Novel & Cerita Quandale Dingle Football

My name is Christian Thompson, and once upon a time, I was the best striker in European football. That was until he came along—Ashford Ryder, young and carefree, 10 years my junior and the new shining star. I hate him. At least that's what I tell myself. Not just because he's taken my spot, but because he's everything I've struggled all my life to be, and not to be. He's vibrant, he's happy, and the worst of all, he's openly gay. I'm not homophobic, quite the opposite—I've lived in the closet all my life. All my life, I've had to hide who I am to please the people around me. European football hasn't always been this accepting of gay men, and I'd squeezed myself into a box to fit in with what they wanted of me. It isn’t that hard when you think about my family who'd rather disown me than have an openly gay son. So imagine how I feel when the world decides to be more accommodating to people like Ashford Ryder when they shoved me in a box. It's not so easy to hate the happy-go-lucky striker, when he does everything to get close to me, despite my insistent hatred for him. He's like a thorn in my side—a hot, sexy, blonde, 5ft9 thorn I can't stop thinking about. But when one day I lose my cool around the popular striker and land myself in bad press, I end up needing his help. It's supposed to be easy. Spend some time with Ashford Ryder, and show our fans that we can work together—it's what I need to do to save my career. But no one tells you how hard it is to hate someone you spend every waking hour dreaming about.

At the National High School Football All-Star Game, my boyfriend Evan had just been named MVP. Sophia, the cheer captain, immediately posted on Instagram. Caption: "Guess who got a little something from the champion himself~" The photo turned out to be a pair of Evan's worn underwear! Scrawled across them in lipstick were the words: "For my dearest Sophia." She held them up with her long acrylic nails, pouting for the selfie. The internet exploded. "Why does she have his underwear?" "Isn't it obvious? They're totally together." "Sitting here waiting for the official couple photo." Within seconds, a close-up of the two of them cheek-to-cheek surfaced in the comments. Congratulations and teasing flooded the feed. I gripped my phone, a chill spreading through my entire body. Evan had promised to go public about us ages ago but kept putting it off, saying he needed to prove himself first. He'd been stalling ever since. Now here I was, his actual girlfriend, and I didn't even get an invite to his victory party. I took a deep breath and called him. "Explain." On the other end, Evan's voice was lazy, almost amused. "The fans grabbed everything off me. Jersey, pads, all of it. Sophia insisted on keeping something as a souvenir, so I gave her the underwear. No big deal." "The Instagram post is just riding the hype. Don't be so uptight about it." Then Sophia's voice chimed in. "Yeah, honey, Evan and I are like brothers! I've seen everything on him already. It's just a pair of boxers, so don't be so petty." I listened to their increasingly flirtatious banter through the speaker, then slowly pulled off my engagement ring and tossed it aside. "Fine," I said to Evan. "I'll be the bigger person. Why don't you skip the 'girl bro' thing and just make her your girlfriend? I'm tired of watching this act."

On the night my family got wiped out, someone had hidden me behind the barrels inside the wine cellar. The gunshots kept going off the entire night outside the cellar. I could only curl up between the barrels while listening to unfamiliar voices cursing in Etarino. All I could do was gnash my teeth together in order to not make any sounds. At the break of dawn, the wine cellar's door was opened from the outside. Two people could be seen standing in front of the pouring light. The first person was Antonio Corleone, a 15-year-old teenager who was also the oldest son of the Corleone family. He was still holding a gun, which had smoke wafting from its barrel. The second person was Matteo Corleone, Antonio's younger brother. His clothes were stained with blood that didn't belong to him. Antonio crouched down before draping a coat over my body. "Don't be scared, Elena," he said. "From today onward, I'm your family." Matteo squeezed Antonio away before stuffing a warm slice of panettone into my hands. With red-rimmed eyes, he said, "My brother is right. I'll kill whoever has the guts to hurt you." It was Christmas Day of 1999. Back then, I was ten years old. For the next 20 years, I grew up in the estate located in Vosaro and became an essential part of the Corleone family. At the same time, I also grew up to be the woman both Antonio and Matteo have a crush on. The entire family has noticed their obsession and love for me. Antonio and Matteo help me exact vengeance on the people who killed my family. They even buy a football team and name it after me. Everyone thinks that the brothers are head over heels in love with me. They patiently wait for the news when one of them will marry me. Even I also think the same. But on the night before my 30th birthday, when Don Corleone asks the brothers who among them wishes to marry me, Antonio snuffs out the cigar in a crystal ashtray. "Father, you should know that I'm terribly busy with the family's affairs, so I have no time to marry anyone." Matteo swirls the whiskey in his glass while wearing a flippant smile. "Father, I'm only 33 years old, and I'm not done having fun just yet. Besides, marrying Elena is just a joking promise that I've made when I was young. I'm not going to follow through with it." The next day, the brothers decide to propose to my enemy's daughter, Sophia Volpe, at my birthday banquet which I have painstakingly prepared. They even force me to drink the entire bottle of grappa despite the fact that I've been suffering from stomach issues for ten years just to please Sophia. When I get carted into the ambulance after suffering from stomach bleeding, Antonio and Matteo immediately cover Sophia's eyes with their hands while claiming that I'm just faking my illness. The moment I feel blood rising from my throat, I've made up my mind. On the day I'm set to get discharged, I dial a phone number. "I will get married to the heir of the Rossi family."