Starlight by Carrie Lofty

the ground amid groans of sympathy from the crowd. Polly winced.
    Alex elbowed his opponent in the chest and scampered to his feet.
    “He must be running on pure stubbornness,” Connie said.
    Agnes grinned. “It’s not like he knows what he’s doing, the poor dear.”
    They weren’t wrong. Although Alex was quickly stripped of the ball, he put on a fantastic chase. Sweat slicked his face and neck. Exertion darkened his skin. Every quick exhale became a white plume in the chilly air.
    That initial contact marked how he continued to play. All muscle. No skill. Polly couldn’t help but admire his tenacity. Unlike what he must be like while studying or teaching or tabulating accounts, he was a fighter now. His body was the instrument, not his intellect, and he overcame every opportunity to wade into the fray.
    Les lost the ball, which sailed past their keeper and through twin goalposts.
    “Damn,” Connie whispered. “We’re one down.”
    Justine elbowed Polly. “Hamish looks upset.”
    Sure enough, Hamish was screaming at Les and another player, who waved a dismissive hand. Alex stepped in to keep Hamish from going after his teammate.For a moment it looked as if Hamish would pop the mill master in his grim, determined mouth, but Polly was able to breathe again when the men parted and play resumed.
    Once again, Alex’s team was on the back foot. They bunched too quickly along the defensive line, leaving a gap for another attack. This time the keeper was able to deflect the ball, but the damage had been done. Polly could almost feel morale cool and collapse.
    Their team was down by three when halftime was called. After switching sides, the lopsided battle forged on. Alex was on the near side now, where Polly could better read his expressions. More resolve. His sandy brows dipped low on a frown. He licked his lower lip and clapped his hands to rally the defense.
    “Come on now, men. We have this. Buck up and fight these bastards!”
    A rush of hot admiration whisked through Polly’s veins. Do that again .
    Alex even grinned at Hamish, apparently enjoying the hard competition. “Don’t tell me you’re tired, Nyman. Would bust your pride something fierce if I’m still standing while you’re flat on the ground.”
    “Piss off, Christie. You’ll get yours!”
    Justine stilled. Agnes gasped. Polly’s knees went soft and wobbly.
    Yes, Alex was a different sort of man, but he was still a man. He only grinned. “Not until we bury these smug gents up to their eyeballs.”
    Hamish clapped his hands, too. “Let’s go, boys. You heard the master.”
    The air was charged with potent energy. Alexlooked ready to eat the competition for an afternoon snack. Teeth bared, he bent over and braced his hands against his thighs. Blue-and-white fabric stretched across his back.
    “Here comes Lennox again,” Justine said.
    She jerked her eyes away from Alex. “Is that his name? The little quick one?”
    “That’s right. He’s Anne-Margaret Lennox’s youngest boy. You didn’t recognize him?”
    As the lad ripped past the midfield line, Polly tried to get a good look. He was just too fast. She hadn’t seen Paddy Lennox in at least ten years, not since his da had gone to prison for killing a man. After that, the family disappeared from good company. Even in poverty, her people had lines that would not be crossed.
    Young Paddy had nearly made it past Les when he tripped. Polly didn’t see exactly how it happened, only that he flew through the air and landed hard against the unforgiving ground.
    How it happened didn’t matter. Tempers made short by the unbalanced play sparked to life. Les, who stood over young Lennox, was the first to be mobbed with accusations of having tripped the lad. He was jumped by two of Lennox’s side. Then Hamish barreled into the skirmish.
    And to Polly’s surprise, Alex Christie—covered in mud and sweat—joined in, too.
    Alex distinctly remembered the last time he’d thrown a punch. On his