Page 55 of Pressure Point

Great, just great. Now he’s in on it…

By the time the ref blew the whistle, Liam had managed to push all thoughts of Avery from his brain. Well, almost all of them. Waiting until the ball was at the other end of the pitch, Dash on a mission to score, Liam glanced over to the sideline. He’d meant what he told her at Club 404—he liked knowing where she was during the game. Having her there felt like having his own good luck charm nearby.

He only had a second to get his fill of her cuteness though, as one of San Francisco’s defenders cleared the ball, launching it back in his direction. Liam’s pulse kicked up a notch, and he stepped forward to make sure he was ready. Following the ball through the air, he tried to determine where it was going to land, not wanting to be caught wrong-footed again. Chance Walker intercepted it, knocking over the opposing midfielder in the process, and Liam let out a relieved sigh. That was, until the whistle blew.

Liam’s eyes flew to the ref, who was running toward Walker and the opposing player who was still on the ground. The ref’s arm was outstretched toward Liam, signaling a free kick being awarded to San Francisco.

Fuck.

They were close enough to the goal right now that a good enough shot could be dangerous. Sure, there was just as much of a chance they would miss, but from this distance, there was no way they weren’t going for it. They would be crazy not to. And their number ten was a hell of a shot.

“That wasn’t a foul,” Michaels said animatedly to the ref. “They both went for the ball and ended up in the same space. It’s physics.”

“Not how I saw it,” the ref argued back. “You're lucky I’m not carding him. This is the only warning.”

Liam watched Walker mutter something under his breath, and Michaels threw a look at him to tell him to knock it off. He appreciated Michaels going to bat for the team and arguing against the foul, but at this point, they were only dragging it out. This ref wasn’t changing his mind—that was clear as day judging by the look on his face. And Liam didn’t want to give San Francisco any more time than they already had to talk about how they were going to take this shot.

Number ten picked up the ball, placing it on the line the ref had drawn before stepping back from it, checking out all his angles. He locked eyes with Liam briefly, his focus just as determined, as he settled himself almost directly across from Liam. This guy wanted one thing and one thing only—a goal. But Liam was not going to let that happen. He’d been watching film all week of how this guy shot and was almost positive that he would send it directly at him, just high enough and with just enough curve to land the ball in the top corner of the goal, over his right shoulder.

Which is exactly what he and Gunnar had been practicing all week.

The team lined themselves up in front of Liam, forming the wall in front of him. The wall had always been to Finn’s detriment growing up, inevitably forcing him to send the ball into the sky trying to make it over players’ heads. But Liam was sure that this guy was a much better shot than his older brother had been as a teenager.

Heart pounding in his chest, Liam pushed to the balls of his feet, prepared for whatever these guys had up their sleeves. He could hear Gunnar shouting at them, his arms waving wildly at Dash and Tiago on how to position themselves. Hans Bender turned around, giving Liam a nod and a thumbs-up, and Liam returned the gesture.

He had this.

He knew it. His teammates knew it.

Too bad number ten has no idea that I’ve been waiting for this moment…

The ref blew the whistle, and number ten ran toward the ball, hitting it succinctly with his right foot. The wall leapt into the air, but the ball soared over them, heading in the exact direction Liam had predicted. Liam shuffled over a couple of steps, waiting for just the right moment to leap into the air, knocking the ball away. It felt heavy as it hit his gloves but bounced right off them as he pushed it away from the goal.

The crowd in the stadium erupted as he made the save, landing squarely on the shoulder that Avery had been massaging at half time. Pain shot through his arm, but there was no time for him to focus on that, as a dozen sets of feet scurried around him after the ball that was still in play. Liam popped back up to his feet, wincing slightly as his shoulder twinged.

Where’s the ball? Where the fuck is the ball?

Liam scanned the field in front of him, unable to figure out who had possession currently. Panic rose in him, feeling more and more disoriented the longer it took him to find the red, white, and blue sphere. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, his eyes landed on it just outside the box. Tiago had it and was trying to get it around one of San Francisco’s players and back up the pitch. He tapped the ball out to the left taking a step in the same direction, only to be found by another opposing player. The two tangoed for a moment before the San Francisco player broke away, sending the ball across the field.

Liam shuffled to the other side of the box, trying to follow every player all at once. There were three or four who could possibly take possession, and he prayed it was one of his. Out of nowhere, Michaels appeared in front of him, making contact with the ball and sending it back up field and out of bounds.

The ref blew the whistle and was immediately surrounded by San Francisco players, all tapping their arms, arguing for a handball. Michaels didn’t touch the ball, other than with his foot when he cleared it, right? Liam’s mind was fuzzy, trying to run back through everything that had just happened in front of him.

“I didn’t touch it!” Michaels hollered over his shoulder at the opposing team, who were still arguing with the ref.

Michaels’s focus wasn’t on them though. It was on Dash and Henderson who were currently standing over Tiago, laid out on the ground, his face scrunched in pain. Liam’s stomach lurched, forgetting the discomfort in his own shoulder as he ran over to his teammate. Tiago was curled up on his side, clutching his knee. Liam knew that look, and it wasn’t good. Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

* * *

“That was not a bloody handball! The ball has to actually touch him in order to be a handball!” Gunnar shouted toward the field.

“Whiffing your arm in front of it is not illegal!” Cowboy followed, making Avery stifle a giggle.

Watching these two in action had always been fascinating. However, since getting to know Gunnar better at dinner a couple of weeks ago, and hearing all about both of them from Liam, Avery now saw a different side to them. She knew she was lucky to be working with them.

Glancing out at the field, her eyes went past where the visiting team was arguing with the ref over his call, finding Liam in his bright green goalie kit, waving. What was he doing? Her gaze dropped to the ground, unable to miss the electric blue jersey lying there. Her heart sank, her stomach flipping over. She couldn’t tell who it was, too many pairs of legs blocking the name and number on the back of his jersey, but it didn’t matter. One of her players was hurt.