Page 22 of Playing the Game

“I came to ask you what you want to drink.”

Adam struggled to meet Jonas’ hard stare. Ever since their tête-à-tête in the gym, he’d felt decidedly hot in Jonas’ presence.

The high street was quiet. Brockton had two states, either desolate or wild. Saturday nights were not for the faint-hearted.

Even so, anyone could be listening in on their conversation.

“Fine, only please don’t tell the others. Let them have a nice meal.”

He beckoned Jonas across the street. The wall overlooked the war memorial and gardens.

“I presume they’re protesting about a load of gays playing for their club?” Jonas asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. But yeah, probably.”

Jonas dropped his head and took a step away.

“We haven’t even played yet,” he said.

Adam nodded grimly. Every player should be given the chance to prove themselves before a protest group leapt into action.

His phone ringing broke the moment. It was Steven.

“That was quick,” he said.

“Javier says tell them. It’s better they hear it from you than some twat reporter.”

“Fine,” Adam said. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

He switched the phone off.

“I’ve drawn the short straw.”

“Do you want me to?”

Adam shook his head. “No, I’m the captain.”

Jonas nodded. “And like I said, a good one from what I’ve seen so far.”

Despite the shitty task ahead of him, tingles swept down his spine.

“Thanks.”

They walked inside La Piazza. Once again, the conversations ceased as the customers tracked Adam and Jonas across the room. He tried to smile convincingly.

In the relative safety of the private room, Ewen had finished telling a story. The lads were in uproar. Adam just froze. He couldn’t even work out which seat had been left empty for him.

“Skipper?” Goran asked.

The words had left him. Then he felt a hand in the small of his back.

Jonas made out that he was pushing past him to take a seat. Yet, it had been more than that. As a grounding gesture, it worked. While Jonas sat, Adam took a deep breath.

“I’m going to give it to you straight, lads,” he said. “Some knobheads calling themselves fans have set up a protest group.”

He glanced at Jonas, who nodded.

“What the fuck?” Alain exclaimed. “About what?”