Page 15 of The Keeper

Hearing my twin’s name had the same effect it always does. Feelings of sadness, regret and guilt consumed me.

Victoria

Warm notes of vanilla enveloped in butterscotch teased my tongue. Never has a bourbon given up its secrets to me so easily. Maybe it was because this was my fourth glass. Number five wasn’t too far off in the distance. At this point. I’d do anything to erase the conversation —if one could call it that— I’d had with the woman who gave birth to me. To say it had been non-productive was putting it mildly.

For reasons known only to her, she wanted to sell the cottage to the charity and, in her words, do away with that place. What she failed to realize was her attitude only strengthened my resolve to hold onto it, no matter how painful the memories remained.

I relished another sip and leaned on the railing, looking down at all the executive types schmoozing and laughing. Coming to London already put me in a better mood. And this venue was a total vibe. Any place with a giant bird floating above the main bar from an ornate Victorian ceiling deserved a round of applause. It got bonus points for having three levels, giving me a perfect opportunity to watch everything from a distance.

I’d gone through the room several times already, meeting a number of Daniels, Steves, and Richards. They all seemed to blend together after awhile. We’d chatted, shared league stories, and compared notes on certain players. Of course once they’d found out which organization I worked for, they became more animated, wanting to know if we’d ever let other teams win a championship.

They knew better than to be petty. Nobody lets anybody else win in this league.

Owners from several soccer clubs here in London made their case for having the New York Legends play a regular season game at their stadium. Some of them introduced me to their biggest star players, both past and present, no doubt in an effort to wrap a nice little bow on their attempt to convince us.

I chatted with a couple of club owners whose teams were traveling to the States soon for an international series with five American soccer teams. One of them is coming to New York but at this particular moment, I couldn’t remember which one.

In any case, tonight was about my football and the prospect of coming to London for a regular season game this fall.

“I don’t believe I had the pleasure of meeting you downstairs,” an unfamiliar voice stated from behind me.

I turned, coming face to face with a rather tall, good-looking gentleman.

Impeccable suit, broad shoulders, short dirty blond hair. A wide smile touched his lips with ease when he greeted me and extended his hand. His grasp was warm and strong.

“I’d have to agree. I’d certainly remember being introduced to the god of thunder.”

The man laughed, shaking his head. “My niece will get a kick out of that. Thor is her favorite.”

I lifted my glass of bourbon. “Don’t mind me. One more of these and I’ll go through the entire room recasting everyone as an Avenger.”

“Now that is something I’d be willing to see,” he grinned. “I’m Bennet Logan. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Victoria Chase. Pleasure’s all mine.”

He regarded me with curiosity. “I don’t remember seeing your name on the list of American football executives.”

“I’m not actually supposed to be here,” I said, pausing for another sip. “Hannah Pruitt was scheduled but couldn’t make it.”

“Pruitt.” He looked thoughtful. “New York Legends?”

“That’s us.”

His amber eyes brightened. “This must be fate. We are quite interested in hosting your organization at our stadium this October. I’ve chatted and emailed with Ethan several times the last few months.”

“So you own one of these soccer teams?”

He smiled. “My father owns Royal City Athletic. I’m the club’s president and the CEO for The Logan Group, which is all very boring and stuffy to talk about at cocktail parties if you ask me.”

“But a necessary evil.” I laughed, appreciating his candor.

“Bennet. Mate. Why are you hiding up here?” a booming voice called from the stairs.

Another good-looking man walked over toward us.

This guy wasn’t cut from same businessman cloth as Bennet. I’d bet the rest of my bourbon he played soccer. Tall, athletic build, strong thighs. Thighs like that don’t just happen overnight. His light brown hair fell just so across his forehead in an effortless-but-totally-styled-floppy-hair-look. And those high cheekbones with that square jaw.

Okay, no more alcohol for me tonight.

---