Holding Out for a Hero (25 page)

Everyone stared as the speaker came into focus. “Oh yeah, I forgot that bit,” Pete said sheepishly over the continuing tirade of abuse. “Tony Winchester’s son plays for Chiswick. He’s the coach.”

Ella stared at the face on the screen as it continued to mouth unprintable obscenities about the opposition like they were brainless zombies and their cheerleaders like they were there for his sexual pleasure. She felt sick. How dare he talk like that about the opposition? About fellow human beings?

A wave of disgust welled up, heating her skin and flushing her face. She already detested the man for what he’d done to Trish but this tirade was hazing her vision with a red fog.

She turned to Jake. “Forget what I just said. I want you to win. Not just win but I want you to crush that smarmy prick into the dust. And then when he’s down, I want you to stomp on his neck so he can never utter another vile word. Can you do that?”

Jake grinned. “Yep.”

“Good,” she muttered and reached across to the table for the remote, flicking a button to switch it off. Tony Winchester had already infected too much of their lives. Damned if he was going to taint them with his vileness on her home turf.

Ella sat in the plush change rooms at Chiswick College, listening to Jake and Pete give their pre-match talk to the Demons. She could see the impossibly green, manicured field through the open louvers—it looked as if a team of trained leprechauns had individually trimmed each blade of grass. Occasional shouts from the already strong crowd filtered in. The aroma of sweat and Deep-Heat infused her senses.

Her stomach felt like a flock of butterflies had swallowed elephants and were trouncing around inside her. She wanted to win this. Not for her or for Jake or for Hanniford, but for Trish and women like her. She wanted to see Tony Winchester go down.

“Ella?”

Jake and Pete were looking at her expectantly and Ella guessed it was her turn to speak. She enjoyed the tradition of her principal pep talk more and more each time and so, she thought, did the team. Or at least, it was a ritual they’d dare not buck in case any deviation from routine brought them bad luck.

And they called women flighty!

She looked at each of the boys in turn; she could tell they were a little awed by their surroundings. Chiswick College was a physically impressive campus: landscaped gardens, state-of-the-art classrooms and intimidating sandstone buildings that reeked wealth. And they were looking to her to tell them it didn’t matter. That how you played the game and the size of your heart trumped money and tradition.

But today she was reluctant. Today she wanted to say things she never thought she’d ever think, let alone contemplate giving voice to. She wanted to say kill them, smash them, play dirty if you have to, gouge their eyes, punch them in the kidneys, spear their rich little heads into the ground if needs be—just win. At any cost.

It went against everything she believed in but it was right there on the tip of her tongue, waging a battle against her political correctness to be heard.

“Ella?” Jake prompted.

She looked at him. He was frowning and nodding at her to get on with it. She stood on shaky legs, her gaze falling on Cameron. He was sitting so tall. So confident. And when he smiled at her she knew she’d come too far with him to take him backward.

She cleared her throat. “I’m not going to say much,” she said. “You guys have already done me and Hanniford and Jake and Pete so proud. You’ve come a long way and earned yourselves a fearsome reputation. I know you want to win today. Well, guess what? I want you to win today too.”

The Demons glanced at her with confused looks. Usually Ella spoke to them about might and heart and spirit. What she was saying slowly dawned on them and, one by one, they grinned and then clapped and then stomped their boots on the ground, filling the change rooms with an almighty clatter.

“So go on now,” she called out above the din, holding up her hand and waiting for the racket to die down. “Let’s get our names on that damn cup.”

The team sprang to their feet, cheering and clapping and Ella laughed, caught up in the heady mix of exuberance and testosterone.

“Way to go, Ms. Lucas,” Jake murmured as the boys filed out of the room.

Ella favored him with a steady stare. “Annihilate him.”

Jake smiled before lowering his lips to hers, bending her head back with a kiss full of passion and revenge. “I love it when you talk dirty,” he whispered, flicking a towel at her butt as he followed his team out.

Ella was the only one left in the change room and she took a moment to center herself. It was at times like this she wished she believed in God. Not that it was appropriate, she supposed, to ask a benevolent God to orchestrate a slow, painful death, but it’d be nice to have faith that Tony Winchester would get what was coming to him.

She stepped out into the cool darkness of the tunnel that lead from the change rooms to the oval, surprised to see Cameron lingering. “Cam?” She frowned. “Everything okay?”

Cameron nodded. “Yes.”

Ella heard his boot scraping against the concrete floor and wondered what on earth he was doing. “Cam, shouldn’t you be on the field?”

