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  Thunderbirds Soccer Book 2

  Ella Jackson

  Copyright © 2019 by Ella Jackson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For the Squad, as usual.

  v1.01 Release

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Dear Reader

  1. Keisha

  2. Dale

  3. Keisha

  4. Dale

  5. Keisha

  6. Dale

  7. Keisha

  8. Dale

  9. Keisha

  10. Dale

  11. Keisha

  12. Dale

  13. Keisha

  14. Dale

  15. Keisha

  16. Keisha

  17. Dale

  18. Keisha

  19. Dale

  20. Keisha

  21. Keisha

  Dear Reader

  Thank you so much for reading my book! I have the best job in the whole world, and I owe it to you; without your help, I wouldn’t be able to go on telling the stories I love, and sharing them with everyone.

  If you’d like to give me any kind of feedback at all, I’d really be grateful to hear from you: you can email me at [email protected]

  All the best,

  Ella.

  If you enjoy ‘Support Play’, join my mailing list to find out about my next book!

  One

  Keisha

  "It's a tradition," I said to myself. "Every famous journalist has to go through a period where they wrote god-knows-what to pay the bills. It's part of my backstory."

  Yeah, backstory. That was it. I set my duffel bag just inside the door to my apartment and then walked into the living room, pulling off my jacket as I went.

  I just about managed to take my shoes off before I plopped down on the couch, exhausted. All I wanted to do was fall face first onto my bed and sleep for about 16 hours, but instead I forced myself to open my laptop and start reviewing what I've written during the day. This story needs to be published before 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, and it ain't going to publish itself. Nor is my bank account going to fill itself up if I don't get another five thousand words out tomorrow, one way or another.

  I might not have liked writing a profile of Cheyenne's most prominent drainage projects of the past forty years - it ain't going to win me that Pulitzer, that's for sure - but it's either this or writing clickbait lists for content mills, at 2 cents per word.

  Again.

  Ugh.

  I tucked my feet up on the edge of the sofa, and set to editing. After ten minutes, I looked up and rubbed my forehead, taking in the room around me.

  It wasn't a pretty sight; the carpet was a bit threadbare, and the paintings on the walls have definitely seen better days. But it was my place, my own, and no one else's. I wasn't happy that I wasn't working in New York for a big newspaper, but at least I got to choose my own stories.

  Some of the time.

  If I'd worked for the Post, or the Times, I'd have ten years of writing what other people told me, and then maybe I'd get a chance to do my own thing. This way, I might have to write about drains some of the time, but at least once or twice I get to do a piece that I care about.

  With all the tension in my newspaper office, I was happy I had the chance to leave and do most of my work at home. My place hasn't changed much since I moved in, same peeling paint on the stairs, same crooked pictures. But I realised that being here, I'd felt calmer than I had for years.

  I made myself a cup of coffee – an essential part of the day – and got comfortable, changing into my pyjamas, and carried on editing. It's an evening ritual of mine to take a long hot shower to loosen up, followed by a blast of cold water to wake me up, and I could do with that, but I wasn't going to until I got this done.

  This year is going to be crucial for making my career as a journalist. If I don't get some serious stories published, then I'll have to move out of Cheyenne and go look for a normal job. I really don't want to do that.

  My housemate Nicole's old bedroom door was open slightly, and I prayed that she was safe, wherever she was out having fun. Part of me wished I was out having fun with her, drinking tequila shots and dancing, but this is my life now.

  This is my career.

  The living room of the two-bedroom apartment I shared with Nicole had couches facing one another, and a nice carved wooden coffee table in the middle. I leaned forward and put my notes and laptop on the coffee table, and carried on working. The coffee helped to wake me up a bit, and the next 20 minutes passed quickly. Once I finished, I shut down my laptop, stood up, and stretched, hearing my phone beep at me.

  "Hey, babe! What's up? Feel like we haven't talked in ages."

  "That's cause we haven't. You've been busy making yourself into a high-powered journalist, remember?" Jessie's voice was light and fun, and I could tell how happy she was with her new job.

  We went through journalism school together, but I knew that her heart was never really in being a reporter. Soon as we graduated, she went straight back to grad school to do business management. Now, she does something I can't even begin to understand on her laptop for the Thunderbirds, our brand-new soccer team. I caught their first game last week, and it sure looked impressive, not that I'd know anything about soccer. Guys in shorts, though, that's something I do know about. Or would like to.

  "I have to be honest," I said, surveying the chaos of papers around me, "I sure don't feel very high-powered right now. But it's nice you think of me that way, anyway."

  I loved hearing from Jessie, and reconnecting with her. We were really close in journalism school, but she moved across the country, and I buried myself in my work, and we just lost contact in the way that friends do. Now I'm back in Cheyenne, I'm really looking forward to seeing more of her.

