Page 71 of Close Knit

“The idea of traveling does sound exciting!” I can knit anywhere—on a cozy couch in England or in a bustling cafe in Italy. And what about all the wonderful yarn stores I’d discover worldwide?

“It is, but I’ve been fortunate that Ivan hasn’t been moved around much. That’s not the case for many partners. It’s tough on them, packing up and relocating when a better offer comes along.” She sighs. “Even harder when the offer is worse.”

“I had no idea.”

“Yep, they can be called away at any time. Once, we were celebrating our fifteenth wedding anniversary when Ivan got a call for an unexpected training session. I ended up alone in the restaurant.”

“On your wedding anniversary?” I frown.

“Thankfully, Ivan hasn’t missed the birth of our two boys.” She rolls her eyes. “But the tabloids camped out all night for a picture of our firstborn.”

“Seriously?”

“They’re ruthless, but that’s just how it is in this world. I’ve come to terms with being second to football. It’s his first love, and that’s okay. He’s still my best friend, and I’m his. They live and breathe this game. Honestly, sometimes I love it just as much. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

A tightness clings to my heart. “How long has Ivan been playing?”

“He was the starting keeper for ten years. I’ve spent a lot of time in this box. But let me tell you, if you don’t have your own life, it’s easy to get lost in theirs.”

“I can’t even fathom how tricky it must be, especially with a family. But isn’t compromise and understanding the bedrock of any great relationship?” I ask.

She blinks rapidly at me. “Wow, you are wiser than your years.”

“Thanks. I have therapy to thank for that.” I laugh, but there’s still a heaviness in my chest at her confessions. “I appreciate you sharing all of this with me, Bea.”

“Of course, sweetheart. If you ever fall for one of them and think he’s worth it, trust me, make sure he’s a man who can navigate all of life’s challenges with you. Because there will be plenty.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s why all of us partners stick together.”

“I’m glad to be a part of it.”

Her attention is pulled back to the match, but my mind spins.

If Cameron and I were to ever be something, it wouldn’t be like dating a normal person. It means media exposure, impromptu moves, and spending some weekends alone.

But those things don’t sound too bad.

My individuality matters. I have my retreat, and I wouldn’t mind moving around a bit, especially with how much I’ve enjoyed London. And finally, I love my own company, as long as I have a pair of knitting needles in hand.

Maybe I could amend my no-soccer-boys rule. I’ve gotten familiar with Cameron’s schedule over the last few months. The dedication, time, and energy he pours into his career are sexy—I wouldn’t ever want him to give that up.

My brain is turning into a tangled mess. But then again, every good knitting project has its knots and tangles, right? They always turn out beautifully in the end.

Could Cameron and I be something beautiful too?

Bea sits back down from cheering and turns toward me. “Even if you are just a friend, it’s nice for Hastings to have you here. Nobody ever cheers for the keeper.”

A wave of sadness washes over me. Why wouldn’t he get the support he deserves? It’s clear that goalies are crucial.

“Why not?”

“It’s not a sexy position, but it’s the most important one on the pitch,” she explains, keeping her attention on the field. A whistle blares, and Bea slams her hand against her chair. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she shouts. “That wasn’t a foul!” I struggle to catch up with what’s happening. It looks like the referee called a foul in the penalty area. “Here comes your friend! No, get back, Omar!”

The other team has the ball, and Cameron stretches his arms out in front of the goal. His eyes are like laser beams on the target, his body coiled and ready.

The stadium goes silent, watching the opposing striker. The ball rockets toward the goal like a wild cannonball, and I barely have time to gasp.

Then, there’s Cameron.

He launches himself across the goal, hands stretched out, fingers splayed, his body twisting midair. Every muscle in his body is perfectly tuned, like a warrior on a battlefield. With unbelievable fluidity, he catches it. The ball snaps into his hands, and for a moment he hovers there, suspended in midair like he’s defying gravity.

---