The final whistle had blown, confirming a dominant 2-0 victory for the LA Galaxy, but as Rico headed into the tunnels of the Home Depot Center, he felt no joy.
The adrenaline from his breathtaking thirty-yard volley was evaporating, replaced by frustration.
He wiped a towel over his face, his jaw clenched so tightly it practically ached.
The noise of the stadium above sounded hollow, echoing down the corridors like a dying heartbeat.
Waiting for him outside the home dressing room was his mother.
Despite being forty-one years old, she looked thirty-one at most.
As Rico approached, she offered a maternal smile, missing the dark storm brewing in her son’s piercing eyes.
“You did great, Rico,” she said, her voice echoing in the quiet hallway.
Rico stopped in front of her, tossing the damp towel over his broad shoulder.
He didn’t even bother with a greeting.
He switched their conversation to their native tongue, needing the privacy of the language to vent.
“Mom, I want out,” Rico stated in Portuguese.
His mother blinked, her professional agent persona snapping into place.
“You just got here.” Rico let out a bitter scoff, shaking his head.
“This team sucks.” “And you’ve made them better,” his mother countered practically, keeping her tone even.
“I’m not talking about the players,” Rico fired back, his hands resting on his hips as his frustration boiled over.
“I’m talking about the team.
The organisation.
The entire club.” His mother narrowed her eyes, “What did they do?” Rico took a deep breath, pointing a finger down the hallway.
“I did the thing the club asked.
That PR nightmare on Thursday.
I went to that public park in the blazing heat.
Do you know what happened?
There were no team representatives.
No staff.
No security.
Nothing.
It was just me standing on a dead patch of grass with twenty kids, and the kids looked at me like I was a random bum off the street.” His mother sighed softly.
It was insulting to send a player of his calibre into a circus.
“Okay, well…
where would you want to go?” “I want to go to Europe or something, because I’m bored here,” Rico answered without a second of hesitation.
“I need real football.” “If you go now, in the middle of this early stage, things are going to be awkward,” she warned him, shifting fully into agent mode.
“It will be incredibly hard to get the attention of the big clubs.” “I’m fine moving to a small team,” Rico pleaded, leaning against the wall.
“I just want a league where the fans actually show up.” He gestured toward the stands above them.
“We are playing in a twenty-seven-thousand-seat stadium, and there were barely three thousand fans up there tonight!
I could hear individual people coughing in the stands.
It’s depressing.” “Just give it time,” his mother urged gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm, “The sport is still growing here.” “Mum, there’s no fans here,” Rico insisted, concerned about his own development.
“And I feel like I’m getting worse.
I’m playing down to their level.
I’m developing bad habits because I don’t have to try.
I need to be challenged.” His mother studied her son’s face for a long moment.
“Are you sure you’re ready for a big move like that?” “Yeah,” Rico nodded firmly.
“I’m ready.” “Okay,” his mother finally conceded, letting out a heavy sigh as she began running mental calculations of the European transfer market.
“Let me see what I can do.
Any preferences on timing?” Rico’s rigid posture relaxed just a fraction.
He looked down the hallway, warmth entering his eyes.
“I’m fine waiting till the end of the season.
I got something going on with someone.” His mother raised a eyebrow, her maternal instincts flaring up.
“Who?” Before Rico could even answer, the double doors at the far end of the security checkpoint swung open.
Walking down the dimly lit concrete hallway, looking entirely out of place in her chic designer clothing and oversized sunglasses, was Anne Hathaway.
She pulled the sunglasses off her face, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Rico, it took ages to get clearance to c—” Anne began, her voice echoing down the corridor before she suddenly stopped in her tracks.
Her doe eyes landed on the woman standing close to him.
Anne blinked, instantly shifting her posture into something more polite.
“Oh, hello.” Rico smiled smoothly, stepping back just a fraction to introduce them.
“Annie, this is my mom.” Anne’s jaw practically unhinged.
She looked rapidly between Rico and the woman beside him.
“Mom?
I thought she was your sister.” His mother let out a delighted laugh, her eyes sparkling.
“You’re too kind.” “I’m being serious,” Anne insisted, still shocked by the genetic perfection of the family tree.
She was expecting a typical soccer mom, not a runway model.
“Okay, well, mom, this is Anne Hathaway,” Rico introduced formally, placing a hand on the small of Anne’s back.
“Oh,” his mother said, her eyes widening in recognition.
She offered a polite smile before turning her head to look directly at her son.
Switching back to rapid-fire Portuguese so the Hollywood actress wouldn’t understand a single syllable, she muttered, “Are you dating here?” “Kind of,” Rico replied in Portuguese, unfazed by the interrogation.
His mother’s eyes darted to Anne before returning to her son.
“Isn’t she older?” Rico couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face.
“So it’s fine when you do it.” His mother’s eyes flashed with a sudden warning.
“Watch it.” Clearing her throat, his mother turned back to Anne, switching back to English.
“It’s nice to meet you, Anne.
But I got to go do some work, so have fun.” With a polite nod, his mother turned on her heel, the sharp click-clack of her heels echoing down the hallway as she walked away to begin making phone calls to European sporting directors trying to get a trial or something like that.
Rico turned his attention to Anne, his smirk softening into a genuine smile.
Anne let out a breathless, nervous laugh, brushing a stray lock of dark brunette hair behind her ear.
“Only the fourth date, and I’ve already met your mom.” “Yeah,” Rico chuckled, stuffing his hands into the pockets, “She’s my agent.” Anne’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, that’s something.