“I just want to—I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”

Ella frowned again. She looked to the light at the end of the tunnel, relieved to see the game hadn’t yet started. “Oh. Okay.”

Cameron took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk.”

Ella blinked, completely taken aback by his apology, the only one she’d ever heard come from his mouth. “About our argument a few weeks ago?”

“No. Well, yes … that too. But I mean, just … generally. I know I haven’t been very easy to get along with and you’ve been nothing but kind. It’s just growing up in Huntley was hard, you know? And I dreamed for years my big sister would come and rescue me and when you didn’t it was easier to … hate you.”

Ella felt tears needle her eyes. “Oh, Cam! I would have, if I’d known, I would have …” She took a step toward him.

Cam took a step back and held out his hand to pause her movement. “I know that now. I do. And I didn’t hate you, not really. Miranda reckons I’m lucky to have such a cool big sister. And so do I.”

She heard his voice crack and the tears threatened to spill. A lump in her throat grew bigger, stretching her chest to painful proportions. Cameron’s admission was shocking—he just didn’t do deep and meaningful. Maybe the counseling she’d insisted upon was making bigger inroads than she thought?

“I love you, Cam,” she whispered. “We may not have been brother and sister for long but we’re part of each other and I love you.”

Cameron looked at the ground examining his boot. “I love you too.”

“Cam!” Ella jumped as Jake’s exasperated command ricocheted around the cavernous tunnel. “What are you doing? It’s twenty seconds to kick-off.”

Cameron looked at Jake then at her. “Go,” she said, giving him a quick, fierce hug. “Go!”

Cameron ran from her toward the entrance, his cleats clacking on the cement, echoing noisily. Jake slapped him on the back as he passed and ran beside Cameron, accompanying him to the field.

Ella followed at a more sedate pace, her mind turning over the things Cam had said and rejoicing in the step forward he’d taken. Sure he’d taken steps before—baby steps. This was one giant leap.

The whistle sounded as she emerged into the full light of the Saturday morning. The sound of boot hitting ball rang like a shot around the field and the packed stands erupted into a hearty cheer. She noticed a large contingent of press roped off to one end with John Wells in the middle, a smug look on his face. This simple high school football match had been significantly elevated in the press, egged on by Wells. It wasn’t about the Schools Cup anymore, it was about two old rivals squaring off against each other. As though the pressure on the Demons wasn’t already bad enough.

She hurried to the sideline bench, ignoring the media. Rosie, Simon and Trish were already sitting, their devil-horn headbands firmly in place. Pete was standing off to one side, watching the play. Jake was prowling along the sideline, a bedeviled Cerberus at his heels. She plonked herself between Rosie and Trish and grabbed their hands. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing yet,” Rosie said.

It didn’t take long for that to change. And it wasn’t a change for the better. Chiswick wiped the field with the Demons in the first half with their superior ball skills, as though it was their God-given right to reclaim the cup. Ella, as per her usual position, spent half the time with her hands over her eyes, begging Rosie and Trish to tell her what was happening.

Tony Winchester spent the first forty minutes on the opposite side of the field yelling at his team despite their exemplary play. A slight fumble, a misstep, and he was hurling insults that would have made Rosie blush from the sidelines.

It was a shame really, because Ella had to admit, looking at him clinically, he was still a very impressive man. He wasn’t in Jake’s league—but then few men were. Richard Armitage and Hugh Jackman aside. On the surface Tony Winchester still had
it
. She could see why Trish had fallen for him. But as far as she was concerned, his black heart and cruel tongue made him uglier than a hat full of assholes.

After a particularly awful tongue-lashing, Ella turned to Trish, whose fingers had curled around hers like a vice. “Is it hard for you to see him again?”

Trish shuddered. “He’s such a tyrant. Where the hell was my head?”

“Hmph,” Rosie butted in. “He’s a fricking mad man. Aren’t there rules against Adolf coaches in children’s sports?”

Ella placed her hand over Trish’s. “Time has a way of eroding facades.”

“And he’s just butt-ugly under his,” Rosie added.

Trish laughed. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?”

*

At half time, Chiswick led by sixteen points, with Hanniford only managing to get one on the board from a field goal before the whistle.

The Demons trailed back into their change room followed by their entire entourage—Ella, Simon, Rosie and Trish. Even Cerberus followed them in, finding Cameron immediately and collapsing on the floor at his feet.

Jake eyed his dejected team, struggling with finding the right words to encourage and empower. He glanced at Ella, who gave him an encouraging nod. He opened his mouth, hoping to God the words that came out were the ones the Demons needed to hear. But before he said a single thing, a string of obscenities from the Chiswick camp next door echoed around the Hanniford rooms.

