Have you ever felt like someone shoved a ball of yarn down your throat? That was the closest thing it felt like when I tried to swallow.
"I'm twenty-two with a big, loving family, and a healthy savings account."
"That's all very true."
"I'm going to keep it," I said quietly. There was time to figure everything else out. But if anyone could count on their family to help them through something like this, it was us. Each one of them would walk through fire for me. Just like I'd do for them.
Her eyes filled. "Okay."
"But I still have to talk to Jude."
Claire wiped at her face. "Yeah, you probably do."
"And," I said slowly, "I need to tell Logan. And Paige. Oh my gosh, Paige is gonna fly here like, tomorrow, isn't she?"
My sister smiled. "She might."
Fingers drumming on my leg, I made a split-second decision. "Can I ask you a massive, horrible favor where you don't say a word to any of them?"
"Lia," she said in a warning tone. "You have to tell them.
"I will! Just let me talk to Jude first. I can't handle them all freaking out and asking me what I need and what I'm going to do. I won't have answers to any of their questions."
She conceded with a reluctant nod.
"Thank you. I love you."
"I love you too." She sighed. "Do you want to keep talking?"
"No. I should text him and see if he can get together in the next couple of days."
We said our goodbyes shortly after, and I remained sitting on my bathroom floor for a few minutes longer. How did you even properly try to absorb the magnitude of that discovery?
In one moment, all the choices in my life had shifted, like the clicking letters on a train station arrival board.
My life would quite literally never be the same after this.
Neither would Jude's. I didn't even know if he had any other kids. Or a hidden girlfriend. Or maybe he was crazy. Regardless, he should know. If he chose not to step up, then I gave him the option, and the responsibility was on him.
Funny how being abandoned voluntarily by one of your birth parents colored your judgment on stuff like that. With that thought ... my thumbs flew across the screen.
Me: I'm actually open the next two evenings if you are. I'd love to see your neck of the woods.
Jude responded almost immediately.
Jude: What a very American phrase, but tomorrow evening is free in my 'neck of the woods'. If you're good with eating dinner at my place, I can send you the address.
Me: Send away.
Chapter Eight
Jude
I never usually gave much thought to what someone thought of my house. Usually being the operative word. My housekeeper, Mrs. Atkinson (whose first name was Rebecca, but I never dared called her that), tutted at me all day while I hovered around her, cleaning behind where she'd just done.
"Bloody footballer," she muttered, swatting at me with a dusting thing/weapon. "Go kick something and let me do my job."
"She's never been here, and I like this one. I told you that, right?"
She rolled her eyes. Yes. I'd told her.
If fans of Shepperton FC, the mighty Shorthorns, had any idea that their midfielder's only friend was his fifty-five-year-old housekeeper, they'd piss themselves.
"If you're so concerned with what the young lady thinks," Rebecca said with the patience of a saint and the advice of a bloody therapist, "go to the market and get her some flowers or buy her some chocolates."
While she dusted the rest of the family room, I sat on the large gray couch. "You don't think that's too cliché?"
"If a man bought me flowers and chocolates, I'd spend the night flat on my back without blinking."
Groaning, I covered my face. "Mrs. A, have pity."
She cackled. "Get out of here while I finish, young man. You should go do drills in the garden. The way you were handling the ball on Monday was a tragedy. You're slipping in your old age."
"Et tu?" I asked dryly, standing from the couch. "If I'm old, what does that make you?"
"Well-seasoned and incredibly smart." She eyed me over the edge of her glasses. "Is that what you're wearing?"
I glanced down at my white T-shirt and black trousers. "What?"
"You look like you're going to serve her coffee, not romance her." Rebecca set down the dusting wand. "And that reminds me, are you inviting this nice American girl over here for a quickie?"
I whistled. "Awfully judgy of you, Mrs. Atkinson. Maybe that's why she wants to come." I pointed a finger at her. "Plus, you have no idea. She's nice."
"Oh, she's nice if you've invited her to your home." The dusting resumed. "I've seen some of the tarts you've wandered off with over the years."
"Yes, when I was nineteen and stupid and let my first year of playing go to my head. You know I haven't done that in years." My phone rang, and Lewis's number appeared. I sent it to VM but lifted the screen for her to see. "I'm too busy trying not to lose my bloody job to other big-headed nineteen-year-olds to sleep around anymore. Besides, those tarts don't care as much about you when you're old and your money's gone."
"I know how much you make, young man. It's nowhere near gone."
She was right. Even though I was in the last year of my current contract with Shepperton, my payslip had a lot of zeros on it, and I had every reason to believe that I'd get a renewal for at least a year or two, even if it meant they'd transfer me to another interested team. As long as we could stay in the top tier, at least. Our last two wins helped, moving us a bit higher up the table.
I fucking hated disappearing in the middle.
With a glance at my watch, I stood from the couch. "She'll be here shortly. I suppose I better go change my shirt."
"Smart boy." She paused. "You didn't make her take the train from Oxford, did you?"
"No. She said a neighbor let her borrow her car."
