Sweeper

by Amy Daws

Guilt propels my feet as I approach the woman crying. “Are you Zander’s mum?” I ask, and she looks up at me, her face red and puffy as snot dribbles out of her nose.

  She nods and croaks, “Yes, I’m Jane.”

  “I’m Zander’s neighbor, Daphney.”

  “Oh, hello,” she offers weakly and takes my hand, but it’s as if I’m shaking the hand of a corpse.

  “Can I get you anything?” I inquire, taking the seat that Zander just vacated. “Tea?”

  She shakes her head and barks out a wet laugh. “A time machine if you have it.” Her American accent is just like Zander’s, and it makes me miss him.

  “How long are you staying for?” I ask, hating that I care because Zander doesn’t deserve it.

  Jane rolls her eyes. “I leave tomorrow, apparently.”

  “So soon?”

  She shrugs. “My son is very upset with me.”

  I nod slowly, my heart breaking for the woman in front of me. The fact that Zander flew his mother out here to talk to him means that he loves her enough to have this conversation face-to-face. That has to mean something, right? Zander doesn’t deserve my help here, but I can’t help myself.

  “I know you and Zander are figuring some things out, but I know that it’s gutted him not to have you close as he’s been playing in the Premier League this season.”

  “Oh, Zander doesn’t care if I watch or don’t watch his games,” she huffs, waving me off as she swipes away the dampness on her cheeks. “Soccer was always his father’s thing.”

  “He cares,” I state it simply, making eye contact with her again. “And in a couple of days, it’s the FA Cup quarterfinal being hosted at Tower Park, his team’s facility. It’s a very big game in the world of English footba…I mean soccer. I think it would go a long way for you to surprise him at that game.”

  “I wouldn’t even know how to get tickets,” she croaks, staring at me with desperation all over her face. “And Zander is too mad at me to even invite me, I’m sure.”

  I reach across the table and cup her hand. “I can help.”

  Zander

  My body is on autopilot as I dress for today’s match in complete silence, only half listening to Link as he rattles on and on to me about how good Manchester City strikers are.

  I already know how good they are. I’ve been watching game footage of them all week, not just with the team but on my own as well. I know those strikers better than they know themselves. I know their tells, and today will not be the day I let my emotions get the best of me. Today, it’s football over bullshit.

  My mother is back in Boston, Daphney still hasn’t come back to her apartment, Link and Knight are giving me space, and I’m avoiding the Harris family like the fucking plague.

  Knight claps me on the back, offering me silent support as Coach Zion hushes the entire locker room to announce Vaughn for his typical manager speech that’s become a regular occurrence on Cup game days. Vaughn probably gives a good speech. Today is a big day, and big days require big speeches. But I don’t need to hear it, not from him. I only need to hear the voice in my head that says…don’t fuck this up, Zander.

  Our hands go in, and I’m silent as the team chants, “I am thine, thou art mine.”

  On autopilot, I touch the saying at the top of the door as we make our way out of the locker room and file into the tunnel. There are kids there, waiting to be escorted out onto the field. The little girl assigned to me grabs my hand and yanks me down to her level.

  “Are you from America?” Her British accent is sweet, and I hate that her blue eyes remind me of Daphney.

  I nod and clench my teeth as I attempt to maintain my composure.

  “Can you say something funny?” She blinks up at me, and a piece of my armor falls to the ground.

  With a huff, I repeat, “Say something funny,” giving a little extra lilt to my Boston accent for effect. “How was that?”

  She giggles, and then we’re moving in a single file line out onto the field. The sun glistens off the pristine grass as the fans chant the Bethnal Green fight song at a roaring level.

  I look up to see that the stadium is packed, the sun is bright, and the air is cool. A pit forms in my stomach as I drink this moment in because I’ve grown attached to Tower Park in the short time I’ve been here. I love the fans and the atmosphere. Bethnal Green feels like home and in a few months’ time, I will be long gone. Santino and I are scheduled to talk about my future on Monday, and I can honestly say I’m going to miss this.

