@rorynashagent:
JORDAN. Do not make me come down there
@jordanemery_official:
Sorry this place is off limits to agents before a match
@rorynashagent:
Brat. Good luck out there though. I’ll be cheering for you
@jordanemery_official:
Thanks. Really. I appreciate your support
@rorynashagent:
Good. Phone off. Head in the game. Show everyone how amazing you are
Warmth filled me. I was so fucking lucky to have Rory as my agent. Having people in your corner was something that was never guaranteed, and I knew I was one of the lucky ones. Between him and my dad, I had all the support I needed. My dad was a real man’s man. It was probably a stereotype to say that, but it was true for him. He was in the building trade, a single dad, constantly surrounded by men who were very traditional in their actions. He rarely, if ever, showed his emotions, but although I never knew what he was feeling, he never left me with any doubt that he was behind my career every step of the way. As for Rory—he had other clients, but when he was with me, he always made sure that his full focus was on me, and I never felt like I was competing for his attention with anyone else.
@jordanemery_official:
Thanks R. Get ready to see me making headlines!
I powered my phone down and rejoined my teammates in the dressing room, chucking my phone into the cubby beneath my seat. Across the other side of the room, I could feel the heavy weight of someone’s stare. I knew that if I turned my head, I’d see blue eyes burning with hate and resentment, and the thought made a smile curve over my lips.
The satisfaction that I was pissing off the posh wanker whose position I’d stolen was forgotten as soon as Harvey Raines entered the dressing room. The atmosphere immediately thickened, tension and excitement mounting in the air.
“Alright, lads.” He clapped his hands together just once, a resounding smack that echoed around the space, rebounding off the walls. “Focus time. They’ll try and walk it in, but we’re not gonna let them. Don’t let anyone get past you. Defenders, push forward. Let’s get them on the back foot from kick-off and get this win in the bag in the first five minutes.”
His statement was concluded with the players slapping hands and backs, and then we were filing out of the dressing room and down the tunnel that led out onto the pitch. Cameras were everywhere—something I wasn’t used to in League Two, and it was the first thing that highlighted just how different this match was. My heart rate kicked up, my palms sweating as I concentrated on breathing, forcing myself to stay focused.
But then I stepped out onto the pitch and heard the roars of sixty thousand people echoing around the stadium. My breaths were suddenly loud and shaky, even with the noise of the crowd, and I swallowed hard. Fucking keep it together, Jordan. This is the biggest moment of your career.
“Good day for a win, innit?” A voice sounded in my ear, and I turned to see Reuben Mendy’s grinning face. I’d never admit it under pain of death, but playing alongside one of the best strikers in the league was a dream, and I was a little bit intimidated and a whole lot starstruck.
“Uh, yeah.” I cleared my throat to get rid of the scratchiness. “Yeah,” I said again, this time with more conviction.
There was a flash of empathy in Reuben’s eyes as he briefly squeezed my shoulder. “The gaffer wouldn’t have you here if you weren’t up to it, man. Let’s show the Gunners that they can’t fucking walk it in, like he said.”
“Yeah.” I straightened my shoulders. “Let’s win this.”
“Good man.” He jogged over to his starting position, and I took up mine, finding it easier to tune out the crowd after his little pep talk. The excitement I’d originally felt was back, and I savoured it. This was my time to shine. For the whole team to shine. Except for Theo Lewin.
Oh, fuck. That wasn’t even true, was it? If he fucked up, that would fuck us all.
Focus, Jordan.
The whistle blew, and then my nerves suddenly disappeared. I was caught up in the game I loved. Nothing else mattered. Only working with my team to score as many goals as possible.
And we did.
Walker or Sinclair passed the ball down the pitch to me whenever they could, and I did my best to get it to Reuben Mendy. He was one of the top strikers in the league for a reason.
All our hard work paid off. We fucking smashed it, 3-0. I got two assists, and even better, Theo Lewin did nothing memorable.
My entire body was buzzing, on a high I’d never experienced before. This was the life I’d always dreamed of.
Finally, I’d be recognised for my talent.
I could see the headlines now.
5
THEO
That fucking bastard. Jordan had the press and, even worse, the team wrapped around his finger. Everyone loved him.
Apart from me.
The early headlines were grating. Everyone was quick to shower praise on our new “saviour,” conveniently forgetting that the rest of the team was doing their best to fill the hole that Knowles had left. With or without the bratty fucking poser Jordan Emery.
My life had become a nightmare. When I’d read today’s editorial on the website of a well-respected newspaper, not even one of the tabloids, it made me sick to my stomach. It mentioned that Emery had been born to play on the right wing, and I was apparently “not as indispensable as Harvey Raines had insinuated.”
My hands were shaking as I popped a tablet from the blister pack. I’d started taking sleeping pills when I first joined the team, when it was almost encouraged to do so before a match… Who didn’t have trouble sleeping, after all?
I’d had problems with sleeping through the night for a lot longer, though. If I could trace it back, it had probably started when I was thirteen, when I’d joined CEFYA. Possibly even before that. No…not possibly. Certainly. Then when I’d transferred to Glevum FC and one of the players had dropped sleeping pills into the conversation as if it were a normal occurrence before a match, I’d been intrigued.
I’d been more than intrigued, if I were honest. For the first time in years, I was finally able to sleep through the night. I was finally able to calm that jittery rush that sent my heart rate spiking.
Now, I… I took one or two pills. Or three. Every day. The club doctor had given me a prescription, but it wasn’t enough to fulfil my needs. If you were a Premier League player, though, you could get whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, and I had more than enough.
As I swallowed the tablet with a chaser of vodka, the thought crossed my mind that I probably shouldn’t have taken it before I went out. But the fact was my body was used to the effect, and therefore, I needed a head start tonight if I wanted to actually sleep. I had to spend the evening with Jordan Emery, after all, and I’d need all the help I could get.
I knew that I shouldn’t be taking so many pills. I knew that I was relying on them too much. I knew that I had a problem.