Final Score

‘I just want to get on with my life, Ronnie. As simple as that.’

‘There’s nothing simple when it comes to you getting on with your life, kiddo.’

‘Yeah. Thanks for reminding me. What about you, anyway? Any sign of a new romance on the cards?’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me! No time for any of that.’

She couldn’t help smiling as she looked at him, cocking her head slightly. ‘Surely you’ve got women falling at your feet, Ronnie White. Good-looking bloke like you. You’ve still got it, even at your age.’

‘Yeah, okay, enough with the smart remarks. Come on. We’ve got work to do.’

Work. The only thing that was keeping Amber’s mind off the one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about.

*

Jim Allen sat back in his chair, his eyes scanning the computer screen, but he was taking nothing in. His mind was on way too many other things, and for a man who was usually so focused and in control it was a feeling that didn’t sit well with him. But these past few months had been nothing short of crazy. Unpredictable. Painful.

A knock on his office door broke into his thoughts and he looked up from his laptop. ‘Come in.’

‘Hey, Dad!’

Jim smiled at the sight of his son. Brandon Palmer. Twenty-one years old, tall and handsome, and a player with the region’s rival top-flight team, Wearside Spartans.

‘Hey back. What you doing here? Spartans sent you over enemy lines to spy on what we’re up to before the big game?’

‘Well, if I’d wanted to do that I could have sneaked over to the training ground this morning, couldn’t I? No, I just came over to see how you’re doing.’

Jim eyed Brandon warily, smiling slightly as his son perched himself on the edge of his desk. ‘I’m doing just fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’

Brandon shrugged. ‘Dunno. You just seem to have been throwing yourself into your work a lot lately, that’s all.’

‘I’m the manager of a top-flight football club, Brandon. It isn’t exactly a nine-to-five kinda thing.’

‘You don’t take any time off.’

‘I don’t want to take any time off. Manager of the Month awards aren’t given out to just anybody, you know. You’ve got to put the work in.’

‘Is that all that matters to you?’

Jim narrowed his eyes as he looked at his son. ‘Have you come here for any particular reason, Brandon? Apart from to give me a headache I don’t need.’

‘I worry about you.’

‘Why?’

‘I mean, Ellen and me, we asked you over for dinner the other night and you refused to come. You won’t even take a night off to spend a bit of quality time with your own son.’

‘I’m fine, okay? I’ve just got a lot on.’

‘Yeah. You seem to have had a lot on for a while now.’

Jim fixed Brandon with a hard stare, which Brandon returned.

‘Ever since Amber became pregnant. Ever since she took up with Ryan Fisher. Again.’

‘She hasn’t “taken up” with Ryan Fisher, as you put it.’ Jim got up and walked over to the sideboard, pouring himself a small measure of whiskey.

‘So, you’re not bothered, then?’

‘About what?’

‘About Amber and Ryan.’

‘There is no Amber and Ryan.’

‘Oh, really?’

Jim turned around, leaning back against the sideboard, his eyes once more locking with Brandon’s. ‘Really.’

Brandon gave another shrug, sliding down from the desk and heading back towards the door, his hands in his pockets. ‘Okay. Whatever. Anyway, I just thought I’d drop by and say hi, see how you were. But you still look like the same old Jim Allen to me.’

Jim said nothing to that, he just took a sip of his drink and remained silent.

‘Look, Dad…’ Brandon turned around and faced his father. ‘Have you thought about getting out more? Maybe meeting someone else, you know, to take your mind off…’

‘I’ll see you later, Brandon.’

Brandon held up his hands as he turned to go. ‘I’m outta here.’

Jim waited until he’d closed the door behind him before he took the letter from his inside jacket pocket, opening it up and reading it through. One more piece of proof. Another piece of a jigsaw he’d been trying to put together. But he had all he needed now. The ball was very much in his court. And it was up to him whether he chose to hit out or not.

Chapter Two (#u8802343b-4dc9-5023-9ca3-9979f2399035)

‘She’s left you in charge?’ Max asked, looking at Ryan with an element of surprise as he stood there in the doorway with Rico in one arm and a towel slung over his shoulder.

‘Y’know, anyone would think I was incapable of looking after my own child. And I thought you were in London. What you doing up here?’

‘It’s derby weekend.’

‘I’m really glad people keep reminding me of that because I’d almost forgotten.’

‘Fatherhood hasn’t dulled your wit, then. You going to let me in? It’s freezing out here.’

Ryan stood aside to let Max through, kicking the door shut behind him. ‘You need to see me about something?’ Ryan asked, following him into the kitchen.

Max leaned back against the counter, digging his hands deep into the pockets of his expensive dark-grey suit. As one of football’s most respected, not to mention most famous agents, he had a reputation to keep up, and, as far as Max Mandell was concerned, image was everything.

‘Not really. I just thought I’d come up north and visit some of my favourite clients.’