Scored (31 page)

The ref’s whistle went. I crossed my fingers and prayed he’d seen what I’d seen. The goal was off-side.

“Yes, thank God for that,” Phil said. “He was off-side by at least two meters.”

“I know, but that’s too damn close for comfort.”

This seemed to spur the England players on and their possession for the next forty minutes was excellent. But still no goals. Finally extra time was called. The tension within the stadium was electric. Everyone knew what would come next. If neither team scored, penalties would decide the winner.

“I can’t bear to watch,” I said, covering my eyes.

Clare was taking the fourth penalty shot for England. So far both teams had missed two and won two. If Clare got this and then Spain missed their shot the cup would be England’s. After all this time, all this effort, we would be victorious.

Clare stepped back from the ball. Took a moment to focus then booted it. The ball skimmed around the goalkeeper, touched the top bar and then bounced neatly over the line.

The English fans went wild. I shouted so loud my voice cracked and I had to knock back a mouthful of water.

“Oh, Jesus, could this be any more tense?” Phil groaned, dropping his head in his hands.

“Who’s taking it for Spain?” I asked, trying to see which player was stepping forward to take the next penalty.

He looked up. “Lopez.”

“Damn.” I held my breath and watched Lopez prepare the ball. He stepped back, shot, scored.

I shook my head. “Sudden death.”

“I think my heart might give out.”

“Mine too.” Now the teams would just keep taking penalties until one side missed and the other scored. It was a cruel way to end the match, but it was the way of football. Someone had to win.

Rake, an English defender, took a shot. Missed.

Cavos, the Spanish mid-fielder, chipped way over the bar and into the crowd. Another miss.

Finally Lewis stepped forward. He’d been sending his players up in what I was sure was a carefully planned order, but now it was his turn to go for goal.

I was glad to be sitting down. My knees felt weak and my stomach churned. I could only imagine what was going through his head right now. Hopefully nothing other than a net, a ball and a keeper. He had to do this. If he could score now and Spain missed their next shot it would be over.

Lewis had his hands on his hips, staring at the mouth of the net. The goalie swayed this way and that, fingers spread, body twitchy. Finally Lewis turned, took several steps away then spun, beat out six fast strides and kicked the ball clean into the back of the net. The goalie hadn’t even seen it coming, he just stood dumbly as it whizzed past his ear.

The crowd went wild.

“Legendary,” Phil shouted, thumping the air.

I wrapped my arms around my waist and hugged myself. He’d done it. I was so proud of him. He’d done his best. What more could anyone ask?

“I can almost taste it,” Phil said. “We’re so damn close.” He clasped his hands together beneath his chin, lifted his gaze to the sky. “Please let Spain miss. Please let Spain miss.”

“Amen,” I said, watching Lewis re-join his team. They all whacked him on the back, shook his hand then stilled to watch Spain’s attempt at goal.

It had been a long time since I’d wanted a team to miss so badly. This meant so much more to me than England winning. It was about the man I loved. Making him happy. Making all the training and hard slog to get where he was worth it.

I crossed my fingers and my toes. Held my breath and watched as the Spanish player kicked the ball. Hatton, in goal, leaped to the right. It was a risk; the spin on the ball meant it was bending through the air.

Luckily Hatton had flown in the right direction and wrapped his arms safely around it as he fell to the ground.

England had won.

Phil jumped high then grabbed me for a breathless hug. Joy overflowed my soul. Lewis had made it happen. His goal had pulled the team to the winning spot.

The players were stacking on top of one another. Fellows and a group of coaches rushed onto the pitch and joined in with the pile up. The England fans were going crazy, the cheering and clapping not subsiding, if anything getting louder with each passing second.

I felt my heart would burst with pride. There didn’t seem to be enough room in my chest for all my emotions. But would the nation’s hero still remember me when all of this was over, or was I just part of his journey to victory?

The pressroom had a party atmosphere, the journalists as excited as any fan. We’d all been on the nail-biting, roller-coaster ride with the team and treated their victory like our own.

Fellows marched in, full of self-importance and pompousness. Clare, Bryers and Lewis wandered through behind him. Bryers was grinning, Clare was stripping off a champagne-soaked jersey and pulling another on. Lewis hunted me out with his gaze as soon as he sat down.

I smiled and felt my eyes mist. The urge to run to him, kiss him, hold him and tell him how proud I was, bordered on overwhelming.

“There he is,” Phil said. “How does it feel to be dating a hero?”

I pushed my hair back from my face and shifted my weight off my painful ankle. “He’d still be my hero even if they’d lost.”

“Thank you all for coming,” Fellows boomed. “This is one hell of an end to what has been a terrific tournament and I couldn’t be happier with the result.”

