  “Really?” the boy squeaked, his face tinged pink with excitement.

  “Sure.” I took the shirt and signed my name across the front. “Let’s take a picture too,” I said.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Bradley. He’s been a fan of yours since your Guildford days,” the boy’s dad enthused.

  “You guys are the reason we’re doing so well,” I told him, putting my arm around the boy’s scrawny shoulders and smiling as the man took a picture with his phone.

  “Thank you, Lucas Bradley! Thank you so much!” the boy exclaimed. It made me laugh the way he used my full name.

  “It’s just Lucas.” I patted his shoulder. “What’s your name?”