Chapter Text
I haven’t even unzipped my suitcase when there’s a knock on my door.
I ignore it and keep shifting all the Tyrrendor Football Federation merch off the bed, stacking it haphazardly on the dresser.
The knock comes again, louder.
“C’mon, Ten, open up,” I hear through the door.
Despite my irritation, I can’t help but smile as I open the door.
Liam Mairi, world class midfielder, fills my door frame. We were roommates at soccer academy growing up. I know him as well as I know myself.
He gives me a grumpy look. “You’re late.”
“I’m early. Training starts tomorrow.” I turn back into my room, leaving Liam to follow me.
“You’re late if we’re going out tonight.”
“I thought that was a joke,” I groan, turning back to him, “Not a chance. Captain’s Call at 0700. I am not twenty-two anymore.”
“Neither am I but faced by the prospect of two months of dorm living, I’m not squandering the last night of freedom I have.”
When he puts it that way…
“See?” he crows, “I can see you thinking about it.”
“I’m not staying out late, though.” I warn him.
“I’ll have you home by midnight, mother,” he teases, “Don’t worry.”
The club is packed, even this early in the night. It’s hard to move through all the crowded bodies, the EDM louder than it should be.
I think we all regret coming–even Liam–but none of us will admit it. We finally score a booth in the back corner, near the bathrooms, near the exit.
Midnight can’t come fast enough.
I may be able to talk Garrick into leaving at eleven-thirty.
Bodhi bullies Liam into a round of drinks and they head off to the bar. As we wait for them to return, Garrick and I fall into discussion about the group stage. Our chances, our odds, who to look out for. A conversation we’ve had a million times since the group draw.
A girl drops into our booth, breathing heavily, “Sorry, just have to—” she reaches down and fixes her strappy heels. “Thanks,” she breathes, turning to us.
“Hey, I know you,” her eyes dart between Garrick and me, “Don’t I?”
“Probably not.” Garrick replies, carelessly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just you—” she turns to me, and peers closer at me in the dim light, “You look really familiar."
“I get that all the time.” I reply.
Since she’s not leaving, I look her over. She’s beautiful and dammit, she does look familiar, too.
Shit. I don’t know anyone who lives here.
And trying to figure out our connection–if there is one–couldn’t possibly end well.
Just then Garrick’s phone buzzes. “Imogen,” he says, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He slides out of the booth and heads to the back exit, where he can take the phone call from his girlfriend.
Tomorrow, even phone calls get shut down.
“Are you in town for the World Cup?” she asks.
“Isn’t everyone?” I counter.
“What team do you support?”
I can’t help my grin. “Tyrrendor.”
“Oh,” she deflates a little, “I follow Navarre.”
I nod in agreement, “They’re a strong team.”
“You going to any matches?”
“As many as I can." Hopefully, lots of them. "You?”
“No,” She sighs, “I have to work through most of it.”
“Me, too.” I confide, “Do you want tickets? I’ve got some.”
It’s an offhanded offer. Every player gets a certain amount of tickets to purchase. I haven’t used any of mine, but they’re still available.
“No, I don’t want tickets.”
“Not even VIP tickets?”
She rolls her eyes, “That doesn’t impress me.”
Doesn’t impress—?
What?
World Cup VIP tickets don’t impress her?
I swallow down my indignation.
“What does impress you?” I query, genuinely curious.
Her eyes slide up and down my body.
“Not much.”
Maybe coming out tonight was a great idea.
“That sounds like a challenge.”
She tilts her head and smiles. Leans over and takes a drink of my whiskey. “It is if you make it one.”
I take a long moment to consider her. Finally ask, “How drunk are you?”
“Me?” She laughs, “I’m working tomorrow, bright and early. I had one shot and switched to water. This is me, being crazy, before things get crazy.”
I purse my lips and nod, approvingly.
“How drunk are you?” she counters.
“Just the whiskey. Watered.” I inform her.
