A Perfect Match E-Book

Rachael Sommers

• Herausgeber: Ylva Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Deutsch

Seitenzahl: 388

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

A heated enemies-to-lovers lesbian sports romance about shattering all the rules. Acclaimed football star Erin Finch has the sporting world at her feet until a brutal injury sidelines her. Enter bubbly striker Lia Ashcroft, the up-and-coming hotshot setting the English women's league on fire. With her personal life in tatters, she's determined to rule professionally. Filling in for Erin seems like a good way to kick her career up a notch. Icy Erin might be out for a season, but she's damned if she'll let someone steal her spot for good. What starts as fierce tension between the rivals turns into something else: respect, then simmering attraction. Exploring it, though, would break every rule Erin has.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

About the Book

About Rachael Sommers

Other Books by Rachael Sommers

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Other Books from Ylva Publishing

About the Book

A sizzling enemies-to-lovers lesbian sports romance about shattering all the rules.

Acclaimed football star Erin Finch has the sporting world at her feet until a brutal injury sidelines her.

Enter bubbly striker Lia Ashcroft, the up-and-coming hotshot setting the English women’s league on fire. With her personal life in tatters, she’s determined to rule professionally.

Filling in for Erin seems like a good way to kick her career up a notch. Icy Erin might be out for a season, but she’s damned if she’ll let someone steal her spot for good.

What starts as fierce tension between the rivals turns into something else: respect, then simmering attraction.

Exploring it, though, would break every rule Erin has.

About Rachael Sommers

Rachael Sommers was born and raised in the North-West of England, where she began writing at the age of thirteen, and has been unable to stop since. A biology graduate, she currently works in education and constantly dreams of travelling the world. In her spare time, she enjoys horse riding, board games, escape rooms and, of, course, reading.

CONNECT WITH RACHAEL

Website: www.rachaelsommers.com

E-Mail: [email protected]

Other Books by Rachael Sommers

Don’t Let Me Go

Love Next Door

In Too Deep

Chemistry

Fool for Love

Never Say Never

A Perfect Match

© 2026 by Rachael Sommers

Available in paperback and e-book formats.

ISBN (paperback): 978-3-69006-121-6

ISBN (e-book): 978-3-69006-122-3

ISBN (pdf): 978-3-69006-123-0

Published by Ylva Publishing, legal entity of Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.

Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.

Owner: Astrid Ohletz

Am Kirschgarten 2

65830 Kriftel

Germany

www.ylva-publishing.com

First edition: 2026

We explicitly reserve the right to use our works for text and data mining as defined in § 44b of the German Copyright Act.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Depending on your device, the text might be displayed differently from the publisher’s approved version.

Credits

Edited by Genni Gunn and Michelle Aguilar

Cover Design by Ronja Forleo

Print Layout by Ylva Publishing

Image rights cover illustration provided by Shutterstock LLC; iStock; Dreamstime; Canva; AdobeStock; Depositphotos

Graphics provided by Freepik

Acknowledgments

I would like to start, as always, by thanking Astrid and the rest of the Ylva team because without them this book would never have happened. Thank you for continuing to give me an outlet for the made-up people in my mind.

This book would be nothing without my wonderful beta readers, Sarah and Jay. Thank you for your time and your insightful comments. I appreciate it more than I could possibly say.

This is a story about football, and if not for my dad, I never would have fallen in love with this sport. I was raised on the men’s game, and then I discovered women’s football when England hosted the European Championships in 2022. I went to the first game at Old Trafford against Austria—with my dad—and I was hooked. Watching them lift the trophy then, and in 2025, will always be a special memory. There’s a lot of me in this book, and I hope you fall in love with women’s football, too.

Thank you to my editors, Genni and Michelle, for all their work to help me make this the best story it could possibly be.

And, finally, Beth. I don’t even know where to start. When the concept for this story first came to me, we were still almost strangers. Now, you’re my everything. Thank you for everything you do for me. You’re my biggest supporter, cheerleader, and champion, and I love you so much. I hope I continue to make you proud.

Chapter 1

Lia stared at the plaque on the wall—Carol Evans, Head Coach—hands curled into fists to stop them from shaking. She’d been a frequent visitor to Carol’s office in her seven-year tenure as the superstar striker for Manchester Wanderers. Yet she’d never felt such a churning in her gut, such a disquiet in her mind, such a seething anger making the edges of her vision black.

Stepping back into her club off the back of a record-breaking season after a few weeks off, Lia should be on cloud nine, ready to begin the new season. Following three years of coming in second place, Wanderers had unseated their closest rivals—Salford Albion—at the summit of the Women’s Super League. They’d also beaten them to the FA Cup trophy. Not to mention Lia’s prolific success in front of goal had meant she’d ended the season with the most goals, taking home the Golden Boot trophy for the first time in her career.

