Page 130 of The Penalty

I sent Dr. Frances an email apologizing for my behavior and confirmed I’d be at the next appointment.

His response?

If and when something else throws you off, don’t dismiss it. Don’t ignore it. Really feel it.

He’d given me the exact same guidance a few months ago, word for word. At the time, it was in response to my reaction at a press conference. I’d ended up using it to sort out my feelings toward Victoria.

To say I’d initially fucked it up royally would be an understatement.

And now here I am again, faced with really feeling it.

I ignored the incoming text from Bennet and tossed my phone on the cushion. He wanted to talk about the fallout from my, as he’d so graciously put it, stupid fucking choices.

Jordan was livid. Not surprising. I don’t know what Bennet said to him or how he managed to keep what happened under wraps, but he did. Lucky for me, Jordan wasn’t seriously hurt. According to Bennet’s private doctor, just a bump on the head. No black eye or broken nose or anything.

Pity.

At this point, I owed Bennet more than simple gratitude. The man already saved my career once. Not sure I’ll get another chance if I screw up again.

I felt like I was being torn in two; the more I let down my guard with Victoria, the harder it became to deny the truth about my past. Trouble is, I only wanted to fall apart in front of her. Not a therapist or my friends. Just Victoria.

How would she even react if I told her I was at the bonfire the same night her sister encountered Jordan? That I’d fought with him and probably provoked him enough to carry through with what he did to Charlotte?

I didn’t see her or Millie or anything else that happened but I couldn’t help feel somewhat responsible.

More texts from Bennet flooded my phone. Then it started ringing.

Swearing under my breath, I answered.

“What is it now?”

“We need you at the facility. Main offices.” His words lacked any emotion. They hung frozen in the air.

“Why?”

“You know why. I already called your agent. Be here in an hour.”

FUCK.

Benched for the next match.

“These unexpected bumps in the road need to be managed swiftly before things get out of hand.” Bennet didn’t mince words. “If anything like this happens again, we’ll have no choice but to reevaluate the goalkeeper position.”

I let the words simmer and fester in my mind.

The tips of my fingers glowed a purplish-red from how tight I clasped my hands together. Bennet and my agent, Gerard, talked around me. Eric, the Royal City manager, sat quietly, his face awash with disappointment.

“Christian will be in goal on Saturday.” Bennet’s stern amber glare focused on me. “You’ll train as normal with the club until Wednesday.”

My eye twitched. Christian was a decent keeper. He did well filling in during my suspension last season.

“What are we saying to the media? You know they’ll ask.” Gerard looked at his phone. He’s represented me for the last fifteen years. I trusted he’d keep the real reason under wraps if it ever came to light.

“Illness,” Bennet responded. “By midweek we’ll make it known Xavier wasn’t feeling well and left training early. We don’t want supporters and the media to get carried away with speculation. If we just say he’s not starting, it’ll stir up quite the storm. This will keep it neat and tidy.”

I bit down on my lip to keep silent. Fucking ridiculous.

They continued talking around me like I didn’t exist while I stewed in anger. When Gerard and Eric finally left the office, I stood up and unleashed on Bennet.

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