Page 11 of Striker's Foul
“Luke, I only ever want you. I want to be your wife. I’ll be the Victoria to your Beckham.” I couldn’t believe I made a joke at that moment.
“That’s why I love you, angel. You’re perfect for me.”
He slowly made love to me until we both came, moaning, trying to keep quiet so my dad didn’t know what we were doing or that he’d sneaked into my room.
I come awake, clutching at the sheets, my body writhing, needing a release. I’m so turned on from the dream it hurts. I reach down and take care of myself. Luke and I made love several times without using protection when we should’ve. I don’t regret having my son, but we should have been more careful.
All day I’ve felt off, and now I know why. Jude isn’t playing very well, and he’s frustrated. The team is on their halftime break, and the coach is railing at them for being distracted.
“He’s not watching the players’ cues,” Luke says from behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn around, my hands going to my hips and my foot stomping.
“Why are you following us? Can’t you leave us alone like you did for so many years? Striker, I know Jude is stressed out because I am. If you leave us alone?—”
Luke pulls me into his body. “You don’t call me Striker. I’m Luke and always will be to you, angel.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Hey, get your hands off my mom.” Jude rushes over. He shoves Luke, who doesn’t budge but lets me go so Jude doesn’t hurt me.
“He drops his shoulder to the side, he’s going to fake too. Watch him, and you’ll get past him. He has tells. So does the goalie. His eyes flick in the direction he thinks you’re going to kick, and you do it every time. Get out of your head and you’ll win this one.” Luke leans down as he gives Jude the advice.
“Like you know anything about soccer. Just because you knocked up my mom, that doesn’t mean you know me or what I like to do.”
“I’m not called Striker for anything other than that was my position. Ask your coach.” Luke steps back, and Jude looks between us.
“You knew he played soccer?” Jude’s voice sounds hurt, and I have to fix this fast.
“I did. I wasn’t going to get you involved, but you liked it so much. Don’t worry about that. Go play your game.”
He nods at me, then stops to look at Luke. He nods again before he rushes over to his coach. When the coach gets animated, I know Jude is asking about Luke. Soon after, Jude dashes back onto the field.
Luke stays by my side as we watch our son play a better second half. He listens to what Luke told him and uses the players against themselves. When Jude scores the winning goal, I’m so excited that I turn and jump into Luke’s arms. He spins me around as he cheers too. Once I’m back on my feet, I feel the awkwardness and step back.
“Thank you for talking to him.”
“It’s not just a game of skill; it’s a game of the mind too. Like chess.”
“You always said that.”
“Kid’s got natural talent. He’ll be fine.”
I nod, and Luke walks off while Jude rushes over.
“Thank you, Striker,” he hollers at him, and Luke just holds up a hand as he continues to his bike.
I don’t know why he’s keeping his distance, except for the fact that I asked him to stay away.
“Mom, my coach said that Striker was on the Olympic team and was going to the Cup but gave it all up. Was it because of you or me?” Jude asks as we drive home.
“I don’t know why.” I sigh. I don’t know why he never went. He had a promising career ahead of him, but instead, he joined the Army.
We get to the roadhouse, and I send Jude up to shower. I tell him I’ll have Leticia drop off his food, then he has to go to bed.
I work around the floor, getting everyone settled or helping where I can.
“You’re Amelia Pierceson,” a woman says from a nearby table.