  "Hey, I'm not laughing." Jessie said, on the other end of the line. "You're working for the American People, right? Keeping them informed about vital issues."

  "Vital drainage issues, yeah. I'm working for whoever pays me, it feels like most of the time." I said, grimacing.

  "Yeah, it's not like I was snooping, but I caught your name on some of those clickbait lists last week. You know, the 'Ten things about… ' ones?"

  "Is that an accusing tone I hear in your voice, Jessica Parsons? Are you by any chance suggesting that I'll write any old crap just to make ends meet?" I was smiling as I said it. "Because if you are – you damn right. A girl has to eat. I ain't got no shame; shame is for real journalists, and as much as I want to be a real journalist, I'm not one yet."

  A sigh from the other end of the line told me that Jessie knew all about what I was saying. "Yeah, I hear you. Why do you think I gave up on journalism as a career? It wasn't that I didn't like it; it's that I couldn't handle the uncertainty. I really admire what you've done moving all around the country, and sacrificing so much for your career."

  "Yeah, maybe it was a good idea, or maybe it wasn't. I mean, I had a great time, but…" I tailed off. I'd sacrificed a lot to work as an intern in some top papers, but the job offers hadn't followed. Now I was here trying to freelance. I kept telling myself I was happy with it, but the truth was there was no other option for me. This was my last chance saloon; after this it was Starbucks.

  "Look, babe, you're probably working, and as much as I'd like to pretend I wasn't, I'm working too." Jessie had work hours as long as mine, following the players after every training and making sure they had the data they needed to train and play effectively. Twenty
years ago, it would have been impossible for a small town soccer team to have a dedicated analyst like Jessie. But now, it was absolutely necessary if they were going to have a shot at doing well in the league. "I actually came to you with a proposition."

  I giggled. "That'll be the only proposition I've had for some time. I had a date earlier this week, but… well, let's just say I couldn't wait to get home to start work."

  "Hey, at least you have a date. I get to watch everyone else's personal life, without actually having time for one of my own. Anyway, this wasn't an agony aunt call. This was a proposition. No, a business proposition. Get your mind out of the gutter, girl."

  I leaned back on the couch. "Okay, I'm listening? What can the star reporter do for the star data analyst of the Thunderbirds?"

  "Well, you might think it's silly, but… Have you thought about writing about sports?"

  If was still drinking coffee, I would have spat it out. Instead, I sat upright and put my feet flat on the floor. "Oh no. No. No. No way."

  "But-"

  "Jessica Parsons, do you not remember how I felt about sports, and guys who play sports, in journalism school?" Back then, we both been pursued by guys who told us they were gonna make it in the NFL or the NBA or the – some other combination of letters which frankly I didn't give a damn about. I was more interested in the great writers - Tolstoy, Camus, Barthes - and Jessie was more interested in mathematics and data. We both had dates, and we both swore that athletes were not gonna be our thing.

  It was cliche, and if there's one thing I hate, it's cliche.

  "Yeah, I remember, but but I'm not asking you to fall in love with anybody. Just asking you to write about them."

  I paused, and thought about her words. Maybe it was a combination of not having had regular income in weeks, the uncertainty of my journalism career, and the fact she was a friend, but I actually thought about it seriously for a minute.

  Before saying no.

  "Jessie, you know I love you, girl, but what I got to write about damn sports...boys? You seen all of those puff pieces before, haven't you do they really help anybody? Even the subjects? I mean, don't your fans –"

  "Thunderbirds fans. Not my fans."

  "Okay, okay, Thunderbirds fans. Don't Thunderbirds fans just want profiles, and scores, and data, and, and, those pictures of guys with gleaming teeth, or whatever it is?" In truth, I was being a bit unfair to Jessie. I knew how important the team was to her, and I knew that she'd do anything to help them get to the finals. Although I hadn't gone to business school, my mum and dad had run a small business, and I knew that any publicity was good publicity.

  So I understood why she want me to write something. I just didn't want to admit to myself that I'd sunk to writing puff pieces about overly muscled jocks.

  "I'm trying not to laugh, Keisha, but your idea of soccer… Well, maybe you could come down and see us, and then you'll see it's not really like that. The Thunderbirds are, well, a family. We might be a new family, a young family, but… I think you might find something interesting here."

  I was still deeply suspicious. The handful of dates with athletes I had when I was in college really put me off them, not only dating them, but writing about them, or having anything to do with them. After that, reading the occasional piece of sports journalism sure as hell didn't change my opinion. But, Jessie was a good friend, and I wanted to help her as much as I could. God knows I didn't have that many friends in Cheyenne; my housemate Nicole and Jessie were about it.

  "Well," I said tentatively, "what if I did come down and survey your collection of beefcake? What is it you actually want me to write?"

  "That's up to you. Anything you want. Right now, we need all the publicity we can get. We won our first game, and that's great, and we need to keep winning. But there are still a lot of people in this town who don't know a thing about the Thunderbirds, or about the players. I want that to change."

