The Edge (17 page)

‘I should be with the rest of the team,’ said Jake, staying by the door.

‘This is important.’

He took a seat, and his dad sat beside him.

‘Your head isn’t in the game,’ said his dad.

‘And why do you think that is?’ Jake replied. ‘There’s more to life than football.’

‘I know that,’ said his dad. ‘But you have to be able to separate things. This ninety minutes is about what happens on the pitch. It could be about your future.’

‘I guess I can’t forget about the past,’ Jake said.

His dad sighed, and stood up, absently stroking a finger along the edge of his jaw. ‘Jake, I regret every day I got you involved in all this.’

‘Well, you did,’ said Jake. ‘And you just can’t push me away now.’

‘You need to take a step back,’ said his dad.

‘And let Popov get away again?’ asked Jake.

His dad bristled. ‘Jake, he’s lost his daughter. He hasn’t got away with anything. He’ll be carrying the burden of that day for the rest of his life.’

Jake stood too. ‘That’s not enough, Dad, and you know it. Popov had never taken the slightest bit of interest in his daughter.’

‘You need to deal with loss,’ said his dad. ‘It’s part of life.’

Jake was tired of listening to it. He knew his father was right, but he just couldn’t view Veronika as collateral damage.
We’re not talking about losing a football game here
, he thought.

‘You’ve proved yourself,’ said his dad, wrapping his arms round Jake’s shoulders. ‘Both on and off the pitch. Maybe it’s time to leave the spy work to the professionals, eh? Concentrate on your football.’

Jake looked into his dad’s eyes.
Who knows what he’s been through
, he thought.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said.

‘That’s the spirit,’ said his dad. ‘Come on, son, let’s get back out there.’

Jake was still thinking about his dad’s words in the second half. They managed to tighten up their defence, so the US team didn’t get any more goals. In the ninety-first minute, Jake’s side earned a corner, and Oz went up to take it. The Americans had all ten guys back behind the ball, and there was quite a bit of jostling in the box.

As Oz knocked the ball in, Jake felt a tug on his shirt, but managed to pull away. The corner was perfect. Pacy, with a slight curl outwards. Jake leapt into the air, climbing a fraction higher than the defender. He jerked his neck, and connected sweetly, directing the ball goalwards. A fraction of a second later, the defender collided with him, and he sprawled across the ground. The crowd’s screaming told him he’d scored before he even saw the ball in the back of the net. One after the other, Jake’s team-mates piled on top of Jake, all whooping with joy. The crowd’s roars became like the sound of distant traffic.

At the bottom of the pile, Jake heard the final whistle go. They’d lost, but they’d fought to the end.

3–2 was a loss he could accept. Veronika was not. There was a lot more to life than football.

As Jake’s team peeled off him, he remembered his last words to Veronika before she collapsed.

You’re a liar. You’re no better than your father.
He’d been wrong. So wrong it burned inside. He’d never be able to take those words back.

But he could make amends. Popov had to be stopped. One way or another. Jake was prepared to do whatever it took to bring him down.