Page 13 of We'll Meet Again

With that, he was gone. Her shoulder and hand still tingled from the contact with his skin. She stifled the urge to call him back, having no real reason, she just wanted… What did she want? Her hand came to rest over where his had been, and she realized that his was as familiar as her own. But she hardly knew him. And she had no intention of getting to know him better, either. So what was this feeling? She held the handkerchief to her chest and took a deep breath.Time to get back to work, she told herself.

Ethan strolled onto the pitch, flexing his hand to rid it of the feeling of Billie there. But she lingered, like the smell of smoke in the air after fireworks. His palm still felt warm despite the chill in the air, and he couldn’t keep his mind off thoughts of her, even though he had to focus on practice. He shook his head slightly, jogging over to the team.

“Well, Ethan Knight, nice of you to join us,” joked the manager, Donny Warren.

Coach Warren was a jovial man, stocky in stature, but with a kind, round face. If his hair and beard were gray instead of black, he’d easily be mistaken for a beefy Santa Claus. Like many managers, he once played football - for Sunderland initially before moving on to Everton - but a devastating injury brought his career to a premature halt. He still walked with a limp, but he didn’t let it slow him down. He even competed onStrictly Come Dancingone season and won (which Ethan had learned was the UK equivalent ofDancing With the Stars). And he spent most of the day on the pitch instead of in his office.

An amused murmur went through the team. One of the other forwards, a tall, auburn-haired breakout star, Peter O’Riley, stood up from his toe touch and met Ethan’s gaze.

“Well, if it isn’t the cowboy?” he said, an edge to his tone. His smile felt more like a sneer. “Still on American time, are you?”

“Sorry, guys,” Ethan said. “Had a mix up with my boots.”

“What?” A horrified Craig poked his head around Coach Warren. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Ethan said with a wave of his hand. “We found a replacement pair, and I’m ready to go.”

“We?” Coach Warren asked.

“Oh, yeah, the girl from legal, Billie Axton, helped me.”

“Careful with that one, mate,” Peter said with a cocky smirk. “Billie’s a crazy bitch.”

The guy to his right, Devon Scully, the third forward, snickered. Ethan frowned, immediately becoming defensive. He hoped this team didn’t have the wrong idea about how to build camaraderie. Putting women down was not Ethan’s style. And Billie? That girl who he’d just caught crying in the boot room? “Bitch” was not the word that came to his mind. But thankfully, the rest of the team seemed to be rolling their eyes.

“Might wanna mind your manners, O’Riley,” Ethan replied with a deceiving smile. “Where I’m from, people have been shot for less.”

Peter began to bristle, but before he could retort, another teammate spoke up.

“She wouldn’t’ve had to be a bitch if you’d kept your cock in your goddamn pants,” said the goalkeeper, Jordan Frawley, and a chorus of “Oooooooooohhhhh” made its way through the group. Ethan blinked in surprise. Peter looked affronted.

Jordan was perfectly designed to be a goalkeeper, with the stature and demeanor of a grizzly bear. His dark hair, angular face, and scruffy beard added to the effect, not to mention his gravelly voice, complete with his Scottish accent. He was team captain, too, which demanded a certain level of respect from them. He certainly earned Ethan’s in that moment.

“Alright, that’s enough chat, lads,” Coach Warren said. “First team versus second team, let’s get lined up. Ethan, you’re first team.”

Ethan nodded, inwardly questioning why the manager didn’t feel the need to correct someone talking about a staff member that way as well. Shaking it off, he started to jog over with the rest of the guys, but Peter shouldered past him, making Ethan stumble and shoot his new teammate a questioning look.

“Just try to keep up, cowboy,” Peter said. He wasn’t joking around anymore.

As training went on, Ethan learned about the team. Jordan was undoubtedly the leader, his stony and serious nature keeping everyone focused. Peter and Devon were close, and communicated almost telepathically, which left Ethan struggling to fit into their rhythm on the front line. Luckily, the midfielders accommodated.

The midfield was made up of Hector Rizo, Artem Antonenko, and Osahar Shadid. Hector was a bright, bubbly young talent, and signed with Stanmore just after his rookie year at Deportivo Cali, his home city in Colombia. Artem, a sweet, warm-hearted family man, started his career at Dynamo Kyiv, but began his Premier League journey with Manchester City before moving to Stanmore just a season ago. Osahar, youthful and passionate, was born and raised in Cairo, so he ended up at Al Ahly to begin his career, and had been with Stanmore since coming to Europe three years prior. With their help, Ethan was able to score twice on the second team.

The second team was unable to break through the defensive line or Jordan. That back line was solidly built with Kâmil Murat, a Turkish national, and Fernando Barros Vidal, a Brazilian, on the right, along with Israel Etefu Amare, an Ethiopian national, and Luka Bozanic, a Croatian, on the left. All four were strong, sturdy players with - Ethan quickly learned - wicked senses of humor. They were more like a wall than a line, knocking forwards to the ground with ease, but were quick to crack a joke and offer a smile as they helped them up.

They were all proof of the club’s dedication to finding the best. And strangely, Ethan didn’t feel completely out of place in their midst.

After training, Ethan let the hot water of the shower rinse away the sweat and grass, as well as warm his skin. Playing helped keep him warm enough in the January air, but his ears and the tip of his nose were beginning to feel chapped. The water pressure wasn’t quite as good as the shower back in Charlotte, but it wasn’t enough to complain about. The cold on the other hand, he inwardly cursed. While getting dressed, Hector and Luka approached him.

“Hey, man, we’re all going out for some food and beers, would you like to join us?” Luka offered.

“Well, sure,” Ethan said, touched by being included. He had been so worried about being an outsider here, but so many of them were also from other places. They knew what it was like to feel like a fish out of water.

“I’m afraid there won’t be any moonshine,” Peter interjected sarcastically as he slung his bag over one shoulder.

Ethan didn’t acknowledge the jab. “I don’t drink at all, actually, so that’s fine by me.”

“Ignore him,” Hector said, leaning in close. “He’s just…how do you say…a little bitch sometimes.”

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