We stare at each other for a second. Her eyes are deep hazel. I scoot along the booth, closer to her. Lean close enough to smell her perfume. “I bet I can impress you.” I whisper, my breath on her ear.
Her breath hitches, just slightly, before she says, “Guys like you are all talk.”
“I can back it up.”
“Cocky.”
“Confident.” I return, “It’s not cocky if it’s true.”
She laughs. “You sound just like my brother.”
“Must be a smart guy.”
She turns and smiles at me. “Runs in the family.”
She kisses me softly.
After a second, I pull away.
Confused.
Because this has all the makings of a one-night stand.
But somehow that kiss didn't feel like one.
“You’re trouble.” I finally breathe.
“Always,” she agrees.
And when she slides out of the booth and holds out her hand—
I take it.
At eight twenty-five the next morning, Bodhi drops into the chair next to me.
It’s the first camp meeting, twenty days until the World Cup starts.
“Where’d you disappear to?”
“Hm?” I ask, distractedly, as I try to shuffle all my captain’s papers into a folder.
“Last night?” He prompts, “You left early.”
“Yeah. I was ready to call it a night.”
Garrick drops his hands on my shoulders, gives them a hard, painful squeeze as he sits behind me. “Your Grace.”
I shoot him an annoyed look over my shoulder at my least favorite nickname and he grins, pleased as punch to have gotten under my skin.
But Bodhi isn’t dropping it. “Where were you this morning then?”
“Captain’s Call.” I hold up the folder before I drop it under my chair.
The rest of the team files in the front and the staff fills in the seats in the back. Liam drops next to Bodhi. “Ten says he went home early to bed last night,” Bodhi tells him.
Liam leans around Bodhi and says, “Suuure you did. Garrick told us about that hot girl in your booth.”
I wave my hand dismissively just as Yusuf starts the meeting.
The meeting runs like other camp meetings. A basic run through of the schedule. What to expect for trainings. Laundry services. Food catering. Food after hours. Towards the end, he introduces the support staff.
Most of the support staff have been with TFF for years. Yusuf makes quick work of introducing the new hires, gesturing to them in the back. “--And finally, taking on head sports physician, Dr. Violet Sorrengail.”
My stomach drops to my shoes.
Shit.
Sorrengail… as in Brennan Sorrengail.
As in my mentor when I first joined Dragons Football Club.
My head turns on its own.
There she is in the crowd, waving.
Same girl from last night.
From this morning.
Shit.
No wonder she looked familiar.
She’s Brennan’s sister.
No wonder I sounded like him.
Half my motivational quotes are his.
I whip around to the front.
“She’ll be meeting individually with each of you over the next few days and will be available as needed during the tournament.”
Liam and Bodhi both turn back around while there is a smattering of applause from the team.
Liam leans around Bodhi to give me a huge, knowing smile. I ignore him.
I can’t ignore Garrick kicking my chair as Yusuf says his final words. Finally I turn to him, “Knock it off,” I hiss.
Garrick mouths He’s going to kill you and smiles.
Brennan.
Yes.
He's going to kill me.
I turn back to the front.
Right at that moment, my phone vibrates.
As the meeting breaks up, with fifteen minutes to get to the training, I chance a quick glance at the message.
I’d left my actual number this morning, which I never do, scribbled on a hotel note pad. Signed it like an autograph, only with the letter “X”.
Liam’s been giving me grief over that signature since we were fifteen. I’ve been ‘Ten’ ever since.
Unknown: This is a joke, right?
Unknown: Xaden Riorson?
The team makes their way out to the field and I risk texting back.
XR: Told you I could back it up
XR: Impressed yet?
I smile all the way out to the pitch.
I’m so screwed.
During lunch, I get the summons. Walter walks by and says, “Riorson, you’re up.”
I look up from my plate, “What?”
“Your turn with Doc.”
“Yeah, your turn,” Garrick teases.
“Stop it.” I say, looking at my salad.
I haven’t said a word to them all morning, working hard through the morning training to avoid talking.
Definitely pushed harder than I should have with so little sleep.