Instead, she was filled with loathing.

Taking a deep breath, Lia wrenched open the door and stormed inside before she could think better of it.

Behind the desk, Carol started. “Hey! You can’t barge in here without—” The words died on her tongue once she got a look at Lia’s face. “Ashcroft. W-what are you doing here?” Her voice trembled with fear.

Good.

For the past seven years, Lia had thought herself lucky to work with a coach as fantastic as Carol. She’d elevated Lia’s game, brought the best out of her, and turned Wanderers into a team competing at the top level.

Lia used to feel nothing but admiration for Carol. And a desire to be the best she could possibly be to give back to the coach that had given Lia her chance on the biggest stage of women’s football, promoting Lia to the first team at eighteen years old.

Now, as her gaze rested on Carol’s face, Lia felt nothing but disgust and disappointment.

“I needed to see you.” Lia paused on the other side of the desk, letting her fingers brush against the edge of the stained wood—black, like Lia’s mood. And like Wanderers’ new training kit. She’d been asked to pull it on for a photo shoot, but the badge on her breast—red roses—once something she’d worn with pride, now felt heavy. Leaden. Ruined.

“I want to leave.”

“Leave?” Carol’s brows creased into a frown. How dare she pretend Lia’s words came as some kind of shock? “What do you mean? You need a break? A holiday? Some time away from the team?”

Lia shook her head, nails tapping a staccato rhythm on the desk. “I want a transfer. I want out of this place.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Carol’s lips as her frown smoothed. “Are you joking? You signed a two-year contract extension a few months ago!”

“Yes, I’m aware.” As was Lia’s agent, whom she’d already had this argument with a dozen times in the past few days. Still, Lia’s resolve hadn’t wavered. She didn’t just want out—she needed out. For her own sanity. “But I signed that contract under false pretences.”

Carol swallowed, loud in the quiet office. The only other sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall behind Carol’s head. Ticking down Lia’s time as a Wanderers player.

“You know, the false pretences that you weren’t screwing my fiancée?” Exactly as she’d intended, Lia’s words landed like a blow.

Carol flinched like she’d been struck, wide eyes looking toward the door Lia had purposefully left open. “Lower your voice!”

“Should’ve thought about that before, shouldn’t you? Did you really think you’d get away with breaking the rules about sleeping with one of your players and get off scot-free?” Whenever she blinked, she saw Carol and Hannah embracing. Her stomach roiled, threatening to expel the eggs she’d forced down for breakfast.

“I’ll call it off.”

“No. It’s too late for that. I want out of my contract, to a nearby club. Salford Albion, preferably.” Their stadium was so close that it was visible from the Wanderers training ground. Perfect for Lia—she didn’t want to move to a new city. “They should be in the market for a new striker after what happened in the FA Cup final.” Lia didn’t like seeing her fellow professionals get injured—especially not a player she’d admired for years—but Erin Finch’s torn ACL might work to her advantage.

“I… I can’t.” Carol’s face was ashen. “I might be able to get you out of your contract, but I can’t sell you to a direct rival. The board will never go for that. You’re one of our best players! They’ll have my head.”

Lia was unmoved. She didn’t care what happened to Carol. All she wanted was to get the hell out of here. “Then I’ll tell them what I know, and you’ll be gone anyway.”

She’d debated that option extensively, but having to stay at Wanderers, having to see Hannah every day after what she’d done, even if Carol was replaced with a new coach? Lia wouldn’t be able to stand it.

All of her memories felt tainted. She’d been at Wanderers since she was sixteen and had never thought she’d want to leave. But now she couldn’t imagine spending another day here.

She was going to tell the board regardless, but this way, she’d get what she wanted—what she needed—first.

A nasty look crossed Carol’s face, and she turned her attention back to her laptop in clear dismissal. “It’ll be your word against mine.”

Lia had expected that. Carol hadn’t earned her ruthless reputation by rolling over easily. “Not if I show them the pictures.”

That got Carol’s attention back on her. “What pictures?”

“I’m not an idiot, despite what you and Hannah might think. I knew she was cheating on me, just not with who. It’s easy to buy a spy-cam these days. Even easier to hide it on a shelf pointing at the bed.” Lia was bluffing, but Carol didn’t need to know that. And she could lie well when she needed to. “I have evidence of it all. Screenshots of your messages, too.” That part wasn’t a bluff. She also had evidence that some of her teammates had known about the affair but hadn’t deigned to tell her. Another reason Lia wanted out. “If you don’t get me transferred, I will go to the board, and the press, and you will never manage a game in England again.”

Carol’s face drained of all colour, her mouth gaping open.

“You know my agent’s details. She’s expecting your call.” One conversation down.

Now she just needed to confront her cheating fiancée.

