Rags 2 Pitches: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t have a friend either.

    Chapter 9
    Ryan

    I fucking scored!
    Shit, I was on a high.
    I’d had moments of doubt. Ones that crawl inside of me, like fucking chicken pox. I’d scratch a few times and see nothing, then one day, or maybe two, there’d be rashes everywhere, all over my fucking skin. Uncontrollable and there’s nothing you can do but stay away from people, but by then it is too late. That’s what no self-esteem’s like; I’d started wondering if football was just a fucking illusion. Something that I wanted to do to get out of the rat hole that I was living in.
    Being dyslexic was a fucking joke. The teachers had told us that we could do so many things like the great dyslexics such as Jamie Oliver, one of the richest chefs in the world, or even Steve Jobs, but I didn’t see myself as a Steve Jobs, and I couldn’t do fuck all in the kitchen. So, I’d turned to football believing that it was something that I was good at. Something that I could do not just now, but for the future.
    I’d spent my whole life listening to Mum telling me that kicking a ball was a waste of time, that I should go down the benefits office and sign on and forget about school, but I didn’t listen. Sure, I’d never be anything like Nicola. I wouldn’t have A Levels when I left school, but I had a handful of GCSEs and hopefully a couple of BTECs in case I needed something to fall back on to.
    But it wasn’t who I wanted to be. I never studied for passion, the only passion I had was for football and right there and then, after scoring that goal, I could feel the drive. I was back in the fucking game.
    “Ryan, this is Kenny Bentley, he works for Manchester Club,” my coach, Stewart said, as he took me to one side after the game. He was just as desperate as I was to get me noticed. The Academy only took on six players each year, and it was tight. I had been playing for The Palace for two years, but it was clear that I had to move on. The competition was getting fiercer by the minute and especially with only one player being offered a scholarship per year… I needed that person to be me. But after last year I’d kind of decided that if I could get a club. Any club, to take me on as reserve, just so that I could make more money than I was earning now in my two jobs, then I would be happy. I had a feeling that today was going to be that fucking day.
    I smiled and shook his hand, but really I wanted to hit the showers. I fucking stunk.
    “Well, Ryan, that was a tough game.”
    I nodded like the choir boy that I had watched once or twice when I had to go to church with my Nan, “Yes, Mr. Bentley.”
    He laughed, “You can just call me Kenny.”
    I’ll call you sir if you sign me up, I thought. “Okay, Kenny.”
    “Where do you live?”
    Now, we were talking. “With my mum.” But I could live anywhere you liked as long as you gave me a chance. That was all I needed, one fucking chance and I wouldn’t disappoint. I couldn’t.
    He nodded, “Are you eighteen yet?”
    Last fucking week.
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Good. We need to talk, but I am only in London for the weekend. So maybe later today if you’re free?”
    Is the Pope Catholic?
    “Sure.”
    I was fucking shaking. I was looking at this man, trying to act like an angel, but really all I wanted to do was fucking swear and piss my pants. Shit, it was really happening and sure I had hoped it would happen, but now it was really happening.
    “I’ve been watching you, Ryan. You may have seen me a couple of times.”
    I had and I knew.
    “Really?”
    I tilted my head to the side, something that I had learned from an early age. My dad, who was only around whenever he wanted a quick fuck from my Mum, he’d taught me it. He’d said that whenever I had been caught doing something bad, or wanted to act as if I was a good boy, I should tilt my head. I thought that was the only good thing that I had ever learned from the old man.
    He smiled; shit I’m such a crap liar. And