Bocci smirked. “You think you can beat us?”
“I don’t think. I know.” Vincent spat something in French.
Bocci was Italian, but whatever Vincent said was similar enough to his language that he understood it. He snarled out a response, but I stood and stepped in between them before Vincent did something stupid that would get us tossed out of the pub.
“Back off,” I warned. I itched to slam my fist into Bocci’s smug face, but I was trying real bloody hard to play by the rules this season. I wasn’t going to mess up my shot at a championship for anyone. “You know Mac’s rules.”
“How sweet. You’re defending your new best mate,” Lyle sneered. “Don’t come back to Holchester, Donovan. You’re not welcome. Even your own father doesn’t want you there anymore.”
My hands instinctively curled into fists. Anger chased after my strained calm and torched it into ashes.
I’d told Lyle about my relationship with my father when we were friends, and now he was using it to bait me?
Fuck. That.
“I can come back anytime I want,
Artie,” I said, using his much-hated nickname. Arthur Lyle, or Artie for short. “Remember that wide-open shot you missed during our match against Chelsea? An amateur goalie could’ve knocked that ball right back at you. If I hadn’t covered your ass, we would’ve lost that match. Or how about the way you fumbled the first half of the season opener against Tottenham? There’s a reason you weren’t tapped to play for the national team, and you should be fucking glad I don’t want to go back to Holchester. If I did, you can kiss your playing time goodbye because guess what? You’re not. That. Bloody. Good.”
Lyle was good enough to play in the Premier League, but compared to other forwards at the same level, he was merely okay, and he knew it.
It was a sore subject for him, which explained why he reacted so quickly and thoughtlessly.
His face flushed scarlet, and he pushed me hard enough that I stumbled back into Vincent. “Fuck you, Donovan!”
A snarl ripped up my throat. I almost retaliated, but I held back when I saw the triplets bearing down on us.
Mac got to us before they did. “Out!” His grizzled beard trembled with outrage. “All of you!”
Shouts of protest erupted from both teams.
“C’mon, Mac!”
“They started it!”
“We didn’t touch them!”
“I don’t want to hear it!” he growled. “You know the rules.
No fighting. I don’t care how rich or famous you are. You.” He pointed at Lyle. “Show your face in here again, and I’ll have the triplets knock your ass out the door. The rest of you, take it outside. I will not have you in here arguing and disturbing the rest of my customers. Argue with me, and I’ll ban you for life. Now get out!”
We snapped our mouths shut and skulked out the back exit since we didn’t want to attract attention from the hordes of tourists streaming past the front entrance.
One of the triplets slammed the door in our faces, leaving us in an alleyway next to the dumpster.
“Nice bloody job,” Bocci spat. “You got us kicked out before we even got a drink.”
“How is this our fault?” Adil’s normally good-natured face flashed with anger. “You were the ones who instigated things first!”
Fresh arguments exploded between the two sides again.
Meanwhile, I focused on Bocci and Lyle, who led the Holchester hate campaign against me.
“You can argue all you want now, but we’ll see who the real winner is during our match,” I said. “Reigning champions doesn’t mean you’ll stay champions.”
“Yeah?” Bocci’s dark eyes gleamed with malice. “How about we put some money on it? A race after our match. You and me. We won’t be bound by rules like we are on the pitch, and the winner of the match gets a five-second head start.”
The others’ arguments petered out.
Meanwhile, the wind died, throwing the alley into eerie silence. Summer heat and the suffocating reek of rubbish crawled into my lungs.
A race. I hadn’t raced since I beat Clive over the summer.
Bocci and I used to compete for fun when I lived in Holchester, but that was then. This was now.
Any competition we had going forward, whether it was on the pitch or in the streets, wouldn’t be for fun. We would go for the jugular.
“Why so quiet, Donovan?” Bocci taunted. “I thought you loved racing. Too scared you’ll lose to take me up on the offer?”
Adrenaline pounded in my ears. I wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his face as much as I wanted to win the league, but I’d promised Scarlett I was done.
I won’t race anymore. I promise.
My teammates’ curious stares drilled into my cheek. I hadn’t told them I’d retired from street racing, so I didn’t blame them for being confused.
“Look at him,” Lyle said. “He is scared. He’ll lose the match, and he’ll lose the race. There’s no shame admitting it, Donovan. You gotta know when to call it quits.”
The other Holchester players snickered.
Pride reared its ugly head, demanding action. A punch, a kick, an accepted challenge that’d shut them up and leave them eating dust in two weeks.
I wanted to feel the vibrations of the car and hear the triumphant roar of the engine as I sped past the finish line first.
Only the memory of Scarlett’s tears stopped me.
I can’t wake up every day wondering if that’s the day your luck runs out, and I’ll get a call saying you’re gone. I can’t lose you.
I swallowed the ball of rage in my throat.
My pride wasn’t worth breaking my promise to her.
“I’m not going to jeopardize my career to satisfy your insecurities,” I said coldly. “We don’t need a race to determine who’s better. We’ll find out on the pitch soon.” My smile could’ve frozen lava. “And Bocci? You’ve won one race against me ever, and that was because I let you win. I felt bad for you. That won’t happen again. So I wouldn’t be so quick to challenge others in something you’re clearly not adept at.”
I left him sputtering in the alley with the rest of the Holchester team.
My teammates followed me, their voices overlapping as they consoled me and talked amongst themselves.
Despite leaving with the last word, my heart continued to race from the confrontation. Blood roared in my ears as I tried to push the image of Bocci’s gloating smirk out of my head.
I did the right thing by not rising to his bait.
Now, I just had to make bloody sure I beat him in two weeks’ time.
SCARLETT
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.