Lia spun on her heel and strode from the room before she ran to the closest bathroom and emptied her stomach.

* * *

As a chorus of “Happy Birthday”rang around her apartment, Erin tried not to squirm in discomfort.

Though it was hard to feel anything other than joy with the way Maisie gazed at her, green eyes wide and a huge grin on her mouth, like Erin was the greatest aunt in the whole wide world. Maisie had her mother’s eyes, and it reminded Erin of the way Jessica had looked at her when she had been nine years old. Hard to believe that was nearly twenty years ago. Time really did fly.

“You have to blow out the candles, Aunt Erin!” Maisie pushed the chocolate cake toward her like it was the most valuable thing in the world. “I put thirty-one on there.”

At the reminder of her age, Erin winced. Most people panicked on the approach to thirty, but it was a different kind of fear when you were an athlete, racing toward retirement with each passing year. Still, she put on a brave face for Maisie, blowing out the candles to applause.

Maisie was too young to understand Erin’s panic. To her, she was still the great Erin Finch, best striker in the women’s game. But in Erin’s mind, she saw the headlines that had circulated at the end of last season after she’d suffered a serious injury.

Is Erin Finch finished?

Will Erin Finch ever be able to recover back to her best?

Will we see Erin Finch play in a Salford Albion shirt again?

The headlines made Erin furious, feeding into the doubts that had surfaced ever since she had torn her ACL two months ago. When she should be focusing solely on her recovery, she was plagued with fears that she might never set foot on the pitch again.

Already, she was reaching the end of her lifespan as a professional player. Advancements in sports technology and the impeccable shape Erin kept herself in had maintained her position as the best of the best, still able to play full matches with ease, but an ACL injury could curtail the career of even the youngest of players. And without her career, without the sponsorship deals, without the ability to continue to support the rest of her family…Erin didn’t know what she’d do. Football was her whole life. She hadn’t ever considered failure, hadn’t ever had a plan B. She thought she’d have a few more years to figure it out.

Hopefully, she still did.

“I’m going to go cut the cake!” Maisie raced off to the kitchen with the cake held aloft.

At least she’d broken Erin out of dark thoughts.

“And I’m going to make sure she doesn’t cut herself.” Jessica climbed to her feet and wrapped a hand around Erin’s shoulder. “Happy Birthday, Erin.”

Erin covered her sister’s hand briefly with her own before releasing her to hurry after her daughter as she wielded a knife much too large for a nine-year-old.

Soft laughter came through the speakers of her laptop, balanced on the coffee table. Erin turned to the smiling face of her dad, her stepmother sitting beside him. Despite their weekly family video calls, it had taken some time for them to figure out how to point the camera at their faces and not at the ceiling.

“How are you really doing, sweetheart?” Her dad’s forehead was crinkled, deepening the lines already there. “I know the past few weeks can’t have been easy for you.”

“I’m okay.” She wasn’t, not fully, but she didn’t want him to worry. He’d spent so many years of his life worrying about her already. Left as a single father after his wife had walked out on their family, he’d worked two jobs to make sure she and Jessica were never hungry and that Erin always had everything she needed for football.

He shot her a look. “No, you’re not.”

With a wry smile, Erin grabbed her laptop and balanced it on her good knee, careful not to disturb the slumbering black cat snoozing on her lap. Not that Gerrard seemed to notice. “I will be. Promise.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it out to be with you in person, sweetheart.” Behind him, the sun loomed high in the sky, lighting his apartment and making him and Isobel glow. Or the glow could be due to being able to retire in sunny Spain. “But Isobel wasn’t feeling up to travelling, and I didn’t want to leave her.”

“I did tell him to go without me.” Isobel turned a stern glare her dad’s way. “But he wouldn’t listen.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sensing the chance to change the subject, Erin seized it with both hands. She was tired of thinking about her injury; she didn’t want to talk about it, either. “How are you doing? A stroke trumps an ACL.”

Isobel waved a hand. “Oh, I’m fine, mija. Recovering well. We’ll definitely be out to visit you at Christmas.”

“Can’t wait.” Family had always been Erin’s reason for wanting to succeed. The desire to make her dad proud—and to pay him back for everything he’d given up for her and Jessica. He might not have been able to emigrate to Spain to be with Isobel without Erin’s help, and she wouldn’t have been able to support Jessica and Maisie.

Not that they needed much help anymore, now Jessica was working as a junior lawyer. But nine years ago, after becoming a mother at eighteen, had been a different story.

And it hadn’t been easy. When Erin had started out, few female players were professional, and those who were weren’t exactly high earners. But, in the years since, progress had been made, and Erin had been one of the drivers of that movement, smashing records the way she had.

“Here’s your cake!” Maisie bounded back over to the couch, a plate in each hand.

