Page 18 of Playing for Possession
Maybe there was some truth in her father’s words. An ACL tear was a tough break. She was working her backside off in that gym. I knew because I’d hardly been able to tear my eyes away from it.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“What for?”
“For grabbing you like that.”
My fingers tingled with warmth from her desperate grip. “No worries. Fizzz buddies now, remember?”
Chapter 8
Kieran
The hotel was something else. Chandeliers twinkled overhead as I rolled the suitcases over the opulent marble floor. A palm-tree-lined infinity pool sparkled beyond expansive floor-to-ceiling windows. I’d stayed in incredible places all over the world, but I never took luxury like this for granted. It still gave me a sense of wonder. I’d never shake the feeling that it could all be taken away at any minute.
Tinkling glasses, melodic guitar, and laughter echoed from every gleaming surface. The lobby was full of people in suits and flowing gowns.
“I think it’s a wedding,” Joanie whispered.
I followed her charmed gaze to a door that opened into a wider hall. A bride in a strapless glittering white gown danced with her groom. A few eyes lingered on us as we crossed the lobby. I pulled my baseball cap low and quickened my stride. It was hard to go anywhere without attracting attention. It had always been worse in Spain. I’d played in Madrid for so long, it was harder to blend in here.
“Kieran Earnshaw?” A suited man appeared in front of me, his dark hair shining in the bright reception lights. He spoke in faintly accented English. “Is it you?”
I braced myself. Not everyone in Spain was a fan of mine. That’s what happened when you accidentally broke the leg of Barcelona’s best defender.
I kept my tone polite. “Sí. Hola. Encantado de conocerte.”
The man’s face broke into an expression of awe and excitement. He almost dropped his phone in his haste to pull it out of his pocket. “¿Está bien una foto?”
Great. I hadn’t made it to the concierge desk without someone stopping me for a selfie, but fine, one photo wouldn’t hurt.
I released my grip on my suitcase. “No hay problema.”
The man’s smile widened, and he shouted over to a friend in Spanish. Joanie waited patiently while I posed for photos. The man slipped his phone away and gave me a broad smile. “Gracias.”
“No problem.”
I grabbed my case to move away quickly before we attracted more attention. Most of the time, supporters were pleasant and well-meaning, but I’d been mobbed before in hotels, and I didn’t want to put Joanie through that. When I was a kid, I’d dreamed about being famous. Now I knew to be careful what I wished for. Fame came at a cost. I just wanted to play football, not second-guess popping out for milk in case I got accosted. It was enough to make you want to hide away some days.
“Wait,” the man called. “Can I get you with the bride and groom? It would be so special to meet you today.”
My shoulders ached after the flight, but I could hardly deny a couple on their wedding day. The supporters were the reason any of us had jobs. I owed them everything. Always important to be polite, even if it was exhausting sometimes.
I turned to Joanie. “Do you mind?”
She smiled. “Of course not.”
The first man beckoned over the bride and groom. The lobby echoed with excited chatter as an onslaught of people surrounded us. Someone thrust a champagne glass into my hand and then I was on a carousel, greeting people and posing for photo after photo. An elderly woman in a flowing floral dress whisked me away to the main hall, and I lost Joanie amid the chaos.
A group of guitarists strummed a rich, evocative sound under the honeyed glow of candlelight. I’d had no desire to gatecrash a party, but the ambience was so warm and inviting, it was impossible not to get swept away by the camaraderie. The groom was attempting to corral the entire wedding party together back in the lobby when I caught sight of Joanie again. She stood awkwardly by a water fountain, her eyes darting around as though looking for an escape route. I shouldn’t have abandoned her. A guest handed Joanie a phone, and then I was being nudged to the front of the group and wedged between the bride and groom.
“This is my mother, Carolina.” The bride pushed a small, plump older woman at me. She wrapped her arms around my middle and beamed up at me as if I was her long-lost grandson.
Joanie angled the phone to capture the shot. She wore a flustered expression as she waited for the last of the lively wedding party to crowd in. It was dark outside by the time a concierge pushed his way through the gathered crowd to take us away.
“Mr. Earnshaw? Welcome to The Bay. We have your suite ready for you. If you’d like to follow me.”
The bride grabbed my hand. Her eyes shone with gratitude. “Muchas gracias.”
