Page 32 of Close Knit

Gustafsson bursts with another scream.

“Wait—please.” Daphne’s trembling whisper stops me in my tracks.

This is ridiculous. Fine. Whatever. If I help my teammate, then maybe it’ll get back to Coach Thompson that I’m being a team player. That’s all this is. I’m helping prevent any harm this spider could cause one of my center-backs.

Nothing more.

This isn’t about helping Daphne at all.

“Where do you keep your glasses?” I ask.

“Don’t kill it!” Daphne frowns, pointing to a cupboard beside her stovetop vent.

I hate that she thinks I’d hurt the poor thing—he was probably just seeking some warmth in the cold spells of autumn swooping over the UK. I sigh, opening her cabinet.

“Do,” Gustafsson pleads. “Crush it, Hastings. Stomp on it!”

I pluck a glass from the cabinet and snatch a stray envelope from the counter. In a smooth, confident motion, I trap the spider under the glass and slide the paper beneath it.

“There,” I say, holding up my prize. “Spider conquered.” I look at the tiny, helpless creature distorted by the glass.I know exactly how you feel, buddy.

Rising to my feet, I steal a generous glance around her apartment. Photos hover above her couch, showcasing Daphne and her family. Some frames have illustrations—watercolors of a duck and yarn with needles. The largest one is a painting of the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. Her place is vibrant and cozy, with fresh flowers on the kitchen table, a mountain of pillows on the couch, and knitted items everywhere. The opposite of my minimalist space, which has only the basics—a bed, a table, and a chair.

That sweet smell again. I panic, checking the hallway to ensure my bag of candles is still there. I can’t let her see them.

“You’re officially anointed the spider wrangler of the building,” my teammate says. He’s frozen on the kitchen chair, eyeing me as if I’m moments from releasing a demonic spirit into the room.

“Don’t mention it,” I reply, trying to keep my tone gruff. “Seriously. Never mention it again.”

“Thank you,” Daphne whispers. Her eyes are glued to me, her expression a mix of relief and something else I can’t quite place. Gratitude, maybe? Admiration? I hope so.

I can’t remember the last time someone saw good in me.

“I—I just did what needed to be done,” I stammer, downplaying my actions. “To help Gustafsson.”

The burst of heat beneath my skin from her gaze returns, just as it did the night we were together. It’s despicable that she has this much power over my emotions.

I commit her rosy cheeks, beautiful legs, and wary smile to memory. A smile I didn’t think I’d see after our run-in two weeks ago. I beeline out the door, kicking my bag down the hallway and making sure the spider doesn’t escape.

“God natt,” Gustafsson calls out as my door clicks closed.

Once inside, I crack open the living room window and release the small spider onto the brick windowsill.

“There you go, little guy.”

The creature skitters off.

After shutting the window, I grab my bag and line up the candles on my nightstand with ritualistic precision. I lightVanilla Bean DreamandCustard Cream, their scents curling into the room. But it’s not quite right—her scent was sweeter, fresher, like a hot sun in the middle of winter. I light more candles. The potent smell is suffocating, but it envelops me in a blanket of calm.

Daphne briefly needed me to be the knight in tarnished armor or whatever the fuck she called it. The way her lips parted in a soft gasp when I trapped the spider. The way she beggedplease, like it was a lifeline.

It felt good to be needed.

The grassbeneath my cleats feels heavier than usual as I tap both ends of the goalpost and recheck the Velcro on my gloves. The warm-up session for our new team drills is well underway.

I feel on top of the world when I’m in my box. It’s the one place I’ve always felt powerful and in control. But when I started playing in the Premier League, that power started to slip. “How’s it going at the Lodge?” Matos asks, swapping spots with me in the box as I prepare for Murphy’s throws.

“Fine.” I squat, readying for my catches.

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