Jessica trailed a few steps behind with a much smaller slice of her own.

Erin turned back to her laptop screen. “I’ll let you go so you don’t have to watch us eat it. Speak to you next week?”

“Of course.” Her dad and Isobel waved goodbye to them all before hanging up, and Erin returned her laptop to the coffee table so she could eat, the chocolate ganache melting on her tongue.

“Auntie Erin?” Maisie peered at her, chocolate smeared around her mouth. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Behind Maisie, Jessica shook her head. “You’ve stayed here three nights already this week. Your Aunt Erin is going to be sick of the sight of you soon.”

“Impossible.” As much as Erin loved her own company, she loved spending time with Maisie more. Soon the day would come when she didn’t see Erin as cool anymore and wouldn’t want to spend every waking moment talking her ear off about football. “She’s more than welcome to stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Erin let Maisie snuggle closer into her side. Jessica worried sometimes that she asked for too much; Erin was often the emergency babysitter whenever Jessica had to work unexpected hours, especially now she wasn’t playing regularly. But Maisie’s summer holidays would be over soon, and Erin wouldn’t see her as often once school started. “You know I don’t mind.”

“Okay, then.”

“Yay!” Maisie wrapped her arms around Erin’s waist and squeezed her tight but made sure not to jostle her too much. Ever since the injury, she’d been careful, her worried eyes widening whenever Erin had winced. After the surgery, Maisie had refused to leave her side whenever she wasn’t at school or her own football practice, dutifully playing Erin’s nursemaid. It was nice to see her smiling again.

Erin hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer until she’d be that happy again, too.

* * *

Lia’s hands trembled so much that she could barely jam the key into the lock of the house she and Hannah shared.

Or used to share. After the conversation that was about to take place, Lia had no intention of coming back other than to grab her things. Had she done this the right way around, or should she have confronted Hannah before Carol? Would Carol have had the chance to warn Hannah that Lia knew about their affair?

As she pushed the door open and stepped inside, Lia’s stomach churned.

The pitter-patter of claws on the wooden floor reached Lia’s ears, and Hannah’s Spaniel looked at her with big, brown eyes as he rounded the corner of the hall. “Hey, Charlie.” Lia crouched to stroke him, managing a laugh in spite of herself when he licked her cheek.

Burying her face in his fur, Lia drew in deep breaths as she fought the urge to cry. Hannah had stolen so much from her: the last four years of her life spent on a relationship that Hannah had thrown away for a sliver of attention from their coach; the team that Lia had spent all of her adult life as a part of; the teammates that she’d thought would be her friends forever but who had kept their silence so they didn’t rock the boat; and her home.

Not just her physical home, either, but her home on the pitch.

“Lia? Is that you?” Hannah’s voice echoed from the living room.

Moment of truth. Wearily, Lia pushed herself to her feet and trudged down the hall. Inside the living room, Hannah sat on the sofa.

Hannah hiccupped as her eyes met Lia’s, tears spilling from her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“At least you’re not going to deny it.” Lia sagged against the door-frame, every ounce of strength leaching out of her as she looked at the woman she’d thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with. “Why,Hannah?” The question that Lia had been asking herself, over and over again, since she’d seen the messages on Hannah’s phone. Things between them had been good—or so Lia had thought. They rarely argued, despite spending most of their days together. And okay, maybe they hadn’t had sex in a few weeks—or was it months?—but that was normal, wasn’t it, in a long-term relationship once the honeymoon period had ended? “What did she give you that I couldn’t?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Hannah rose to her feet, moving toward Lia like she wanted to reach for her.

Before she could, Lia reared backwards, unable to stand the thought of Hannah touching her. “What was it like, then?” She barely recognised her own voice, sharp and brittle, one step away from breaking entirely. “Explain it to me.”

“I don’t…I don’t know how to do that.”

“Well, you didn’t trip and fall into bed with her, did you? There must have been a reason!” A reason why Lia wasn’t enough for her. A reason why she’d risked throwing everything they had away. “Did she pressure you? Coerce you into something?”

“No.”

Lia didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset. “Then why, Hannah?”

“I don’t have an answer for you, Lia. I liked the attention she gave me. It was new and exciting, and I got lost in the thrill. I never intended to hurt you. I kept telling myself that I’d stop it or I’d come clean and tell you, but I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

Once more, Hannah reached for her, but Lia flinched out of her grip. Numbness crept through her body, making it hard for her to stay upright.

“Is there… Can we fix this?”

Lia wrenched the diamond ring from her finger and hurled it toward where Hannah stood. “This is how we’ll fix it.”

Before Hannah had the chance to call out, to beg her to stay, Lia made for the front door, slamming it closed behind her. She didn’t have any of her belongings, but that didn’t matter. She could stay in a hotel for the night and come back tomorrow when Hannah was in training.

