Page 74 of Floored

"I love the whole mind the gap thing," Isabel said, sliding into the back seat. "I swear, in America, it would be like, don't fall on your frickin’ face, and if you do, no one will help you up."

I laughed for what felt like the first time all day. "That can't be true."

She shrugged. "Maybe it's a slight exaggeration, but I do think Brits are more friendly than we are back home. To tourists at least. Even when they're trash-talking the Shorthorns, they're so pleasant."

I glanced sideways, and her face held a Cheshire cat grin. Lia nudged me with her elbow. "Ignore her. She's testing you because she's obnoxious."

Their teasing was so natural. And the entire drive to my brother's pub, it was bizarre to bear witness to how easy their interactions were. They had inside jokes. They laughed at each other and at themselves so effortlessly. They spoke of their family, of holidays, of watching games together. How Isabel flipped a table once when she lost a seven-hour-long match of Monopoly to their nine-year-old nephew. It was a glimpse into how our child would be raised, and it dug like a burr underneath my skin.

When it was just me and Lia inside the little bubble we'd created, it was easy to ignore the dynamics she might have with her family. And even as I recognized that my child would be raised around a loving, supportive family, it only served to dig that sense of uselessness down even further. A splinter I couldn't pluck out, so much more painful than it should've been.

Because of traffic leaving White Hart Lane and just London in general, it took us a while to head back south toward the pub. By the time we pulled up to The Red Lion, we were all quiet—Lia because she was hungry and tired, Isabel because she was still fighting the time change, and me ... well ... because that day was pure bollocks from start to finish. The rain had tapered off, and as I paid the driver, Lia and Isabel huddled together underneath the awning of the pub to ward off the chilly air.

Even that, keeping her warm, wasn't my job while her sister was around. And it was hard not to feel replaced.

It was a symptom of my day, to be sure, and another glaring reminder that I should've canceled. All of it. I stared at Isabel's arm around Lia's shoulders, saw her touch Lia's belly under the coat, and they laughed about something I couldn't hear.

I held the door open with a smile and waved when someone wearing a Tottenham jersey yelled from his car window, "Thanks for the win, McAllister."

Isabel's eyebrows raised a bit.

"You get used to it," I told her under my breath.

"Do you, though?"

I thought about that question as they preceded me into the pub. It was busier than the night I'd met Lia, and I slipped a black hat out from where I kept it tucked in an inner pocket of my coat and covered my head. No, I never got used to it.

Fans yelled all sorts of things at players. Some were funny, some were understandably aggravated, some were horrific— racially charged slurs that got them banned for life from the matches of their favorite team. And to a certain extent, no I'd never gotten used to that. On the good days, it was easier to block out the noise, easier to mute the negative voices, and focus on the fans who carried the game in their blood.

But on days like this one, I simply felt really fucking tired.

Which was why I decided to answer Isabel honestly. "Not really, no."

She paused. "But it's worth it?"

"It's worth everything," I answered immediately.

That made her smile with what was probably the warmest facial expression I'd seen from her. "All the great ones say that."

"I don't know how great I am anymore." I shrugged, gesturing toward the back of the pub where Lewis usually saved a more private table when he knew I was coming.

"I don't know if Lia told you what I do," Isabel said as we skirted a long table.

"You're a personal trainer of sorts, right? At a boxing gym?"

She nodded. "We get a lot of athletes who come to our place, some because of my connection to the Wolves, and some because of my boss, Amy, and the number one thing I've learned from watching them is that their greatness never really fades. I trained someone in his sixties last summer who used to be a baseball player. Hurt his shoulder and had to retire before he wanted to, but that man, even though he's more than twice my age, had a fire in him that blew me away." Isabel shrugged, glancing over her shoulder at me. "I think what makes the great great is something inside them. Even when their body betrays them, it's still there."

A burst of laughter behind us made it so I couldn't answer her, but as we approached the back, I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said, trying to decipher if it even felt true for me.

Ahead of us, I saw Lewis come around from behind the bar and greet Lia with a hug and friendly smile. No surprise that she'd won him over when they'd watched a match together. But I also saw the shock on his face when she embraced him, the way he tried not to look down at her stomach, visible behind the form-fitting Shepperton hoodie she was wearing.

"Bloody hell, fucking shit," I whispered under my breath.

Isabel's gaze snapped to me. "What?"

"I, uh, my brother doesn't know Lia's pregnant yet, and I think he just puzzled it out."

"Ahh." She lifted her chin. "Oh wow, so we get to meet the whole family?"

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