Page 65 of Come Fly With Me

“Anyway,” Flynn said pointedly, “Imighthave invited a couple of scouts to one of our games and—”

Katy squealed. “Everyone wants me! All the teams! All of them!”

“Are any of you going to let me finish a bloody sentence?” Flynn demanded as Katy bounced in place, her face beaming.

“I do believe you just did,” Victoria said.

“Where’s Lawrence?” Flynn asked her. “Shouldn’t he be picking you up around now? Don’t you need to go home and crochet some doilies for the Queen or something?”

“Elizabeth has more than enough doilies.” Victoria made a show of glancing around their living room. “But you could do with one or two. I’ll add it to my list.”

Abby couldn’t hide her laugh this time. Eyes dancing at Flynn, she said to her mother, “We’d love some, thank you.”

The traitor.

“Can we get back to the important stuff?” Katy demanded before glaring up at Flynn. “I mean, unless you want to try to wind Gran up some more?”

“No. I’m done.” Flynn waved a hand to indicate she had the floor. “Carry on.”

“Can you believe it, Mum?” Katy grinned at her mother. “The big teams want me!”

Abby got out of her chair and came over to wrap her daughter in a tight hug. “I am so proud of you. And yes, I absolutely can believe it.” She cocked an eyebrow at Flynn. “And I suppose this performance is to convince me to let my sixteen-year-old go off to play football, somewhere far away from Invertary?”

Flynn couldn’t contain his pride as he told his wife the good news. “Arsenal wants her,” he said. “She can’t pass up Arsenal’s women’s team. And it’s only London. We can pop down whenever you want.”

“Weeeeeell,” Katy said, “Arsenal’s great and all, but I’d really like to take up a position with the North Carolina Courage. They’re the best women’s soccer team in the world,” she gushed to her mother.

Flynn barely heard the words over the ringing in his ears.

North Carolina Courage?????

WHAT THE HELL?

He spun to face his teen. “We talked about Arsenal. Where the hell did the offer from America come from? You never mentioned a bloody American offer.”

“Language, Flynn,” Victoria said.

“I’m watching my language,” Flynn snapped. “Trust me when I say there are a whole lot more words I want to use right now. Most of them beginning with F.”

“Dad…” Katy shot a sideways glance at her mum.

“No.” He held up a hand as he began to pace the thick blue rug. “NoDadin that wheedling voice you use. This is serious stuff. You’re talking about turning your back on one of the greatest football teams in the world to go to…America.” He was so offended that he barely managed to get the word out. “This is all because of bloody Beckham, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “That brainless walking mannequin takes up a place with a team in LA, and suddenly everybody thinks it’s cool to play soccer in America. Rubbish! Americans don’t know how to play the game.”

“Their women’s team won the World Cup,” Katy said.

But he hardly heard her. “They’ve no sense of tradition. Of history. Of the culture of the game. And their league? Don’t even get me started! It’s as far from the premiership as you can get. This is an offense to your heritage. It goes against everything I’ve ever taught you.” He stopped dead in the middle of the room and pointed a finger at his daughter. “I forbid it.”

There were three outraged gasps.

“I don’t care what you think,” he told all of them. Because none of them understood how serious this was. “Arsenal is a family tradition. That’s where Boyles play. You’re a Boyle, and you’re going to Arsenal. And that’s final.”

With that, he stalked from the room, through the kitchen, and across the paddock to the old motor home that he’d lived in before he met Abby. Once inside, he slammed the door, grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge, and plopped onto the old sofa—just as a mother duck and her babies waddled out of the shower.

“I don’t care,” Flynn told them. “I’m not handing out snacks right now. I’m too damn mad.” And with that, he popped the top off his beer while the ducks complained.

Loudly.

* * *