  Experience has shown me that sometimes in life, when you don't know what to do, it's better to go with the flow, and justify it later. Jessie isn't stupid, and I know that she wants the best for me. She wouldn't exploit me, or try and push me to do something that I don't want to do. Not much, at least. I knew that if I kept on resisting she would eventually give up on trying to get me to do it. But, hell, it was worth a try, I guess.

  I took a deep breath. "Okay, okay. I will come down and look at the situation. No promises, but I'll see if there's a story there. Good enough?"

  "Great!" Jessie was brisk and businesslike. "You can come down to the training centre, and meet some of the guys. If you think there something there, then I'll set up some interviews and you can have whatever access you want. Who knows, this could be the first piece about a famous soccer team, right? That has to be worth something."

  "Well, maybe you're right. I guess not everybody in this town feels the same way about soccer as I do."

  "Dammit, girl, you don't even know anything about soccer. Mind you, neither did I when I started. Trust me, it'll grow on you."

  "Fungus grows on things. Mould grows on things. You not really making this any easier, Jessie."

  "Okay. We might have to work on your enthusiasm before you meet the team," she joked. "Remember, these guys take their job very seriously, and comparing them to fungus is probably not the best way to start your professional association with them.

  I shook my head, smiling. "And now I have a famous sports personality who owes me a favour, right?"

  Jessie laughed. "I'm hardly a famous sports personality. But I do owe you a favour, that's for sure."

  "Trust me, I'm going to collect on it one day. You just wait. Anyway, tell me about what I can expect when I come down. Apart from the beefcake, that is."

  "Well, what can I say? They're a great bunch of guys. They take their jobs seriously, and the new captain Will has done great things, making them into a team. They had some disagreements to start with, but since he's arrived, they've bonded as a unit."

  "You mean like slapping each other's butts in the shower, that sort of thing?" Okay, okay, again. I was being a bit unfair. But I couldn't help it; I remembered the macho attitude of sports guys in college, and I had no reason to believe things had changed. "Seriously, what do they do when they're not training or playing? To someone like me who is not interested in soccer, that's the part which is most interesting, right? Like, what would make someone devote their whole life to kicking a ball around the field? Or throwing it? Or is it hitting it with a stick?"

  Jessie blew me a raspberry down the phone line. "Nice try, babe. I know you know a little more about soccer than that. To answer your question, Will is the captain, and you'll meet him when you come in. I'm not sure who else will be around, but I'll make sure they know how important this is, and how they need to answer your questions."

  Before I can change my mind, Jessie squealed with delight. "I'm really glad you're going to give this a try, Keisha. It really means a lot to me. And, honestly, it's not can be as bad as you think. You will like it, I promise."

  I was much less convinced, but I kept it to myself. "Do any of the guys have, like, families? Or are they all just out at bars picking up girls every Friday night? Girls who aren't at home working on a Friday night, that is. Like you and me."

  "Some do, yes. But, I won't deny there's a few who are…trouble. For some of the fans, that's part of the appeal, but… This is a family friendly business, so sometimes they have to be on a short leash." Her voice was serious. "Look, babe, I'm not going to pretend that you might not hear some strong language, or see some not so good behaviour. But there's more to professional sport than just that, I promise. I think there's a story here about people's hopes and dreams and about how sport can change the lives of players and fans for the better. Maybe that's a bit melodramatic, but I really think it's true."

  "Okay, okay, I hear you. I'm sold." In truth, I wasn't very sold, but I owed to Jessie to give it a good try. "When do you want me?"

  "Next Tuesday? T
hat will give me time to tell the guys about it, and that's the night we have the whole team meeting to plan strategy for the next game. It would be good for you to observe that.."

  "Tuesday then. I'll do some research and come prepared with some questions." Writing about knee injuries and soccer groupies didn't exactly give me a list of probing questions, but I had to come up with something, and I had time to do it at least.

  "Okay, babe. Look, I should let you get back to work, and I got to do the same. Don't work too late, okay? Love you."

  "You too, Jess. Take care." I rang off and rubbed my forehead. What had I gotten myself into? Stretching out on the couch, I pulled out my trusty notebook and started writing down some questions.

  Sports jocks?

  Family?

  Attitude to women?

  If I was going to turn this into an interesting piece, I had my work cut out for me.

  Two

  Dale

  There comes a time in every man's life when he needs to make some tough decisions. Right now the tough decision I needed to make was how the hell I could get out of here without the rest of my team finding out. To be fair, we were in the middle of "meeting" and I should have been prepared for this meeting to go on most of the evening, especially at this skeazy bar.

  And we deserved to be here, given how hard we had worked to win our first game. We were all supposed to meet early and talk about the game, but one beer had led to another, and now I was in the middle of a group of rowdy soccer players.