Page 30 of Close Knit

“You sure?” Mohamed asks. “Seemed like there was some history between you two.”

Exactly the kind of gossip I hoped to avoid.

“She’s pretty too,” Tae-woo says from the row beside us. I may as well get a megaphone and announce this entire conversation to the rest of the bus. “And friendly.”

Of course, they all love her. I glance down at my hands and notice I’m white-knuckling my earphones.

“Best we all steer clear of her.” The words come out as more of a threat than I intended.

“That’ll be hard since she’s helping with the auction for Femi.” Gustafsson shrugs.

“Auction?”

“Yeah, she’s teaching us how to knit scarves so we can auction them off the Sunday after the Sutton FC game inNovember. We’re planning to surprise him with a new bionic prosthetic.”

My mouth tightens into a thin line. She’s helping them fundraise for our groundskeeper, someone she hasn’t even met? Everyone around me is a do-gooder, while I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You should join us next week,” Gustafsson offers.

I glare at him. “I’m busy.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Hastings’s just got that Overton skin of steel, Sven.” Okafor’s voice comes from beside Mohamed, though I don’t see what eye roll he’s surely tagging onto the remark.

“Coach Rossi is a fucking tyrant,” Gustafsson says pitifully. “Not at Lyndhurst. Here, we care. Genuinely. There are about thirty pairs of ears ready to listen if you ever want to talk.” He nudges my shoulder with his again. A pain splinters my head.

“And we’re excited to start practicing with you next week,” Mohamed says. “Those new team bonding drills will be fun!”

“Until then,” I grunt, tossing my headphones back into my ear.

I don’t believe them. I can’t.

There’s no room for letting people in when you’re trying to be at the top.

Charlie, my best friend at Overton, initially seemed to genuinely care. I was his backup keeper, and when he was injured, I stepped up. After he recovered, Rossi made him my backup. He was the only teammate I trusted. But everything changed when I became the starting goalie.

He grew distant before betraying me in the worst way possible by livestreaming me in the shower after a game. Just a harmless prank, he said, but by morning, the footage had gone viral, and the tabloids had sunk in their claws. My teammates saw my dick. Everyone did. My sisters. My entire family.

The American athletic brands that once cheered on my every move coldly turned away. My other sponsorship deals vanished. The harassment was relentless, forcing me to abandon social media altogether. I couldn’t bear to read the comments. My agent took over my Instagram.

Somehow the whole thing got spun into me doing it for attention.The new American keeper making a splashing name for himself.

If this had happened to a female athlete, everyone would’ve recognized it for what it was: a blatant violation. But instead, I got offhand compliments about my body, like someone exposing me was some kind of twisted favor.Nice abs. Would tap that. Whoever’s riding that pole is lucky.It’s as if my privacy didn’t mean as much because I’m a man. The double standard was maddening, but all I could do was brush it off.

I miss the days of being celebrated for my talent on the pitch, of hearing my name spoken with admiration.

Of not being accused of orchestrating a stunt to get my name into the Premier League news cycle.

All that remains is the pain of betrayal, lost friendships, and a damaged reputation.

Rossi hated the media attention, and he took out his frustration on me. I remember those tough solo training sessions in the cold, with rain soaking my gear and my hands stiff as the machine kept launching balls at me. It felt like he wanted to break my spirit. It was a nightmare.

Everyone else stayed at Overton, but it was time for me to move on. My two-year contract ended, and when the summer transfer window opened, I left Overton.

They saw me as weak. But I’m not weak. Not anymore.

Chapter 8

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