Page 31 of Hotshot

“The Women’s FA Cup Final, 15 years ago. It was three months before my injury. I was 19, playing for Rushton City, and I was hot property. I took the ball down from over my shoulder – a little like you did today, good assist by the way.” Sloane bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Then I did a Ricky Villa-slalom in the penalty area, feinted one way, wrong-footed the keeper and slotted coolly into the bottom right corner. The crowd, about ten thousand in a small arena just outside Doncaster, went mad, and it was the best moment of my life. I’ve won the FA Cup, and not many people can say that.”

For the second time that day, Sloane was left speechless by Ella. “Why have you never told me that before? Or about your career?”

“You never asked.” Ella smiled. “Plus, my job isn’t to talk about me. But today, Lucy asked me to. So I did.”

“I’m glad.” Sloane’s ankle throbbed so much, it was like her whole body was on fire.

“Is it helping with the pain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Liar.”

Sloane grinned. Ella understood. She loved that.

“But you know something? I’d love to kick a ball in a big stadium like you have. We always played in small grounds. Even when I won the FA Cup, we didn’t sell out a capacity ground of 15,000. I’d love to score a goal on the big stage. Not in a game, because my knee might have other ideas. Just for fun. And I want to celebrate like I just won the FA Cup again.”

“Can’t you do that at Rovers?”

Ella rolled her shoulders and shook her head. “Not really. I’m the performance coach. I can kick a ball, but I can’t join in training. It’s not my job.”

Sloane stored that fact away.

“But I meant what I said – it might not be so bad. I doubt it’s broken.” Ella pointed at Sloane’s ankle. “Plus, while you’re in rehab, you have me as your coach and your neighbour. I can bring coffee if you’re on crutches. I’ll make sure you never run out of chocolate digestives.”

“They’re like crack cocaine.” Ella had taken her mind off her problems, even if just for a moment.

Outside, there was a massive cheer from the crowd. Had United equalised? “You should go back out there. You’re needed on the sidelines for encouragement.”

“I might need to start shouting if they’ve just equalised.” Ella turned, then looked back at Sloane. “You played well today, by the way. Like a hotshot.”

“Apparently I am a hotshot, so someone wise once told me.” Sloane held onto Ella’s gaze like her life depended on it. Which in that moment, it felt like it did.

Ella went to say something, stopped, then leaned in and placed three fingertips on Sloane’s bare arm. The air rushed out of Sloane’s system at Ella’s touch.

Their gazes were still locked.

Sloane’s heart thumped in her chest. The pain in her ankle was temporarily forgotten.

“You’re going to be okay.”

Sloane desperately wanted to believe her.

Another roar from outside.

The moment snapped in two.

Ella dropped her gaze and took a step back. She stared at her fingertips, back at Sloane, then signalled with her thumb over her shoulder. “I better go.”

Sloane nodded. “Don’t go!” was what she wanted to say, but she didn’t. “Message me the score,” was what came out.

More appropriate for work.

Not at all the truth.

What the hell had just happened?

CHAPTER14

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