As she was walking down the street, her cheeks damp with tears, her phone rang in her pocket.

“Hey.” The voice of Lia’s agent was breathless on the other end of the line. “I think we’ve had a breakthrough on the transfer fee. How do you feel about signing the ink on a contract with Salford Albion first thing in the morning?”

“That fast?” Lia had expected to have to wait at least a few days. Though she’d never been part of a transfer saga before, she knew how they worked. It could take weeks to hammer out the details, even when both parties wanted a deal.

“That fast. They want you, Lia. And whatever you said to Carol, it worked. Wanderers are throwing everything they can at this to get a deal over the line.”

“I could be an Albion player as soon as tomorrow?”

“Uh-huh. What do you say? You sure about this? I promise it’ll be the last time I ask you that.”

Lia took a deep breath. Starting over somewhere new was utterly terrifying. What if she couldn’t settle in? What if she didn’t get along with her new coach? What if her new teammates hated her for the role she’d played in them coming in second the previous season?

What if Hannah snatched her career from her, as well as everything else?

Instead of letting the doubt get to her, Lia straightened her spine. She couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let herself drown, give in to the ache deep in her chest whenever she thought about what she’d lost.

“I’m sure. Tell them I’ll sign whatever they want me to.”

Chapter 2

“Let’s see it, then.” Folding her arms, Erin leaned back in her chair in the Salford Albion team canteen, watching Alex shovel an omelette into their mouth.

“See what?”

Chatter swirled all around them, so loud it nearly drowned out Alex’s reply. Two months since the last season had ended—two months since Erin’s life had turned upside down—and the entire team were back from their summer breaks, eager to catch up with one another.

Usually, Erin’s summers were spent at international tournaments or resting and relaxing at her father’s home in Marbella. That summer, she’d spent at Park Lane. Albion’s training facility wasn’t exactly her go-to destination, but her strict rehab routine hadn’t left her with much choice. The first few weeks, Erin had been the only player in the building.

Compared to that silence, the conversation swelling around them now was deafening.

“You know what. The European Championship winner’s medal.” Erin tried not to grimace as the words left her mouth. It stung. Erin had been forced to watch the competition at home, injured knee propped on her coffee table, high on a cocktail of painkillers after reconstructive surgery. A medal should be hanging off her neck. “I’m not buying that you left the house without it because I know I wouldn’t be taking it off for weeks. And I assume the media circus around here this morning is to welcome you and the others back.”

Two of their other teammates had also played with them on the national team, and Erin had seen them earlier, showing off their own medals. She wasn’t close enough to them to ask about the championships. Erin wasn’t close to anyone on the team, aside from Alex. And that was because they went way back, playing together since the tender age of fourteen.

As the first non-binary player to come through the English league, Alex hadn’t had an easy time of it in the beginning. At their first England camp, they’d bonded over the fact they were both from Liverpool, and after Erin had punched someone for calling Alex a fucking freak—making sure none of the coaches were around to see, of course—they’d become inseparable.

Sheepishly, Alex drew the medal out of their pocket and set it reverently on the table.

Erin took it, heart clenching as she ran a finger over its shiny surface. At the domestic level, she’d won everything there was to win. But internationally, glory had always eluded her. She’d have to wait at least two more years for another shot. And that was if her knee healed well enough for her to be selected for the next World Cup squad.

“Congratulations.” Erin handed the medal back before she was tempted to keep it. She managed to sound sincere—she was happy for Alex, even if the victory made her ache.

“Thanks.” Alex slid it back into their jacket. “But the media circus isn’t for us. Maybe we’ve got some fresh blood coming in.”

Erin tensed. She would be out for months—ACL recovery could take eight to twelve—and she wasn’t naïve. It was likely that someone would be brought in to replace her. Temporarily. Albion’s usual back-up striker was good, but she wasn’t twenty-four goals a season good. Goals that would need to be found elsewhere. “Do you know something?”

With a shake of their head, Alex finished the last bite of their omelette. “I know as much as you.”

So, little.

“How’s recovery going?”

Erin sighed, fingers automatically rubbing at the bandage on her left leg. “Slowly.” The longest she’d ever been out before was fourteen weeks. Eight weeks since tearing her ACL in the FA Cup final, she already wanted to crawl out of her skin, knowing she was nowhere close to stepping back onto the pitch.

Not to mention she had nightmares every other night.

In her sleep, she relived that horrible, awful moment over and over: She received the ball on the edge of the penalty box and then turned, her studs catching in the perfectly prepared Wembley turf, her knee twisting. A pop. Agony flashing through her body, stealing the breath from her lungs and causing her to howl in pain.