“How are the team feeling?” a journalist at the front shouted out.

“Ecstatic, as you can imagine,” Fellows said. “Ted.” He pointed at Ted.

“Is it true there were tensions between you and Tate yesterday.”

Fellows smiled and switched his gum from one side of his mouth to the other. “Nothing to write home about.” He nodded at another reporter.

“Did you ever consider pulling Hatton from goal and using a sub?”

“Absolutely not. He played impeccably.” He pointed at a reporter with frizzy red hair.

“Thanks, I just wanted to ask Bryers if he played even with a suspected injury?”

Bryers leaned forward and spoke into the mike. “I was fine, if I hadn’t been I wouldn’t have played. The stakes were too high to have a man on the field who wasn’t one hundred percent.”

“And what about you, Tate?” the same reporter asked. “You must be riding high right now, being captain of the winning team?”

Lewis nodded, his face serious. “Yes, absolutely. Today is one of the highlights of my career. I couldn’t ask for a better performance from my players. We beat one of the best teams in the world and the cup is ours.” He stood. “However, there is one thing I must do to make this not just an amazing day professionally but also personally.” His attention was locked on me.

My skin tingled, my heart rate rocketed.

What is he doing?

“Tate,” Fellows said, also standing.

Lewis ignored him. “It’s been a tough set of matches, my focus and commitment hasn’t wavered, but even so, something amazing has happened.”

The room fell completely and utterly silent.

He pulled in a deep breath. “A kind, intelligent, beautiful woman has fallen in love with me.”

“Tate, for God’s sake sit down,” Fellows said, his cheeks wobbling and beads of sweat popping on his forehead.

Bryers smile dropped and he placed a large dark hand on Fellows’ wrist. “Leave it,” he said in a deep voice.

Fellows sat. I wasn’t sure if it was defeat or shock that sliced across his face but he didn’t move again as Lewis rounded the table.

“Excuse me,” Lewis said, stepping into the crowd.

Reporters moved out of the way like the sea parting for Moses.

Time slowed down, moved in half speed as Lewis walked toward me. He wasn’t smiling; in fact, he was almost frowning. It was that determined, steely expression he wore when nothing would stop him from doing what he’d decided to do.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Phil muttered.

Lewis stopped right in front of me. His mouth twitched in a half smile as he cupped my cheek. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi,” I managed, drinking him up. Every line and contour of his face. His hot male scent and the heat pouring from him. He’d never looked more beautiful.

“I’m in love with you, Nicky,” he said in a low voice, “and knowing you feel the same has made this the best day of my life.”

“You are?” I managed.

“Can’t you tell?” He stooped and kissed me hard and passionately as though we were alone and not in a room full of people.

Through the sound of blood rushing through my ears, I heard the electrical snaps of phone cameras. Lewis kept on kissing me, he didn’t seem to care in the slightest that the world would see this moment.

Suddenly he hoisted me upward so my head was level with his. He cupped my jean-clad bum with one hand and with the other held me tight. I wrapped my legs around his waist, the way I had in the shower when he’d fucked me standing up. I ran my fingers into his hair, pulled him closer, fell into the kiss and let my happiness run wild and free.

Eventually he broke away. “I think I should put you down and finish this press conference.”

“You probably should.” I grinned.

I unhooked my legs and he lowered me gently to the floor, keeping his arm wrapped around me. “But I’m not letting you go,” he said. “Not now this is over.”

“Suits me.”

Everyone was still standing around us with expressions of bewilderment, shock and delight on their faces. The hum of excited conversation was starting to rise. Someone shouted out a question about where we’d met.

Lewis ignored it and turned to Phil. “I need to thank you.”

“What for?”

“Looking after her when I couldn’t.”

Phil shrugged. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Lewis cocked his head. “No, you didn’t, but still, I appreciate it.”

“I wouldn’t give up on her,” Phil said, tipping his head and narrowing his eyes, “for anyone other than you.”

Lewis was silent.

The men around us hushed.

I tried to beg Phil with my eyes not to say anything antagonistic.

“I wouldn’t give up on her for anyone,” Lewis said, clamping his jaw tight. “No exception.”

Male belligerence sparked between them. They were eye to eye. Both had expanded their chests.

Seriously?

“Hey, guys, be nice.” I squeezed Lewis’ arm.

“I am,” Lewis said, holding his hand out to Phil.

“So am I.” Phil took Lewis hand, shook it. “I’m just making sure we both know how the land lies.”

Lewis suddenly laughed. “You know what, Phil, I think you and I are going to be mates.”

A slow smile spread on Phil’s face. “Mmm, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

“It’s time to get out now,” Lewis called from the lounger.