Keeper (Alpha Athletes 2)

This wouldn’t be his first attempt to score on me. He had shot twice in the first half. He wasn’t leaving here without getting one past me. Only he didn’t know I had that same kind of determination.

I wasn’t relinquishing my focus. I wouldn’t slip for one second. No hesitation. No fear. My fingers tingled as I followed the path his eyes took. I stepped out of the box as the crowd gasped. I was far from the net, but it was the only way to take him down.

I ran full-speed toward the bastard and swiped the ball under him out of bounds. Fuck. I wanted it back in my hands, but he didn’t give me a choice.

I walked back to the front of the net and waited for the opposition to set up a pass.

My teammates gathered in front, deciding who was going to cover the next shot.

I saw it coming before anyone else had time to think. I dove head first to the ground, reaching my fingertips long toward the goal post. The ball grazed my palms as I clutched the leather and wrapped it in toward my belly.

That was more like it.

Sixteen countries had started in this tournament three weeks ago, and it was down to two for the gold medal. Us and Brazil.

The entire stadium was packed with almost eighty thousand screaming fans dressed and painted in our countries’ colors. There was only one fan out there that mattered to me. One who had changed my life more than a gold medal or a multi-million endorsement could.

Aspen waved wildly from the box. She looked fucking cute in the British flag, especially for an American girl.

There was an injury time out on the pitch and I jogged to the sideline for a drink of water. The heat wave had broken and we were dealing with more normal temperatures. There were only five minutes left. Five fucking minutes to decide the medal.

It hadn’t meant anything to me before. But I wanted it. I wanted to win. I wanted that gold around my neck.

The injured player was hauled off the field and the crowd booed.

I walked back to the goal. This was it.

My fingers twitched. I squinted hard, narrowing in on my target. He passed the ball off, but got it right back again. They ran as if their lives depended on it, and here they did. They were the home country, playing in front of their fans. The host city ready to take home the gold. And no UK team had won before. No one thought we could win. But I did.

Because I had a new kind of faith. A faith that second chances happened in this shitty world. That darkness could evaporate. That loneliness could fade. And sometimes when you weren’t looking, there was someone in your corner when everyone else had abandoned you.

I stared him down, daring him to kick that ball at me. Vowing if he did, that ball wouldn’t come near the net.

He raced toward me, lining up the shot when it launched off his foot. I didn’t expect it to come at such a sharp angle. I threw myself in the air, fueled by adrenaline and hope. Hope that I could block the shot. Hope that I could end this game.

I groaned when the ball smacked me in the chest. I fell to the ground, clutching it against my sternum. It fucking hurt like hell, but I stopped it. I fucking stopped it.

The crowd erupted in disbelief. I didn’t give a shit. I saw the British flags waving from the corners and from this distance, I could see Aspen smiling and jumping in her seat.

It was all I needed. I had everything.

Three weeks ago I didn’t know that I could have more in my life than expensive liquor and a different woman in my bed every night. Three weeks ago I didn’t know I wanted more than that life. I took my talent for granted. I took my teammates for granted. Hell, I took my country for granted.

All of that changed when I met a fiery American girl with a head for business and a body for the bedroom.

What started off as a slow seduction and a fake relationship turned into the biggest reality check of my life. I needed her. I wanted her.

My mates hoisted me in the air and I landed on a set of shoulders. By the time we made a round circling the pitch, the British fans had filtered to the bottom of the stadium. The Brazilian fans were angry and had thrown leftover drinks and trash on the ground.

I looked everywhere for her. I hopped to the ground, searching the crowd. I smiled at one of the reporters, but ran past her looking for Aspen.

And then she emerged from a throng of people. Her blond hair shone in the sun. Her eyes sparkled. She flung her arms around me as I lifted her. My lips found hers as I kissed her.

“You did it.” She laughed. “You saved the game.”

“I guess I did.” I kissed her again.

The pitch was total chaos. No one thought we’d win. We’d done something no other team before us had been able to accomplish. It hadn’t sunk in yet—I didn’t know when it would that we were now a part of football history.