A movement she’d done a thousand times before, but it had never resulted in her lying flat out on the grass, crowded by the Albion team doctors as they raced onto the pitch to treat her, panic and terror clawing at her throat because pain like that could only mean one thing.

“Surgery went fine.” Erin forced herself to focus on the positives. Her physio would be proud; Gregor was constantly chastising her for dwelling on the worst-case scenarios. “And I’m back in the gym working on strengthening. But they say it’ll be another two or three months at least before I’m running again.”

“It’ll be over before you know it.”

“We’ll be halfway through the season by then.” Watching from the sidelines would be torture. “But—” Erin paused when she glanced at the TV screens spread around the room, tuned into the sports channel. A breaking news banner ran along the bottom of the screen, and hushed whispers broke out around the canteen.

In a shock move, Wanderers star Lia Ashcroft LEAVES and signs with rivals Albion.

On the TV, a video of Lia arriving at the Park Lane training ground played, cameras flashing to document her arrival.

Erin’s stomach dropped.

Of all the players they could have possibly brought in to replace her, Lia Ashcroft had to be the worst. Seven years Erin’s junior, the Welsh striker had been lauded as the next big thing in the Women’s Super League. When she’d beaten Erin to the Golden Boot trophy last season—by one meagre goal—the media had had a field day, touting Lia as the greatest striker the English game had ever seen.

A title that once had been Erin’s.

Who had approached who? Had Lia sensed blood in the water after Erin’s injury and asked to make the switch to the other side of Manchester? No, that didn’t make any sense. Why would she leave the team that had won the title last season to go to the runners-up?

But the alternative, the idea that Albion’s coaching staff reached out to poach Lia from their closest rivals, made Erin uneasy. She was not an insecure person, but Albion seeking out the one woman people already thought was better than her? Were they not confident that she’d make a full recovery? Did they doubt Erin’s ability to get back to her best?

Was this Albion’s way of trying to nudge Erin off the first team?

She clenched her hands into fists.

Erin imagined the drivel the media would write now, her lips curling into a snarl as Lia waved at the cameras before ducking inside the Park Lane entrance. She bit back a growl. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

* * *

“One more interview and then you’re done.” Milly, Salford Albion’s player liaison manager, shot Lia a kind smile. “Would you mind wearing the away kit for it?”

Lia took the proffered bundle of clothing. Operating on autopilot, she stripped out of her brand-new blue-and-white striped home shirt and shorts and swapped them for the solid burgundy away kit. She hadn’t worn a different kit in seven years, and seeing Albion’s roaring lion on her breast instead of Wanderers’s roses made her stomach swoop.

Things had moved so quickly since she’d stormed into Carol’s office. Lia still hadn’t processed things. Everything in her life had been upended in the last week, and she was still trying to catch her breath.

Once changed, Lia was led back into the room she’d spent the last two hours in, undergoing interviews and photo shoots to capitalise on the buzz her transfer had generated.

“So, Lia.” A reporter pressed a microphone toward her mouth. “What are you most looking forward to at Albion?”

Pushing aside her anxiety and sadness, Lia smiled, playing the part of a football starlet excited to begin the next stage of her career. “Helping the team to win as many trophies as possible.”

A rehearsed answer, but a true one. As much as Lia loved playing football, she loved winning things even more. She’d never pass up the chance to add to her trophy cabinet. And with Albion playing in four competitions throughout the season, she’d have multiple chances to try. Three domestic trophies were available: the Women’s Super League and two knock-out cup competitions—the League Cup and the FA Cup. But the fourth was European glory—the Champions League. The greatest teams in Europe all vying for their chance to be the best of the best. Last year, Lia had won two of those. This year, she wanted more.

“So, are you hoping to follow in your brother’s footsteps and win multiple league titles?”

Only Lia’s years of media training prevented her smile from faltering. Just once, once, Lia would like to be able to talk about her own career without Brett being brought into it. Some people thought it was cool that two siblings played for some of the best teams in the world. Lia wasn’t one of them. “While I can’t deny that my stepbrother has made a name for himself, I think my own accolades speak for themselves. I don’t want to follow in anyone’s footsteps. I want to rewrite all the record books.”

After a few more generic questions, Milly clapped her hands. “Okay, I think we’re all done! I’ll take you on a tour of the training facility next, and then I’ll leave you in the coach’s capable hands. Do you want to change into your training kit first?”

“Sure.” As she pulled on her navy-blue clothes, Lia allowed herself to bask in a rare moment of solitude. The tracksuit pants and the matching T-shirt were soft and breathable, and the hooded jacket that she zipped to her chin was comfortable. Wearing a football kit had always felt like armour, and Lia supposed there was no reason why this one couldn’t feel the same, even if it was a colour she wasn’t used to.

Stepping out into the corridor, Lia took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing nerves. But it was no use. She followed Milly around Park Lane, barely concentrating on a word she said.