  We line up down the field, and I force myself not to look up because I don’t need to see the Harris family sitting in the front row like they usually do, screaming their heads off for Booker, Tanner, and Vaughn.

  The truth is, I’m jealous of them. I’m jealous of their comradery and bond. I’m jealous of the unfailing support they give to each other. But most of all, I’m jealous of their innocence. I know they lost their mom when they were all young, but at least they knew who their mother and father were. At least they never doubted that.

  As we stretch out on the pitch and wait for the match to start, I feel a firm tap on my shoulder. I whirl around and come face-to-face with Booker Harris.

  “Hey, man, you good?” he asks, adjusting the straps on his keeper gloves.

  I bend over and stretch out my hamstrings. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You’ve been quiet at training the past couple of days.” I look up and see he’s watching me with a serious look on his face.

  “Has my performance suffered?” I snap, my tone overly defensive.

  “No,” Booker volleys, his head tilting in challenge. “You’ve been killing it on the pitch. I’m just checking in with you. I heard about you and Daphney.”

  “Not you too,” I growl and stand to face him toe-to-toe. “I don’t need another Harris pushing in on my life, okay?”

  Booker cocks his head to the side and refuses to back down. “Well, just bloody well fix it because Daphney is like family to us. If you need a Harris shakedown to get your head on straight, that can be arranged.”

  “Family?” I snap, my rage boiling over as I clench my fists and use every muscle in my body not to freak the fuck out on him right now. “Don’t you talk to me about Daphney or family. Got it?”

  Booker huffs out a laugh of disgust, his brows furrowed as he backs away. “Sorry for bloody well caring.”

  He turns around and takes his spot back by the net while I look forward to focus on what I came here to do.

  Daphney

  This was a stupid idea, I think to myself as I sit in the nosebleed section of Tower Park field with Jane Williams beside me, waiting for the players to come onto the pitch.

  Originally, I thought I wouldn’t have to come to the game, but Jane wasn’t comfortable coming to the match alone, and I can’t say I blame her. This is her first time at a FA Cup match. And her son isn’t currently speaking to her. The woman is holding on by a very thin thread, and I dare say, she’s in good company.

  I’ve been a nervous wreck ever since I helped Jane change her flight home and extend her hotel stay for a few more nights. I kept waiting for Zander to figure out what I’d done and show up at Old George to scream at me for interfering in his life. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Phoebe told me it was stupid about forty-seven times in forty-seven minutes. I know it’s stupid!

  Especially because the entire Harris crew is in attendance down toward the first row. This is a quarterfinal game, so everyone is here for support. It’s hard to make them all out, but I’m pretty sure I spot Gareth and his wife, Sloan. Poppy and Allie, plus Belle, Vi, and Hayden. I think even Camden managed to attend since Arsenal was knocked out of the tournament by Bethnal Green a couple of weeks back. I even spot Mac and Freya’s red hair from up here, and they look like they’re sitting with Santino and Tilly. Honestly, it’s no wonder I struggled to find decent tickets today. The Harris family has booked out most of the stadium.

  I kept my hood up throughout the conco
urse on the off chance I ran into one of them. If Zander finds out that I dragged his mum here and potentially exposed her to the whole Harris crew, he will hate the ground I walk on. Which maybe wouldn’t be a bad thing because no matter how hard it was seeing him hurting the other day, I still haven’t forgotten what he did to me.

  I’m not here for Zander today. I’m here for his mum.

  Jane looked so sad and alone that day at Old George. I couldn’t let her stubborn arse of a son send her home without even the tiniest bit of closure. Maybe if Jane can connect with Zander after the game and he sees she put forth a bit of effort, he’ll find it in his heart to forgive her.

  “Is there no one that comes around with alcohol?” Jane asks, pulling her coat tight over her Bethnal Green kit that I helped her pick out in the shops outside. “My nerves are shot.”

  “No alcohol in the stands, I’m afraid.”