But even though I haven’t said anything, they still know. Still can put the pieces together.
The way we know each other is an asset on the pitch and a liability in my love life.
“You didn’t leave it weird, did you?” Liam asks, his forehead furrowing in concern. “‘Cause I met with Doc this morning and she’s fantastic.”
Bodhi and Garrick both snort, but look at me expectantly.
I don’t say anything.
There is a long silence. “Oh my god, you did.” Liam groans.
“No, I didn’t!” I protest, “I’m just not going to tell you neanderthals about it.”
“Xaden–” Liam begins.
“It was fine!” I burst out defensively--
Better than fine.
Amazing.
Mind blowing--
Our table silences. Then Garrick starts to laugh, “It was ‘fine’?”
Liam runs his hands, down his face. “Ohhh, this is so bad.”
I push away from the table without saying a word.
Before I’m out of the cafeteria, Bodhi catches up to me. “Ten,” he starts.
“What Bodhs?” I snap.
He holds his hands up defensively, “You’ve never kissed and told, Ten. Okay? I don’t expect you to start today.”
My anger evaporates a bit. “What Bodhs?” I repeat, softer.
I push the cafeteria door open. Bodhi follows me through the door, the noise of the dining hall left behind. “I know you already know this,” he takes a breath, “But you can’t pursue this. Her.”
I just look at him.
“It has to stay professional.”
I still say nothing.
“It’s the World Cup,” he finally ends.
After a long pause, I reply, “I never forgot.”
Two minutes later, I’m tapping at her door. “Enter,” a voice calls.
I open the door and walk in, closing it behind me.
Her hair is pulled up in a pony tail. Dressed in scrubs. Her computer screen is pulled up to my medical records.
There’s a brief pause while we look at each other.
“I’m Violet Sorrengail.” She finally offers, holding her hand out.
My lips lift in a small smile, and I shake her hand. The same hand that left marks down my back twelve hours ago. “Xaden Riorson.”
“Nice to meet you.” She gestures to the chair and I fall into it. She turns back to her computer. “Can you confirm your date of birth?”
We run through a couple of standard questions and then we start getting into the nitty gritty of my medical record. Past injuries. Past traumas. Any TBIs. Any medication or pills I’m on. My sleep hygiene. Any range of motion concerns. MRI results. Is anything sore right now–
I have to suppress a smile at that one.
At the end, she takes my blood pressure, oxygen levels and listens to my lungs and heart. “Seems like an assistant should have done this for you.” I observe.
“I like the hands on part.”
My eyes lift to hers for just a second.
“Taping, massage, electro-therapy,” She hurries on, looking away. “I like it all. Deep breath.”
I take a deep breath in and out, closing my eyes. Her perfume wafts around me.
I breathe deeply at her direction. When she’s satisfied, she steps back and sits in her chair. She ponders me. “You changed your hair,” she says finally.
“Sorry?” I ask, surprised.
She gestures to the screen. My photo on the screen is dated, back when I bleached my hair.
“It’s dark now,” She concludes, “I was expecting blonde. It was blonde when you played with Brennan.”
I ruffle my hair. “Yeah. I colored it back to normal a couple of weeks ago.”
“That’s why you looked familiar.”
“Yeah,” I glance away, “It’s the World Cup. I have to stay focused.”
There’s a long pause. “Agreed,” she says, standing, gesturing for me to stand as well. “And I’m here to support you staying focused.”
She opens the door, but I push it closed softly.
I don’t move.
Neither does she.
The room feels small.
“Trouble,” I say softly, looking at her.
Her eyes close. Then open to stare at me. “It’s a lot easier to fire me than to find a new center attacking midfielder for the Tyrrendor National Team.”
“Yeah,” I agree. That’s true. “It’s the World Cup. I can’t be distracted.”
“I know.”
We look at each other.
“Keep it professional then?” She finally asks.
“I mean,” I say, finally smiling, “Not by choice.”
She laughs.
It feels like a win.