“Hey, are you okay?” Milly set a gentle hand on Lia’s elbow, a frown on her face.

“I’m fine.” The lie came easily to Lia’s lips. “It’s just a little overwhelming.”

Milly’s smile was sympathetic. “I understand. This is your first time being part of a big transfer, right?”

“I’ve been at Wanderers since I was sixteen. Didn’t have any of this fanfare then.”

“Well, that’s what you get for being one of the best in the world.” Milly squeezed her arm. “I know it’s a lot, but I promise we’ll get you through it. Everyone in the team here is great—they’ll have you settled in in no time. And anytime you need someone to talk to, come to me. Whenever you need it. It’s my job to be here for you, okay?”

Gratitude flooded through Lia. It was nice to know there was at least one friendly face at Albion. “Thanks, Milly. I appreciate that, even if it hasn’t seemed like it today.”

“Are you kidding? I used to work for a men’s Premier League team—you’re a dream compared to some of those egos. And it’s just a few more hours today, and then you’ll have the evening to decompress. By the time you’re done with training, all your belongings will have been moved into your new apartment.”

One of the best things about a team having a player liaison manager was not having to worry about anything. Milly had found her a new place in a sleek apartment building in central Manchester a few minutes away from Park Lane.

“Come on, I’ll show you the most important room in this place next.” Milly led her down a set of stairs and along a long hallway until they reached a set of double doors.

Beyond them was a canteen full of a dozen tables, the seats blue and the walls painted the same colour to match Albion’s home kit. Large glass counters housed the offerings from the kitchen staff, though most of them were empty. A handful of people bustled around the room, tidying after the breakfast rush. They waved at her as she and Milly stepped inside.

TV screens lined the walls, and Lia’s face stared back at her from each one. To say that her transfer had caused a splash was an understatement.

“It’s not usually this quiet,” Milly said. “The team are in a meeting now, being told about your arrival.”

A shiver of apprehension trickled down Lia’s spine. She needed to make a good impression if she wanted to do well at Albion. And she was determined to do that. Her decision to leave Wanderers may have been hasty, but she was going to prove that she’d chosen the right path. “I’m guessing I’m supposed to make an entrance?”

“If you’re up for it. If not, I can lie and say our photo shoot overran.”

While Lia appreciated the offer, she’d need to get it over with sooner rather than later. “Nah, I’m good. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

* * *

Erin stared blankly at Ayla’s face, trying to take in what she was saying.

“I think most of you have heard the news by now.” Albion’s coach stood at the front of the briefing room with her muscled arms folded across her chest, gaze flitting around the faces of the thirty players sitting in the comfy chairs before her.

Ayla had been an incredible player in her prime, a pioneer of the women’s game, paving the way for those who came after her to be full-time professionals. Since her playing career had ended, she’d scaled her way to the top levels of management and was the first Black coach to win all four domestic trophies. All of them in her five years at Albion. Erin respected her a lot, but with how chaotic her thoughts had been ever since hearing the news about Lia, she found it hard to concentrate on Ayla’s words.

“It wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

No, a breaking news announcement wasn’t how Erin wished she’d found out, either. Worse—it hadn’t been a joke. Lia Ashcroft was somewhere in the building, about to waltz into the first team squad, about to take Erin’s position on the pitch, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

“The timing is good for us—Lia is able to join our pre-season tour in the US next week. That’ll be a good chance for you all to get to know her and hopefully start to gel together on the pitch before the season starts in September.”

Back when Erin had first started out, she’d been lucky to play any kind of pre-season at all. Even a few years ago, it had meant two or three matches against their nearest opposition. Now, as the women’s game continued on its upward trajectory, they were offered the kind of lucrative tours that had been historically reserved for the men’s teams. Last year, they’d travelled to Australia. This year, New York City was their destination.

Erin’s injury hadn’t gotten her out of going. It wasn’t like she was going to get on the training pitch, but Ayla had been insistent that the whole squad make the journey—because they were set to bond off the pitch as well as on it.

Yuck.

A light knock sounded on the door, and Ayla’s face broke into a smile. “That should be her now.”

The door creaked open, and Lia’s face loomed in the gap. Green eyes darted around the room, her brown hair falling in loose waves around her pale cheeks instead of in her usual matchday ponytail.

As she stepped inside the room, Lia buried her hands into the pockets of her navy-blue jacket. A thirteen was emblazoned across her chest, answering the question of what number shirt she’d be wearing. Unlucky for some—and certainly for Erin.

Ayla ushered Lia over to where she stood at the front of the room. “Everyone, please give a warm Albion welcome to our newest recruit, Lia Ashcroft!”