  She scoffs and adjusts her matching Bethnal Green stocking cap. “Yet another reason I never attended any soccer games when I lived here years ago. That and…I don’t really care much for soccer.”

  My brows lift. “Really? All those years Zander played, you never warmed to the game?”

  She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Not the game, no. But I was always very proud of Zander, of course. Cried every time I saw him come onto the field. He just looks so grown-up in his uniform, and no matter how many times I see him, I can’t help but marvel at the fact that I created that little man.”

  A smile spreads across my face. “He is pretty special,” I state, feeling a pain slice through me at that remark.

  Her chin trembles. “I just hope he can forgive me.”

  “He will,” I say, reaching around and rubbing her back affectionately. “He’s had a couple of days to cool off, now.”

  Jane licks her lips and nods. “You know, I went to Vaughn Harris’s house to tell him I was pregnant.”

  My lips part in shock. “You did?”

  “I never got around to telling Zander that part.”

  “What happened?” I can’t help but ask. Despite myself, I still care about him.

  “A little blonde girl who couldn’t be more than ten years old answered the door. She was the spitting image of her mother, and it took my breath away. Vilma and I were very close when we were in college, but once she met Vaughn and started having kids, we lost touch. I didn’t know her kids like I should have.

  “But this little blondie was holding the hand of her little brother, and two other blonde boys were sitting on the stairs behind her. They all had tears in their eyes, so I bent over to ask her what was wrong. It was then that I heard shouting farther in the house. It was Vaughn fighting with his eldest son. Had to be oldest because the boy’s voice was cracking as they bellowed at each other, and I think Vaughn’s eldest would have been a young teen at that time. The little girl looked up at me and wiped away her tears and said in the most grown-up voice I’d ever heard, ‘It’s just Daddy and Gareth having a discussion. I’m handling it.’”

  Jane shakes her head in amazement. “Such a tiny little thing but she spoke with such fierce confidence, I didn’t dare question her.” Jane sighs heavily. “It was clear at that moment that Vaughn’s plate was overflowing, and since I was due to start my new job in Boston in just a couple of weeks, I didn’t want to be yet another burden for that little girl to handle. Though I’m sure she would have been up for the challenge.”

  “Vi definitely would have been up for it,” I say, my eyes glistening with tears. I’ve gotten to know my sister-in-law a lot throughout her marriage to Hayden, and fierce, momma-bear confidence describes her still to this day.

  “Do you know Vi?” Jane asks, looking at me curiously.

  I nod slowly. “She’s married to my brother.”

  “Oh,” Jane says, her eyes wide as she covers her mouth. “My God, I’ve said too much.”

  I reach out to grab Jane’s hand. “You have my complete confidence, Jane. But I do hope you share that story with Zander someday. I think it’ll mean a lot to him.”

  She nods and rubs her lips together. “If he ever speaks to me again.”

  “He will.”

  She eyes me thoughtfully for a moment. “You said you and Zander are just neighbors? Not something more?”

  The question hits me right in the chest, and I do my best to school my features to remain calm and collected. “Just neighbors.”

  “Well, you’re wonderful for going to all this trouble for me. I’m sure you feel like you’ve been plunked right into an episode of Maury Povich.”

  She laughs, and I almost feel bad when I reply, “I have no idea who Maury Povich is.”

  “Oh.” Jane chuckles and rolls her eyes. “It’s a vile talk show that’s nearly entirely all about paternity tests. Awful joke I just made.”

  I smile and give her a light nudge. “It’s good to joke in times of stress.”

  Suddenly, the stadium begins chanting the Bethnal Green fight song. I join in because you can’t work at Old George for a year and not learn this bloody chant. Jane watches in awe as the crowd all rise to their feet, hollering at deafening levels down to the pitch. I point at the tunnel, and her focus zeroes in on the players making their way out, escorting their smiling youth mascots. Jane’s eyes go wide when she spots Zander. It isn’t long before she’s wiping away the tears running down her cheeks.

