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‘I saw the kick, thought I had a chance and went for it. Once I caught it, there wasn’t much else to do except run,’ he says, casual as you like.
It’s classic Eddy, to describe sprinting almost the full length of the field while dodging gigantic men trying to take him out, in such a chill way.
Jamie appears behind Trish. He’s got his shirt off, because of course he does, and the smuggest of grins on his face.
He leans towards the camera.
‘Eddy Hood who?’ he shouts.
Trish turns, startled.
Jamie pushes his face closer to the lens.
‘Eddy Hood who?’ he asks again.
Eddy just looks at him. Jamie grins, but it is forced, because even though his team are about to lift the trophy, every screen in the stadium is still showing Eddy taking the ball from him and leaving him on his arse.
He hates it. It’s not quite enough to ruin the win, obviously, but enough that he cannot leave Eddy’s interview alone.
Trish laughs awkwardly, trying to regain control.
‘Jamie, you may have the trophy, but Eddy has been named Man of the Match, which is incredibly rare for someone from the losing side. That try alone will be replayed for a very long time.’
Jamie’s smile tightens.
‘Good for him,’ he says. ‘But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter really, does it?’
Jamie laughs and walks away, but I can tell from his body language that, as hard as he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care, it’s bothering him.
Trish finishes the interview, congratulates Eddy again and then moves on to interview Manchester’s coach.
I smile at Eddy, with his Man of the Match medal around his neck. I’m so proud of him for— Shit. It’s Ron. He is standing behind one of the CrashSports camera operators, chatting with a producer. Our eyes meet before I can slink away, and it’s the first time we’ve been face to face since… the incident.
I’m too close to hide without him seeing – close enough that I can see the slight crease between his eyebrows and the way his mouth tightens when he recognises me – and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I cared for even a second. I’m here to do my job. I’m a professional. I need to stay strong.
I’ve imagined this moment several times. In every version, I look calm and beautiful, and I either don’t notice him at all or I treat him like some old acquaintance, one I probably don’t remember the name of, and I give him an ice-cold ‘hello’ then move on.
But instead of being ice-cold, I just freeze. I feel like I’m back at the burger place, like I’ve discovered his cheating all over again, and I feel sad and embarrassed and I can’t believe I’m wondering why I wasn’t good enough again.
He takes a step in my direction. Oh God, no, don’t do that. I don’t want to talk. Just… be a man, pretend you haven’t seen me, and fuck off.
Eddy appears in front of me with the biggest smile on his face. He places his hands on my waist and picks me up like I weigh nothing – I suppose I don’t, compared to the people he’s been lifting today.
‘Eddy!’ I squeak.
He spins me around on the spot. The pitch, the lights, everything blurs together. I grab his shoulders tightly and giggle.
He is laughing too. The big laugh I remember from the arcade. The kind that lets me know his defences are briefly down.
He slows, lowering me gently until my feet touch the grass. His hands remain around my waist, which is good, because I feel dizzy. I leave my hands on his shoulders too, which means we stay close. Very close, actually.
His face is flushed from the match, his hair damp with sweat, and his eyes are brighter than I have ever seen them. There is a small cut near his eyebrow, but it’s a small price to pay, for such an epic game.
‘That was amazing,’ I tell him. ‘You were amazing. That try. I’ve never seen anything like it. You came from nowhere! Even I knew it was brilliant.’
His smile widens.
I briefly glance sideways and realise that Ron is still staring at me. Eddy looks where I’m looking and sees him too, then turns back to me and kisses me. It’s just a peck, but it’s on the lips. It’s quick, but tender, and completely public.
