Chapter 1: Rowen, Part 1

VOLUME 2: GROUPIE

"Hey Rookie! How have your first couple of weeks been?"

I look over as Daniel Zavaro sits down on the bar stool next to mine. All I've ever wanted since I could walk is play soccer for a living and now I am. A lot of people would say it was inevitable. Or that I didn't have to work as hard as the others. They may think they know my dad. But they don't really know him. Or me. And they have no idea the effort I've put in to distance myself from his reputation so I could make one for myself. I'm not ashamed to admit I'm really proud of what I've accomplished.

"Really good so far. Thanks for asking." Daniel has been captain of the Texas Mutiny, the team I now play for, for a few years. Not only is he a kick ass forward, he's really respected in the league for being a stand up guy. Family man. Local legend. All around fantastic leader. I was really excited when I found out I was going to be working with him. The biggest scandal he's been involved in his entire career is that he started dating someone with a kid in the last couple of months.

That's the type of scandal I can handle. I'm much too low-key to enjoy public drama.

People think I'm shy, but I'm not. I just like to observe. I like to watch the subtle movements they make. Their "tells". I feel like I really get to know people that way instead of filling up space with mindless chatter.

Considering the noise level in this hotel lobby where my teammates are all hanging out, I might be the only one that feels that way.

"Good," Daniel says slapping me on the back once. "We want you to feel welcome. You've got an amazing ability to think four or five passes ahead and have killer crosses into the box. Just warning you now, we'll be trying to exploit you for that skill later on."

I smile at the encouragement. Not only am I a member of the Mutiny, my captain is pointing out my skills. As a rookie. I shouldn't feel this excited because it is my job. But it is a total rush to hear these words coming from him.

"I'll be expecting you to exploit my skills for the good of the team." I start to take a sip of my whiskey but change my mind and lower it to the bar. "That's what I'm here for, after all."

"Hey let me ask you a question." He leans in closer to me and my smile falters. This conversation always starts like this. "Why are you a mid fielder?"

"You mean instead of a forward?" No reason to beat around the bush. He obviously knows my heritage.

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong. You're fantastic at what you do. I'm just curious why you chose to play defense."

I swirl my glass around making the Jameson spin at the bottom. I'm sure it makes it look like I'm enjoying the drink, even though I'm not. "Easy answer…would you want to be compared to your father your entire life and how great he is, always afraid you'd never measure up to his greatness?"

A strange look crosses Daniel's face but he covers it up quickly. I can't be sure what it was about, but after years of observing people, I'm willing to bet I accidentally struck a nerve.

"Fair enough," he says after taking a sip of his drink. "Now what's the real reason?"

I smirk. I should have known Daniel would see right through me. He is captain, after all. "My dad is a great forward."

"Arguably the greatest."

"Definitely the greatest. But that was never me. I'm aggressive on the field. But not like him. I love the idea of protecting the other players. Of protecting the goal. Of supporting guys like you so you can really shine." I laugh and smack him on the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "Plus, your abs will never compare to mine, since I do way more running than you do."

He punches my arm. "That hurt, assmunch."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. The best players are the best because they know who they are and where they can be the most valuable. That's a rare thing, man. I'm impressed."

I shrug and feel my cheeks redden. It's the curse of being half Irish. Flaming red hair and cheeks to match when I'm embarrassed. "Hey, uh, the team doesn't know who my dad is, do they?"

"I haven't told them," Daniel says, leaning his back against the bar and looking around at the team. "You don't want them to know?"

"No," I say quickly. "Let me prove myself first."

He nods. "Fair enough."

My dad is Ryan Flanigan. He is a legend in European football. Played forward for a few of the most prestigious European teams in the Premier Football League. His stats are unreal. He averaged roughly forty-five goals a season which was unheard of back then, not to mention all the assists which weren't even recorded accurately that long ago. And no one could match him on his stamina. It's a lot to live up to.

Add to it, I was one of only three guys drafted into the pro-scene straight out of college. Everyone else went to smaller clubs to keep developing. So I understand why I need to bust my ass every single day. Not only am I "the Rookie", I'm the rookie with the most to prove.

"What are you going to do when they find out?" Daniel asks me. "I mean that you're soccer royalty."

"I'm going to hope I've shown them that I got here for me, not for him." I smile widely. "And then I'm going to offer his autograph as many times as it takes for them to lay off me," I joke.

Daniel laughs and pats me on the shoulder. "Good plan. So full-ride at University of Southern Michigan. That's a good school. Did you like it?"

"Loved it. Good people, good athletic program. Can't beat that."

"What did you major in?"

I smile. "What else? Kinesiology."

He laughs.

"I know its a stereotype – the athlete getting a degree in kinesiology. But I honestly can't imagine my life without soccer in it, ya know?"

He nods. "I know. I'm getting older so I've started thinking about what I'm going to do when I retire."

"You're not that old."

"No. But at a certain point you have stop pretending this career is gonna last forever and start making plans. Kind of like how other people make plans to travel and live off their 401K."

"I think someday I might coach or even be a trainer. Who knows?" We both turn and look when a small group breaks out into raucous laughter. "I've got a little time to figure it out."

"I think you've actually got a lot of time, Rookie." He claps me on the back and stands up. "You need another drink?"

"Nah, I'm good, man," I say, lifting my glass to show him I still have some.

"Okay. Well if you need anything, just holler, okay?"

"Thanks."

He strolls away, leaving me to my people watching. I'm fascinated by some of the people I'm seeing. There's a couple in the corner. Just the two of them. She's wearing a blue, shimmery dress, hair pulled up into some sort of fancy bun. He's in a suit, but he looks more disheveled. His tie is loosened and crooked, top button undone.

She looks ready for a date. He looks like he's just along for the ride.

The more I watch them, the more fascinated I am by how removed from the situation the man seems. Sure, he's keeping up with the polite conversation, but it's obvious that she's carrying the date. His phone is on the table, face up. And while he never picks it up, whenever it lights up, he looks at it and swipes it to shut it off again.

I see the disappointment on her face whenever he does it. It's subtle enough that he doesn't ever notice, but it's there. It makes me want to interrupt their date so I can take her out and show her how she should be treated. But of course, I won't. I don't care for conflict, other than what's on the field.

"You may want to tear your eyes away from them," a voice next to me says. I look over as a woman sits down on the stool Daniel just vacated. "You're starting to look like a creeper."