Applause rang out as the team took Lia in. She didn’t seem comfortable being the centre of attention, which went against the assured cockiness Erin associated her with whenever they’d met on the pitch. Had that all been an air—or was this the act? Pretending to be nervous so people would feel sorry for her and welcome her with open arms?

“Lia is an incredible talent,” Ayla said. “She has everything you could possibly want in a footballer—pace, strength, and a hardworking attitude—not to mention that she certainly knows how to find the back of the net.” Ayla’s smile turned wry as her gaze found Erin. “Only one of our own came close to outscoring her last season.”

Beneath the bandage, Erin’s knee throbbed, and she gritted her teeth.

Ayla wasn’t done yet. “I am so excited to see where this season takes us with so much firepower at our disposal. Lia, is there anything you want to say to your new teammates?”

With her cheeks flushed pink, Lia swallowed.

It had to be an act. Erin didn’t buy for a second this was the same woman she had met on the pitch.

“Um, just that I am so happy to be here. I can’t wait to get started and get to know you all.” Though she hadn’t mastered the same projection as Ayla, her words still carried to where Erin sat in the back row.

“Well, I’ll leave you to say hello. Lia is such a consummate professional that she’s joining us for training this afternoon—diving right in.” With an approving smile, Ayla stepped back.

Erin’s teammates swarmed around Lia, but Erin made a beeline for Ayla before the coach could leave the room. Or as much of a beeline as she could manage these days, anyway.

Ayla’s mouth tightened when Erin reached her, and she tucked a strand of her long hair behind her ear. As always, her nails were immaculately painted. This week, they were blue. “Erin. How’s the knee?”

Knowing Ayla didn’t really want the answer, Erin ignored the question. As coach, she’d be kept up to date with every single one of Erin’s movements from the team doctors and physiotherapists. “Why is she here? Am I being replaced?”

“Of course not. There’s no replacing our best player.” Ayla should know flattery wouldn’t get her anywhere. “But it’ll be months before you’re back on the pitch. Longer until you’re at full-match fitness. Did you expect us to spend a whole season without an out-and-out striker?”

Well, no. It was, of course, better for the team as a whole to have not just an out-and-out striker, but a good one to keep them competitive. The more trophies Albion won, the better. But…

“I didn’t expect her.” Why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Why did it have to be the one player everyone kept touting as Erin’s successor? As the young striker coming for her crown and all her records? Now she’d be forced to watch it happen.

And would there still be a place for Erin when she was back? Lia couldn’t have come cheap, and Erin’s wages were on the high side, too. She had one of the most lucrative contracts in the Women’s Super League, thanks to her fantastic goalscoring records. Could Albion justify keeping them both? Or would Erin be sold to make way for Lia to become their new star?

“Neither did we.” Ayla gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “She’d not long signed a contract extension with Wanderers. She shouldn’t have been available. But when we heard she was, I wasn’t about to let that chance go.”

Regrettably, Erin understood. Were she in Ayla’s position, she would have done the same thing, but that didn’t lessen the sting.

Ayla met Erin’s gaze. “And I have faith that the two of you will be able to play together once you’re back to full fitness. You’re both formidable alone—how incredible can you be as a striking partnership?”

Erin fought the urge to shake her head, to tell Ayla she didn’t want to work as a pair. “So there’s still a place for me here? Even with her?” She hated how vulnerable it made her sound—and hated the sympathy that washed over Ayla’s face more.

“Of course there is, Erin. And I, for one, am looking forward to what the two of you can achieve together over the next three years.”

* * *

“I still can’t believe you’re here.” Cerys was the first player to embrace Lia, skipping to the front of the queue and wrapping Lia in her arms.

Some of Lia’s nerves eased as she inhaled Cerys’ familiar perfume, her nose tickled by a face full of unruly red curls. Her international teammate, they’d been playing together for Wales since the age of fifteen, and kept their close bond despite—until now, at least—playing for rival teams.

Cerys cupped her cheeks. “Like, are you really standing in Albion’s briefing room right now?”

“Better believe it.” The joy on Cerys’ face meant Lia’s smile was her first genuine one in days.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun together.”

“Don’t hog the newbie.”

Lia glanced over Cerys’s head to see the captain of Salford Albion grinning at her. A striking Black woman standing at six feet, Shanice Rookwood was easily the tallest person in the room and instantly recognisable. Her hair was cropped short, brown eyes sparkling as she reached Lia’s side. As a central defender, Lia had tussled with her a dozen times over the past few seasons—the woman was fast, and she was strong.

“Welcome to the team, Lia.” Shanice wrapped a warm arm around Lia’s shoulders. “I have to say that it’ll be nice to be on the same side. You were a terror to play against. No offence.”

A laugh bubbled in Lia’s chest, more of her nerves falling away. “None taken, because I feel the same. I hated playing against you—you’re too damn good.”