Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1) - R.S. Grey Page 0,134

arms around me. She was a tiny thing and the best striker we had. It was because of her that we had our only point on the board.

“You killed it out there.”

She laughed. “Yeah, well hopefully we can give you some more wiggle room next time.”

I slung my arm around her shoulders. “I’ll remember you said that.”

We walked in tandem toward the center of the field. Both teams were congregating there, shaking hands and offering pleasantries to one another before Arsenal’s coach led them off the field. We always stayed in the center so our assistant coach could lead us through some quick post-game stretches.

I glanced back to the stands to look for Freddie and Georgie—a habit I’d acquired after my first game in London. The day after I signed the contract with the team, Freddie announced that he’d purchased season tickets in the front row on the sideline. I’d laughed as he held up the printed tickets in the kitchen, too excited to wait for the official ones in the mail. They had private boxes in the stadium that would have afforded Freddie more privacy, but he’d shaken his head and insisted the sideline was where he wanted to be. And he had been. For every single home game, Freddie and Georgie sat in those seats.

In the beginning, their mom had joined as well, but soccer really wasn’t her thing. She pretended to like it for my sake, but after seeing her squirm on the sidelines in her cashmere sweater, Freddie and I had freed her of the obligation. “Too gritty for my taste, though you are very talented and quite pretty in your uniform, dear!” She was happy to stay home and clip out details of the games from the newspapers. We’d flip through the clippings together over tea on Sunday mornings. Oddly enough, I realized growing up with Christy and Conan Foster had perfectly prepared me for life with a dowager duchess.

Usually after my games wrapped up, Freddie and Georgie would wait for me to finish stretching and we’d meet out back of the stadium to ride home together (with a pizza in tow), but when I glanced up into the stands after the game, their seats were empty.

I knew they’d both planned on attending the game; Freddie had confirmed it in the kitchen just before we’d left.

“I have a feeling there will be a lot to celebrate.”

Apparently not, since he and Georgie hadn’t even waited for me. All the other fans were still lingering in the stands, but Freddie and Georgie’s seats were glaringly empty.

“Why the long face, Foster?” Sasha asked from beside me. We’d moved on to a new stretch and I hadn’t noticed.

I rolled out my neck as our assistant coach continued to lead us through a few final stretches. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, though. Not only were Georgie and Freddie gone, the rest of the stadium hadn’t budged. Normally fans cleared out quickly, anxious to beat the crowds, but not that night. I glanced around to check out the other side of the stadium and everyone was standing up, angled toward the tunnel that led to the locker rooms as if they were waiting for something to happen.

“Do you know what’s going on?” I asked Sasha.

She pressed her lips together and averted eye contact, a universal sign for ‘I know something you don’t know.’

“Not sure.”

I laughed. “Seriously, what’s happening? Are they going to do the trophy ceremony early?”

She turned away and kept stretching, determined that I not see her face.

“Sasha!” I said, trying to get her to turn toward me, but then I saw him.

Freddie. Walking out of the dark tunnel. Half cloaked in shadows and then gloriously lit under the stadium lights. He was wearing a fitted navy suit with brown leather oxfords. He was clean-shaven and his thick chestnut-brown hair was styled back with a smooth wave. I’d gotten used to how devilishly handsome he was day to day. At home, he usually walked around shirtless in a pair of sweatpants that had seen better days. I’d roll out of bed and find him in front of the stove, flipping pancakes, eggs, or bacon. He loved cooking breakfast and I never got tired of watching him from my perch across the kitchen island.

Home Freddie wasn’t the version I saw walking toward me from the tunnel. This was a smooth, refined version of the man I loved. A version that made my hands shake as he continued