Page 1 of The Defender
CHAPTER 1
VINCENT
In my defense, the pub didn’t have an explicitNo Miniature Pigsrule. The owner was a stickler about no cameras and no fighting, but when it came to adorable porcine companions? Not a single warning until he spotted Truffle in my arms and lost his shit over “unhygienic animals.”
Ironic, considering his pub was called the Angry Boar. You’d think he’d be more understanding when it came to swine.
“It’s not your fault,” I told the teacup pig nestled in my arms. “Mac doesn’t like any living thing, human or animal. Besides, I bet you’re cleaner than half the people in there.”
Truffle snorted in agreement.
“So much for our big night out,” Adil grumbled. “We won our first match against Holchester this season”—an expected chorus of jeers erupted at the mention of our longtime rival—“and instead of celebrating, we’re out in the cold. Literally.”
My team was gathered on the pavement outside the pub, trying to decide what to do next. So far, the only thing we’d agreed on was that pigs were cute, and pub rules sucked.
“Whose fault is that? I told DuBois not to bring Truffle.” Stevens gestured at me. “That’smypet, but our dear ol’ captain decided to make him the team mascot instead.”
“Captain’s privilege,” I said with a grin. “I can make anyone the team mascot, so watch your mouth or you’ll find yourself in a costume instead of a kit during next week’s match.”
The earlier jeers morphed into laughter and good-natured ribbing. The tips of Stevens’s ears turned red, but he took my words in stride, as I knew he would.
I was only messing around. My role as a captain of Blackcastle, one of the Premier League’s top football clubs, included a lot of things—giving team talks, operating as the middleman between management and players, making sure these Neanderthals behaved both in and out of the changing room—but it didn’t include team mascot assignments. Not officially, anyway.
Unofficially? I had the power to elevate anyone’s pet to the lauded role of team mascot. Tonight, that honor belonged to Truffle, the cutest pig you’d ever see.
“Okay, enough about the pig,” Adil said. “Where are we taking this party? Your house? Another pub? Neon?”
“How about Legends?” Asher named a famous American sports bar whose London branch was as popular as its New York one. “I know the owner. I can easily get us a last-minute private room.”
“Yes to Legends, no to the private room,” Stevens said. “No offense, lads, but I’m not trying to be part of a sausage fest all night. I’d rather meet some girls.”
“You can meet them, but you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” Adil cracked.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. When’s the last timeyouwere on a date?”
“As a matter of fact…”
A ping from my phone distracted me from their inane argument.
Reminder: THE DAY (Do Not Contact).
Oh, fuck. It was midnight, which meant it was October third. THE DAY.
With all the stress leading up to the Holchester match and then the high of winning, I’d almost forgotten.
My stomach bottomed out, and any interest I’d had in continuing tonight’s celebration vanished.
I’d set the annual reminder for myself five years ago. It was an act of masochism, considering I couldn’t do anything about it—not without hurting the people I loved, hence theDo Not Contactnote.
But I needed the evidence that it was there. That Icoulddo something about it if I wanted to. The question was…did I want to?
Truffle let out a small squeal.Double fuck.I was squeezing the poor thing so tightly with one arm that he was squirming.
“Sorry, buddy.” I loosened my hold, but the knot in my throat remained.
It would be so easy. I had the information stored on my phone. All I’d have to do?—
“DuBois, you down?” Asher’s voice interrupted my mental spiral.