"I'll get out of your hair." She patted my face as she passed. "Use your manners, Jude Michael McAllister. Open doors, pull out chairs, and don't attack her as soon as she walks in, all right? You ask her questions and listen to the answers, treat her like a normal human being."
"As opposed to treating her like a non-human?"
"Don't get smart. You know exactly what I mean. Women aren't vessels created simply for your enjoyment because you get paid millions of pounds to kick a ball around."
I felt only slightly defensive when I answered. "I know that."
While Rebecca put away the last of the cleaning supplies and checked on the dinner she'd popped into the oven, I bounded up the stairs to my bedroom to change. Mine was the biggest room in the house, with large windows overlooking the stretch of green grass in the garden. Smack in the middle was a king-size bed decorated in shades of gray. As I tossed the offending T-shirt into the wash basket, I thought for the thousandth time about the best way to tell Lia about what I did.
It was the part I was least looking forward to. The fact she hadn't recognized me, that she thought I was normal, was a huge part of the appeal.
Football to her meant a choice, something you might like or you might not. And if you didn't like it, you simply chose something else.
Football here was embedded in our lives. It was a culture running in your bloodstream, not just a match that you flipped to if you were bored. And as a nod to that, given I'd have to admit what I did sooner rather than later, I reached into the wardrobe and grabbed one of my bright blue Shepperton shirts. The logo on the chest was small, so it wasn't like I'd be opening the door wearing a full kit with my name on it.
"Jude," Rebecca called. "You have a visitor."
"Oh shit," I whispered, tugging the shirt on. By the time I reached the bottom of the steps, my entire body felt charged with excitement. No, it wasn't ideal for my housekeeper to be the one greeting her at the door, but she was here, and that was what mattered.
Rebecca said something that made Lia laugh, and the sound of it had me smiling.
&nbs
p; They stood by the front door, and in the full light of my home, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. Her hair—which had been long and curling down her back the last I'd seen her—was pulled back off her face.
She was wearing something yellow, but to be honest, I didn't really care what she was wearing.
"Don't let him take credit for the dinner, my dear," Rebecca whispered loudly with a hand on Lia's shoulder. "That's my secret recipe, and he's an absolute disaster in the kitchen."
Lia's eyes met mine, the blue of them so deep it was like a gut punch. She smiled. "Duly noted."
"Goodbye, Mrs. Atkinson," I said. "Have a lovely evening."
Rebecca gave me a warning look, and I knew that even in that brief window of time, she found herself just as charmed by Lia as I had been. "It was wonderful meeting you, dear," she said to Lia.
Lia smiled. "You too."
Rebecca left, closing the door quietly behind her. And it was then I noticed Lia's fingers knitted tightly together in front of her and the high color in her cheeks.
She was nervous.
"Come on in," I told her. "Would you like something to drink? I've got red and white, if you want wine."
Lia tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I actually wouldn't mind some water, if that's okay. Still or sparkling, doesn't matter."
"Of course."
I went to get her a bottle from the fridge, and from the corner of my eye, I saw her wander around the family room, looking at pictures of me and my brother over the years. She stopped at a small white frame and picked it up.
The photo had been taken years ago, after my first game as a top-tier player. I'd changed and showered, so I wasn't in my gear, but Lewis and I were both grinning widely, showing off our Shepperton shirts. There were no smiling parent pictures along the same vein, so she could look all she wanted for more hints of my family, but she'd not find a single one. Life was complicated, and the idea of trying to tiptoe into that conversation with Lia—about my job or my parents—felt just a little bit impossible.
Knowing what I did, it would change the dynamic between us, and suddenly, I found myself wanting to protect this small piece of reality.
I'd tell her. Eventually.
She set the frame down and met me in the kitchen just as I grabbed a second bottle of water for myself.
"Your house is beautiful," she said.
"Thank you."
"My brother was a professional football player in the States."
I choked on my water.
She kept going as if I hadn't. "He won a championship actually. And now he's the defensive coordinator for the same team."
I rubbed at my chest. "What now?"
Lia shook her head. "I could've explained that better. I'm sorry. I'm more nervous than I thought I'd be."
As carefully as I could, I set the water down, my mind spinning with the strange turn of events.
"I'm telling you because I didn't want you to think I was just ... making fun of soccer for the hell of it. I really don't understand it, and that's not an excuse, but my entire life was centered around Logan's job." Her fingers, long and graceful, started picking at the label on the bottle. "Football, American football, is what I watched every single weekend for my entire life. I grew up watching game film with him while I did my homework at night. I grew up knowing defensive schemes and depth charts and what the spread of each game was, and that was my life because he raised me and my sisters."
Her lips, pink and soft, moved with careful precision as she spoke, and I got the sense she'd practiced every word of what she was telling me right now. The light from the garden caught the side of her face and the length of her neck, and all I could do was stare.
In my silence, she kept speaking. "So basically, I'm trying to apologize if I was rude at the bar for what I said. I know I haven't been here long, but y'all are really protective of your football, and I shouldn't have said it was boring." Her eyes searched mine. "Or the thing I said about flopping on the ground. That was rude too."