You don’t really expect that.
A mother managing a professional sports career.” “Yeah, she has experience with it,” Rico explained, “She did it for my father back in the day, so it just made sense for her to take over my career too.
She knows the business inside and out.
What do your parents do?” Anne smiled, happy to move onto familiar territory.
“My mom was a stage actress.” Rico tilted his head, intrigued by the artistic background.
“Has she been in anything I would know?” “I don’t think you may have seen anything,” Anne replied modestly, “but she did play Fantine in the first U.S.
tour of Les Misérables.” Rico’s eyebrows shot up.
“I’ve seen a play of that.
Obviously, not her specifically, but that’s a massive role.
That must have been nice growing up around that kind of energy.” “Yeah, it was,” Anne nodded, “She really helped me pursue acting, gave me the foundation and the confidence to actually go for it.
And my dad is a labour attorney.” “That’s an interesting career,” Rico noted, appreciating the grounded nature.
“Much better than my dad being a pundit on television.” Anne laughed softly.
“Is it that bad?” “It’s so awkward,” Rico groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.
“He sits there in a suit, making these wild tactical takes on national television, and then I have to go into the locker room and hear about it from players he just criticised.” Teammates he didn’t even know the name of as he never bothered to learn their names.
“Well, nobody could criticize you tonight,” Anne said, her tone shifting into awe.
“I watched the game from start to finish, and that volley you hit…
it was breathtaking.” Rico looked down, “Thanks.” “You need to stop being so modest,” Anne chastised playfully, stepping a little closer to him.
“It’s my job,” Rico replied with a dismissive shrug, accustomed to his own brilliance.
“It can be your job, but you still scored a beautiful goal,” Anne insisted, refusing to let him downplay the magic of what he had done.
“You think so?” Rico asked, looking at her intently.
“Yeah, it was great,” Anne beamed, her hands animating her excitement.
“And you were everywhere.
You were tackling, passing, running the whole game…
like, I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Rico smiled warmly.
“Thanks.” He paused, his expression darkening slightly as his mind drifted back to his earlier conversation with his mother.
“Imagine, I was at some PR thing on Thursday.
They were like, ‘you have to go to a park,’ and then I show up and there were absolutely no LA Galaxy people there.
There were like twenty kids sitting on the grass, and none of them recognized me.
I was just some tall guy holding a bag of cheap soccer balls.” Anne winced, grasping how humiliating that must have been for a rising superstar.
“Oh, that must have been awkward.” “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Rico muttered, shaking his head.
He looked down at Anne, instantly noticing a subtle shift in her demeanor.
Her smile had faltered slightly and her eyes kept darting elsewhere.
“Are you good?” Rico asked, his deep voice softening considerably.
Anne looked up at him, her large doe eyes filled with vulnerability.
“I don’t think your mom likes me.” Rico let out a reassuring laugh.
“Well, she does.” “She looked at me like I was a criminal,” Anne insisted quietly, vividly remembering the glare the older woman had shot her during that rapid Portuguese exchange.
“She is just protective is all,” Rico promised gently, reaching out to gently trace his thumb over the knuckles of her hand.
“She’ll get to like you.
I promise.” Anne sighed, looking down at the concrete floor.
“I don’t know.” Rico stepped closer, his imposing frame shielding her from the drafty hallway.
“Trust me, she’ll come round.
I promise.
If not, I’ll talk to her and sort it out.” Anne looked up, her heart fluttering.
“You don’t have to do that.” “For you,” Rico said softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers, “I’ll do it.” Rico stepped forward, erasing the small gap between them in the hallway of the stadium.
He reached down, his hands gently gripping her slender waist, pulling her flush against him.
Anne let out a soft gasp, her hands rising to rest flat against his broad chest, immediately feeling the thumping of his heart beneath his training jacket.
Rico tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto hers for a fleeting second of intense, burning desire before he leaned down and completely captured her lips.
The kiss started slow, a tender, testing slide of mouths that escalated into something hungry and deeply passionate that made her head spin dizzily.
She tangled her fingers deep into his thick hair, rising slightly on her toes to deepen the electric connection.
His strong arms wrapped around her back, holding her with a fierce strength that made her feel safe, shielding her from the frustrating realities of the rest of the world.
They lingered there, lost in the rhythm of their shared breath, the ambient noises of the stadium fading away until all that existed was the heat radiating between them.
When Rico finally pulled back, his chest was heaving slightly, his forehead resting gently against hers.
A slow smirk spread across his lips.
“Now,” Rico whispered, “do you want to go on our date?” Anne looked up, a radiant smile lighting up her face, “Yeah.” A/N) Now I talked about him probably playing for Arsenal.
I think it’s the right move, even though Arsenal fell off after 2004 and all they’re best players leave and they’re left with Fabregas and Van Persie for years.
I know some of you are against it, but think of it from my perspective.
You have Ronaldo at United.
Those are the two best players in the league competing for number one, and the protagonist is going to hate that.
Also, I make the Barca rivalry start the Messi rivalry because of Henry.
Thierry Henry left Arsenal for Barca, and the protagonist is going to be pissed about that.
And Barca and Arsenal keep meeting, and familiarity breeds contempt as they’re rivalry will get worse, and it kind of bleeds into other things as he hates the Barca players and who will he hate most apart from Henry?
He’s Brazilian and English, it’s obvious.
And that is how I set up the rivalry of the era.