  “Jerry would have loved this,” she yells over the fans, her face twisting in pain as she looks up to the sky and pulls in a deep breath.

  A wobbly smile lifts my face, and I finally allow myself to glance down at Zander. My heart breaks at the beautiful sight of him all polished and brand new in his clean kit and holding a little girl’s hand. If we were still together, would I have come today? Would he have wanted me to?

  The hate I’ve had for him the past few days has shifted into something different. A melancholy has settled over me as I’ve empathized with the agony in his mum’s story. I can even understand a bit why Zander felt desperate to seek out his own answers. I think I could even forgive him for using me to get to the Harris family, eventually.

  But the problem is, he didn’t just use me. He disappointed me. I thought we were something real, something special. I thought we were connecting on a level that superseded all of that. He clearly thought otherwise, and I’m humiliated that I let my heart run away without noticing that he was lying to me the whole time.

  I suppose it’s better to find out the truth now than when we’re months down the road, and I’ve given my whole heart to him. Zander has enough to work through in his life. His mum, his career, his involvement with the Harris family. I don’t need to be a part of that story.

  Zander

  A sweeper lives in two worlds.

  The first is where they are a defensive player only. They are charged with the task of “sweeping up” the ball off the opponents who have encroached the defensive line from a failure in the system. It is their job to prevent a center forward from challenging the keeper. A sweeper must be safe and smart. They cannot afford to make any mistakes because they are literally standing in front of their own net. Mistakes here can be fatal.

  In the other world, a sweeper is also an attacker. They must read the game and anticipate the moves of the other players to shift into the positions of greatest need. They have the ability to control the entire pace of the game, when to pass, when to keep, when to punt, or what play to set up next. A sweeper’s decision in the backfield has a ripple effect that can result in a goal on the front field.

  In many ways, it is the sweeper’s game.

  And as I play my ass off, feeling the euphoric effects of every save, every pass, every punt, every chant from the stadium, I can’t help but feel as though my own life mirrors that of a sweeper.

  Do I play it safe in my position and live the life that my parents set up for me? Or do I take a risk and lay my cards on the table to see what the chain of reaction will be?

  And why is this all o
n me? Why do I have to be the one to decide all of this? I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to find that letter. I didn’t ask to be recruited to Vaughn Harris’s team. Not really.

  A sweeper is supposed to be a leader, but how am I to lead when the one man who taught me how to lead is fucking gone?

  I’m playing the game of my fucking life today, but for who? What do seven saves and a launched pass up to Roan DeWalt from the back half of the field for him to drive in an epic goal mean anymore? Who is even watching?

  Is my dad watching? Does he regret dying without telling me the truth? Is he heartbroken I discovered the truth on my own? How do I fucking know when he’s not here to ask?

  Booker rushes over to me to celebrate my pass, but I brush him off, my face stony serious as I refuse the bro fives and fake hugs.

  “Zander, that was a brilliant pass!” he exclaims, his face twisted in confusion at my lack of enthusiasm as we walk back toward our end of the pitch.

  I say nothing in response as I get back into position.

  “You best get your attitude in check, mate,” Booker seethes from behind me, but I don’t look back. I don’t give him a response because the truth is, if I blink for even a fucking second right now, I might fall apart.

  The game continues, and I feel as though I’m watching myself play from the stands. It doesn’t even feel like me. I’m faster than I’ve ever been before. My touches are quicker. I’m burning strikers left and right, and my movements feel as if I’ve entered into another dimension of my abilities that I’ve never tapped into before.

  I scramble with a Man City striker and manage to achieve possession. I dribble the ball quickly up the field, bypassing Knight, who’s open in the midfield, and push beyond.

  I’m in the final third of the pitch, and both Roan and Billy are flanked on the sides, moving to shake off their defenders. There are opportunities for me to pass. I can give it to them and get back to my position on defense. I can play it safe.

  But I don’t want to be safe. I am in command of this field right now, and I want this shot.