Page 111 of The Defender
“Hell yeah!” Samson yelled. “That’s how you take a shot!”
“Not bad.” Asher slapped me on the back with a grin. “Not as good as me, but not bad.”
“Fuck off, Donovan.” I laughed.
We resumed our match, but the energy was noticeably lighter, at least on our side. We had several minutes and extra time left on the clock, but it was easier to defend when we were winning than try to force a tie-breaking goal.
The other team’s players were tired, and their morale was down. But us?
We were fuckingback.
BROOKLYN
The final whistle blew minutes after Vincent’s free kick, making it official.
Blackcastle had won.
“Yes!” Seth punched his fist in the air. “That’s how you do it! Let’s fucking go!”
I pressed my fist to my mouth, trying and failing to hide a grin. My body buzzed with so much excitement I couldn’t find a proper way to express it, so I just stood there and smiled like an idiot while the rest of the team celebrated on the sidelines.
The Blackcastle players had hoisted Vincent on their shoulders and were carrying him across the pitch like a hero returning from battle. His grin dazzled even from a dozen yards away, and I was so damn proud of him I could burst.
I’d always been, and would always be, a Blackcastle supporter, but watching the matches hit different when my boyfriend was playing. The highs were higher, the lows were lower. It was like I was right there on the pitch with him, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I finally roused myself from my daze and bypassed a giddy Seth to approach my dad. He was talking to Greely, who quickly excused himself when he saw me coming.
“Congratulations,” I said. “That was a great win.”
“It was okay,” my dad grunted, but his eyes shone with pride.
Our relationship had improved by leaps and bounds since our talk over the break. We’d set up a weekly dinner where talking about football was off-limits, and he’d stopped scowling every time I told him I was going out with Vincent.
Things weren’t perfect, but we were trying. That was what mattered.
“Are you coming to dinner tonight?” I asked.
“We’ll see. I have some work to finish first. If I get it done, I’ll drop by.”
The team had training yesterday on Christmas Day, so Asher and Scarlett had organized a holiday dinner at their house tonight instead. Everyone at Blackcastle was invited, including the staff.
I wasn’t surprised my dad was iffy on attending. He avoided big gatherings if he could help it, and since we’d had a nice father-daughter meal last night, I wasn’t too upset about him potentially skipping out on what was sure to be a raucous party.
“Let me know. I’ll save a plate for you if I can,” I said. “No guarantees. These guys are like freaking wolves when it comes to food.”
He smirked. “I will.”
While he left for his post-match press conference, I checked in with Jones to see if he needed anything (he didn’t) before I met Scarlett and Carina outside the stadium. We were heading to Scarlett’s house early to help prep while the players spoke to the media and cleaned up.
They hugged me, their cheeks red from the cold despite the thick black-and-purple Blackcastle scarves wrapped around their necks.
“I propose we build a giant dome over the stadium for winter use,” Carina said as we walked to my car. “A heated indoor pitch. How nice does that sound?”
I laughed. “Put it in the suggestion box. Maybe Vuk Markovic wouldn’t mind coughing up hundreds of millions to build that dome.”
“I will because we cannot keep doing this.” Carina’s teeth chattered. “I think I have frostbite.”
“I’ll buy you a portable space heater for your birthday. That way, you won’t complain throughout the entire match,” Scarlett said good-naturedly. “Also, just so you know, Antarctica is way colder than this.”