Maybe I'd invited Lia because I would've cut my arm off to sleep with her again, but with every word, she dug a strange foothold somewhere behind my chest. If what she said was true—and there was no reason it wasn't—I managed to stumble upon a woman who would know precisely what the insanity of my life could be like. She'd understand every facet because even though the sports were different and the culture was different, there were very few people who didn't play who genuinely realized the level of dedication it took to do what I did. She'd appreciate why I'd bleed myself dry for the game.
I walked closer, and she sucked in a breath at my sudden nearness.
My hands reached out, stilling hers where they fidgeted with the bottle. Her fingers were ice cold.
Lia tilted her chin up. She was taller tonight, probably wearing different shoes, and I found that I very much wanted to see how easily I could kiss her from this angle. I wanted to boost her up onto my kitchen counter and step between her legs so I could press as closely as possible.
I barely knew her. Why did I feel like I did?
"Why are you so nervous?" I asked.
"Well, there's the whole I'm in a stranger’s house thing, and I still don't know for sure you won't murder me and hide my body."
I grinned, coasting my hands up her arms, then dragging them back down again. "So suspicious."
Lia swallowed, eyes huge on my face. "Are you going to do those things?"
"I wasn't planning to, no."
"Good." While she may not have been touching me back, she allowed me to slide my fingers between hers. The drag of my skin on hers, which was far softer, far smoother, felt dirty somehow. Like we were naked, like we were already in bed. Judging by the flush on her cheeks, she felt it too. "You're not like ... secretly married or something, right?"
My smile was slow. "No wife, no girlfriend."
"Do you like animals?"
"Depends on which kind. Dogs, yes. Cats, sometimes, if they're not trying to claw my eyes out. I have a complicated relationship with sheep because I was raised on a sheep farm. I think fish are pointless, and I am out of my mind terrified of horses."
Lia laughed softly. What was she looking for, as those bottomless eyes searched my face? She looked so serious. What a change from the fiery girl at the pub, pushing and pushing my buttons, simply because she sensed that I enjoyed having them pushed.
I liked her. It was a strange realization to have in the wake of knowing how much I wanted her. But I did. I liked her. I liked that she was asking me simple questions, and that she was sweet to my housekeeper. I even liked the flat way she said her vowels in her American accent.
Her fingers curled tightly around mine, like she was afraid I'd pull away.
That was when I heard myself say, "I play professional football."
Lia's lips curled up at the edges. "I know."
I blinked. "Did you know the night we met?"
She shook her head. "You showed up on my news app when I was in Haworth. When I saw your picture, I dropped my phone on the floor."
"Did you now?" I murmured, slowly tugging her closer. Her face showed no shock, no awe, no clamoring to know more. My entire being relaxed.
She nodded, keeping her eyes trained on my lips. "They used your name in Beatles lyrics."
"Journalists think they're so clever." I tugged one hand free of hers, sliding it over the curve of her waist, then her hips. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
Lia laid her hand on my chest, spreading her fingers wide. "When would you have? After I commented on the way players flopped to the ground all the time?"
Chuckling, I exerted the smallest bit of pressure on her hips. "Fair enough."
"Th-there's a lot we didn't share with each other."
Her slight stutter was triggered by my fingers sliding up under the hem of her shirt, where endless miles of smooth skin greeted me.
"Any husbands or boyfriends?" I asked.
Lia shook her head.
>
"Do you like animals?" My nose sank into her hair, and I inhaled deep into my lungs.
"Mm-hmm."
The timer dinged on the oven. There was a perfectly good dinner in there, probably getting burned to a crisp, but we both ignored it.
"Jude?"
My name on her lips did strange things to me. As I hummed in response to that, my lips ghosted over her downy soft temples.
"I …" Her voice trailed off when I kissed my way down her cheekbones to the corner of her lips. "Holy shit, you're killing me."
Ducking my head, I sucked her lower lip into my mouth, covering her curves with my palm when her hips tilted toward me.
Here. I'd take her right here the first time. In the kitchen, with the dinner burning and the windows open, and the bright, airy space holding the echo of the sounds she'd make.
Then we could talk all bloody night.
Lia moaned when I did the same thing to her upper lip, soothing the plump pinkness of her mouth with my tongue when I pulled away.
"I'm taking my time with you tonight, love." Fuck, I sounded like a madman, like I'd chewed gravel and knives and acid.
"Jude?"
"Mmm?" I nipped at the edge of her jaw, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
Her hand pushed at my chest, and I backed away to look at her face.
Lia licked her lips, hitting me with the full force of her blue eyes. "I'm pregnant."
Chapter Nine
Jude
It wasn't until I slammed my fifth door of the morning that someone finally called me on my piss-poor attitude.
"All right," Declan growled, shoving me with his meaty paw, "that's enough. If you don't quit slamming all the bloody doors, I'm going to rip your hands off."
I shrugged him off. "I haven't slammed all of them."
As our teammates passed us, all headed for the showers or the weight room, I got more than one side-eye.
Declan crossed his arms over his chest and pinned me with his patented Team Captain stare. "You made one of the physios cry."
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