Page 101 of The Thing About My Rival

JILL

Was great to chat earlier. Would LOVE to work with you again. There might be something…I’ll be in touch!

My stomach lurches, roiling with an unsettling mixture of relief and dread.

But I know that speaking with her was the right thing to do. I have to make sure I have something real to work on when both Hugo and my final connection to the Commoners are history.

When I lose Hugo, which I inevitably will, it’ll rip out a chunk of my heart.

And losing my job and my last link to the club at the same time would definitely demolish what’s left of it.

In those circumstances, the farther I can be away from both of them, the better.

It would be bad enough to watch them on TV. But to be here in Boston where Hugo and the Commoners both are, and not be able to have either of them, would be intolerable.

“Okay, folks.” I point at the huge old clock over the bar that my uncle salvaged from an Irish rail station when it was being torn down. “I don’t know about you all, but I’ve got shit to figure out. That clock might be ticking on closing time, but it’s also ticking on my future.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

DREW

Martinez finishes his memory of falling off his bike when he was a kid and how much the stitches in his chin hurt, then tosses the ball to me.

It’s not the first time someone’s chosen me to speak in one of our weekly sharing circles, but it doesn’t happen often.

“Okay, Drew,” Ashanti says. “Your turn to give us a memory of being in pain.”

My brain immediately shoots back to yesterday morning and sobbing in my office at the whole new brand of hurt that is the harsh reality that, however things turn out, in the very near future Hugo and I will be thousands of miles apart.

It’s hard to fit that thought together with the last two amazing weeks spent in his arms and in his bed, two amazing weeks of having the best person in the world to talk soccer with, and two amazing weeks of back-to-back wins and skyrocketing team spirit.

It’s been a glimpse into a dream life, both personal and professional. Something I don’t expect anything else to ever live up to.

And I still swoon every time I think about him spontaneously coming up with the perfect first date. Most men swimming in cash would want to show off and take me somewhere flashy. But no. Hugo’s right—he gets me. And hot dogs in the park to watch a talented kid play a pickup game could not have been better.

Since then, this larger-than-life Englishman has rapidly become an addiction.

It’s not fun having to hide what’s going on between us. But I have to admit, keeping it secret does add an unexpected edge of excitement.

At the back of my mind, though, I’ve known the whole time that pain is on its way.

There’d be no point in attempting a long-distance relationship. No matter how much he’s stirred up previously untapped feelings in me or how much he says he likes me—which he’s done through a series of groans and pants, as well as when bringing me breakfast in bed—we’d both be so busy it would be impossible.

I stare down at the ball in my lap.

Other than burning my hand on a pan from the oven a couple weeks ago, I can’t think of any other pain story to tell. And the pan thing is pretty dull.

I gaze around the room at the guys who’ve taken to these sessions so well. After the first few weeks of awkwardness, mumbled snark, and floor-staring, they’ve relaxed into the process.

We’ve even had a couple times when one of them has wanted to say something extra at the end, something that wasn’t part of the topic of the day.

Our reserve goalie talked about his fear of actually being called onto the pitch and letting everyone down by not being as good as our starting keeper.

Another player moved the room to tears when he described his kid taking his first steps after being told he’d never walk.

I glance around the circle as all the faces look at me expectantly. All except Ramon’s. He’s sitting there, arms folded, jaw set, staring across the room.

He’s barely communicated with me in the more than two weeks since our spat, and when he has, it’s mainly been grunts and shrugs. Winning that game against DC without him must have been an even bigger dent to his pride than being benched.

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