Page 143 of The Penalty

“I fly out first thing in the morning. We have our home opener in two days.” My shoulders sagged. “I just…I need time to process everything. If I stay with you, we’ll fall into our usual pattern and,” my voice hitched, “I really want to do this the right way.”

Sapphire eyes pleaded for me to stay, their usual vibrance dulled by regret and fear.

In an effort to soothe any doubts, I leaned close and kissed the soft skin beneath his ear. “I’m not leaving forever. I’m just going home.” I kissed his neck again, letting my lips linger.

Xavier held me in a vice-like grip. I felt every shudder, every ragged breath that tormented his body. Pieces of my fractured heart scraped through my veins. Leaving him in such a vulnerable state broke me.

Thick tears rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away forcefully and stood up, somehow making my way to the bedroom to gather my belongings and call for a taxi.

When I returned to the living room, Xavier stood by the door. I couldn’t stomach the utter look of defeat on his face. Without saying a word, I walked over to him, placed my hand on his chest, and stared into his eyes. They stared back, filled with dismay.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” I tried sounding cheerful but my voice betrayed me. “I promise.”

Coming here wasn’t a mistake. Learning more about his past wasn’t a mistake.

Then why did I feel like nothing would ever be the same between us?

Xavier

Our next six matches were an absolute shit show.

Don’t get me started on the one I watched from the couch or all the media fallout from it.

I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Greenland when I finally returned.

Too bad nothing has gone right since. Especially today’s result.

I’d gladly press a reset button if it fell on the pitch in front of me. Our defenders played awful, including my step-brother, who remained in the starting eleven for some unknown reason. Cade bruised his knee on a cheap sliding challenge from the opponent’s central midfielder. Our left winger got red-carded in the twentieth minute, leaving us down a man for the rest of the match.

And I couldn’t stop a ball from hitting the back of the net if my life depended on it. I could hear fans taunting me from the section directly behind my goal.

Not what I’d call a banner fucking day.

Believe it or not, staying focused on football was the only way I survived the last few weeks. The aftermath of Victoria’s visit weighed on me daily. We still texted as much as we could but it all felt different. More like two colleagues reaching out to see how the other was doing, rather than two people supposedly in love trying to stay connected.

Her season was now well underway. When I heard from her before today’s game started, she was boarding a flight to Seattle.

I barely listened to the post-match lecture. I stared out into the changing room, observing my teammates. Our performance so far this season has been lackluster to say the least. Not living up to expectations started to affect the club’s overall mood.

“We’ll get back to the business of winning after the international break,” Eric, our manager, told the room. “For those of you called up, good luck against the Dutch. See you all in a couple weeks.”

After showering and changing, I walked out with Cade. His knee was wrapped but he seemed to be moving around just fine.

“Bloody cheap shot, that,” he grumbled. “I saw him gunning for me. I’m lucky he didn’t tear my ACL.”

“Think you’ll sit out for the qualifier?”

“Fuck no. I’ll be dead before missing a chance to get England another trophy.”

“Another?” I snickered. “You do realize the last time we won was before you and I were born.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t see your point.”

We approached our cars in silence. The thought of returning to my flat to sit and wallow alone pressed down on me.

“Dinner at Black Rose?” Cade asked. “It’s tradition.”

Going to Briarcliff crossed my mind several times the last couple weeks but I never did.

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