Jake’s mouth shut automatically, stunned by the ferocity of Tony Winchester’s pep talk. He was ranting about the field goal. How Chiswick’s strategy was to keep Hanniford off the board altogether and how badly they’d fucked up. He was screaming
failure, failure, failure
at them. Calling them morons. Calling them girls.

“Why is he yelling at them?”

Jake tuned back in to his locker room and saw the stunned looks on his team’s faces as Ned voiced the question that was obviously on all of their minds.

“They’re really good,” Ned said. “They’re all over us.”

Jake looked at Ella standing by the door, her livid face so rigid he was afraid she’d been struck with a case of lockjaw. Trish just looked pale and Jake wanted to go next door and punch the lousy mongrel in the head.

“Yes.” Jake cleared his throat. “Yes, they are. Their coach, however, is a monumental dickhead.”

A few of the guys laughed but Jake could see that most of them were still tuned in to Tony Winchester’s verbal abuse of his team. He couldn’t blame them. It was ghoulishly compelling, like hanging around a crash site watching the victims being cut out of their cars; wrong in so many ways but fascinating nonetheless.

Jake belted on a nearby locker, the sound crashing into the morbid stillness and pulling everyone’s attention back to him. “Don’t listen to him,” Jake said quietly. “Listen to me.”

He spoke to them about their struggle to get here. About their spirit, their heart, their triumphs; things that Ella usually talked about. He praised their individual strengths and applauded their teamwork. And gradually, Tony Winchester’s rant faded and he could see by the expressions on their faces that they were listening only to him.

“Whatever happens today, you boys have made me prouder than I’ve ever been. Prouder even than when I played for my country. And you have one thing that they don’t,” Jake said, pointing next door to the room where the rant continued. “Respect. For me. For each other. And that’s why, despite what that scoreboard says, we’re going to win this.”

Jake finished and took a moment to look at each team member and shake their hand.

“Pete?” he asked. Pete declined the floor. “Ella?”

She looked at him and smiled with tears in her eyes. There was nothing she could add. Jake had said it all.

A loud rap at the door alerted them that halftime was nearly over. “Alright,” Jake said. “Let’s line up outside and run onto that field like we’ve already won.”

The boys sprang to their feet, cheering and high-fiving as they filed out and waited in the tunnel for the signal to take the field. The adults stood behind them. Jake slipped his hands into Ella’s and she shot him a you-were-so-hot-just-now smile. Jake could hear Chiswick clattering out of their locker-room and lining up behind them.

‘Well, well, well,” a voice drawled from behind him. “If it isn’t the coach, the geek, the Goth and her lover.”

Jake stiffened and turned slowly around. He felt Ella flinch and kept hold of her hand in case she decided smacking Winchester’s face was worth it. He sensed rather than saw Rosie’s mouth open and placed a stilling arm on her too. He was not going to get into a slanging match in front of his team and the press snapping shots with a clear view from the tunnel mouth. He forced himself to be impassive and kept his voice low. “It’s been a long time, Tony.”

Tony nodded. “That it has.” He flicked his gaze over Trish. “My, my, Trish. Unlike Jake, I see you’ve gotten better and better.”

Cerberus growled, a growl Genghis would have been proud of, and Ella reached down to pat him.

Trish smiled. “How was community service, Tony?”

Tony’s laugh echoed in the tunnel, enhancing its creepiness. “Piece of cake.”

A figure appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. “Time to rumble,” it announced.

Jake turned away and faced his team. “Let’s go.”

The Demons ran out to the field, followed by Chiswick. Tony stopped by Jake and they both watched their boys line up against each other. Tony’s gaze flicked to the Hanniford cheer squad and he smirked.

“What kind of cheerleaders are they?” he scoffed. “You can’t even look up their skirts.”

Jake gave Tony a hard look. “The minor kind.”

Tony squinted. “What does it say on the backs of their shirts?”

“Hanniford Demons say no to violence against women,” Jake said. “Not that you’d know what that means would you, Tony?” Jake was satisfied to see Tony’s jaw tighten.

“You always were a morally superior prick,” Tony spat.

“Better than being just a prick,” Jake said and walked away before the urge to beat Tony to a pulp became even stronger.

*

The second half started and it was as if a switch had been flicked. Chiswick looked defeated from the whistle, making simple errors and not capitalizing on a host of opportunities. Tony ranted. The more he ranted, the worse they played.