AU where not only professional volleyball is co-ed, but also in the UK is as popular as football and rugby.
It's heavily inspired by The Sunshine Court.
1328 words.
Christopher’s car stopped in front of the sports hall, and for the first time, Grace saw the place where she would play for the next three seasons: the home of the London Lions.
She followed Christopher as he opened the door with a set of keys, and they walked through the halls, where she glanced at the posters of various former players.
Grace knew the Lightwoods had basically built up the team from nothing, but nevertheless, she was impressed by the pictures of Gideon and Gabriel Lightwood, their statistics from twenty years ago shown below their smiling faces, and by Cecily Lightwood’s (or Cecily Herondale, seeing as she was still unmarried back then), whose record of scored points and aces was still unbeaten.
In more recent years, Christopher, his sister Anna, and his cousin Thomas had been the new Lightwoods in the team; Grace knew that Christopher’s older cousins, Barbara and Eugenia, despite not playing the game, were deeply involved in the administrative part of the Lions.
(Grace was sure that one of the two sisters had written the contract she’d signed in a haste the day before).
“Do you want to see the pitch or the changing room first?”
Christopher’s voice brought her back to reality.
“The pitch,” she said, unflinching.
He guided her through the corridors, and Grace held her breath as they walked to the pitch: it was the same brownish color of her old team’s floor, but at the center, split in two symmetrical halves by the net, there was the white roaring lion, the symbol of her new team.
A sensation she couldn’t describe rose in Grace’s chest: Tatiana had made her hate the sport she used to enjoy, especially since it had kept her away from her adoptive mother—until that, too, had become a way for Tatiana to torment her with the excuse of pushing her to do her best.
In a flash, she saw all the times Tatiana had beaten her because she hadn’t been fast enough, or hadn’t jumped high enough, or her spikes hadn’t been as strong or as precise as required.
“Are you okay?” Christopher asked her.
Grace blinked a couple of times and met his concerned gaze. “Yes, don’t worry.”
She’d met him not even twenty-four hours earlier, but Christopher seemed to read her clearly, as though he’d known her all her life.
A few weeks ago, Grace had decided she’d had enough of Tatiana’s abuses and, being nineteen, had been free to sign with a professional team without her mother’s authorization.
She’d been following the London Lions for a few years, initially because Tatiana hated the guts out of her brothers’ team and Grace had been curious to find out why, but then because she’d become addicted to their game and she’d turned into a fan before she could even realize it.
So she’d had no qualms into sending an email to Cecily Lightwood, the CEO of the team, where she’d attached her statistics from all her university team championships (and some YouTube videos of her most spectacular actions) and asked if she could sign with the Lions for the next season.
(Grace had realized later that she’d been incredibly bold and entitled, but she had been desperate and maybe a little bit drunk when she’d drafted the email).
To her surprise, instead, three days later, she’d received an email from the administrative team with the contract for three seasons, without even asking her for a tryout.
Grace had signed it and sent it back as quickly as possible, but somehow, Tatiana had found out and had kicked her out of her house. Grace had only been carrying her phone, her driving license and some pocket money, and she’d bought a train ticket for London and sent another email to Cecily Lightwood explaining her situation. Soon after, while sitting on the train that would take her away from Leeds, she’d received a text from an unknown number.
This is Anna Lightwood, the Lions’ captain. My brother has a spare room in his apartment, you can stay there until you find your own place.
Grace hadn’t had the time to reply with her thanks that she’d received another text.
He’s picking you up from the station.
And there he’d been, waiting for her out of King’s Cross sitting on the boot of his car while talking on the phone, and he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
Of course, Grace had seen Christopher Lightwood on television, when she’d streamed the games on her iPad, sometimes in post-match interviews, but seeing him in person was totally different. He looked handsome in a way that cameras couldn’t really capture, and he’d introduced himself with a warm smile before inviting her into his car and his apartment.
Grace had noticed that he was careful not to ask her why she’d come to London one month before the season started or why she had nowhere to go; he’d just explained to her that Thomas, his cousin, had just moved to Istanbul to play in Turkey for the upcoming championship, but he’d seemed to understand that something was off with her.
He hadn’t pushed, though, and when she’d told him over breakfast that she wanted to see the sports hall, he’d accepted without qualms.
“You look pale,” Christopher said now. “There’s a vending machine next to the locker room—take some water and a snack.”
Grace, not trusting her own voice, just nodded and followed him. It was weird to have someone worrying over her, but in a way, that simple gesture warmed her heart.
She didn’t need either water or snacks, though, and when she saw the door that led to the lockers, she asked, “Can I see the locker room first?”
Christopher seemed a bit surprised by her request, but said, “Of course.”
He let her in, and Grace found herself in the room with benches, lockers and gear hanging in front of each one of the latter.
The home jersey was golden, with numbers, logo and other details rendered in white. No, not white, Grace realized as she got closer to Christopher’s jersey, which had his last name and a 21 printed on the back: the details were of a very light silver that the camera couldn’t catch, which made it look white.
“Barbara told me you haven’t picked up a number yet,” Christopher said. “If you want, you can tell me now.”
Grace glanced at the other Lightwood jersey, the one belonging to Anna, with the number 10.
She knew that the Lions gave the numbers between nine and twelve to their strongest players, but Grace didn’t have the audacity to ask for those.
“Which numbers are available?”
“Well…” Christopher seemed to think about it for a moment. “There’s one…”
If you’re not the number one you’re a failed athlete.
Tatiana’s voice made her flinch.
“No, not the number one.”
She stared at Christopher and thought he looked incredibly cute when he was focused. In an interview, he’d said why he hadn’t taken either twelve or eleven—back when Thomas was still in the team, he’d been nine—and he’d explained that he wanted to have his own number and not the ones people expected him to pick, and he’d chosen twenty-one because it was his father’s number reversed.
Grace had liked his way of seeing numbers and their meaning, and who could advise her best?
“What do you suggest?” she asked him in an impulse. “Any lucky number?”
Christopher mulled it over for a while. “My parents say that five is their special number, but I don’t know if you’d like it.”
God only knew that she needed good luck, and, despite knowing him for less than a day, Grace liked the idea of having something connecting her to Christopher.
When she closed her eyes and imagined the Lions’ jersey with the name Blackthorn printed above a big 5, Grace couldn’t help but smile.
