Chapter Text
PARIS, 2021.
"And the Ballon D'Or goes to..."
"Toni. Mon Dieu..."
Toni Shalifoe's head drew away from the usher's trembling body, a smirk pulling at the corners of her glistening lips. Her fingers stroked against the inside of the woman's thigh for a moment, earning another sensitive hum of satisfaction from whoever was stood above her. Then, Toni straightened up. She leaned forward to wipe her mouth clean with the back of the usher's tie which she received no scolding for.
She brushed the dust and creases from her Chanel suit with her nose crinkled in focus. She cared very little for her appearance from day to day, and she had made it clear to her PR manager and childhood best friend, Martha, that she had no intention of staying in some Black Tie clown suit for even a second longer than she had to. However, she knew better than to accept the most prestigious award in football with worn markings on her knees. Not that her name had been announced through the booming microphone in the glamourous hall beside them yet, but she wasn't wavered by her competition. She was the best of them all, and she had no intention of letting anyone say otherwise.
Toni cleared her throat and took in her surroundings for a moment. The cloakroom was anything but spacious, with varnished wooden walls and racks lined with hundreds of expensive coats. The thick maroon curtain was all that separated them from the congregation of guests. The first thing Toni thought after surveying the area was that it wasn't soundproof, a conclusion she should have jumped to prior to sliding down the usher's body. However, she gave herself a moral pass in the hopes the closest members of the ceremony had been too engrossed to hear the indulgences occurring a few meters behind them. The second thing she noticed was that she hadn't bothered to remember the identity of the girl. Not that it mattered to her.
It was only when she heard her name that she addressed her partner. Her eyes were large and dark, like an oddly dressed owl, and her once red lipstick was now smudged messily across her parted mouth. Her messy noir hair was straighter than Toni's ponytail, rolling over her shoulders that were still covered by her red waistcoat and tie. She was certainly beautiful, despite the now-disheveled state of her appearance. Toni felt a queazy feeling in her chest when she remembered that it hadn't been long since she was the one helping rich white people take off their coats. The girl did have a name tag, but Toni's eyes had barely scanned it. The elated satisfaction on the woman's face finally faltered, the lust and heat of the moment draining as the crowd began to applaud their missing victor.
A triumphant smile settled on Toni's lips.
"The fucking best", she muttered to herself.
A second look was never given as Toni flicked the curtain out of her way to greet the standing ovation. The spotlight was bright as it hit her midway down the aisle but it barely made her squint. Outstretched hands floated towards her like dancing moths, which she shook mindlessly as she strolled closer to the front of the theatre. Her eyes were on the stage; flicking over the words '2021 Ballon D'Or' written in sparkling gold. Beneath them, stood with a trophy in hand was Kylian Mbappé - a knowing look on his face. No words were shared between the two athletes as Toni climbed the stairs and reached center stage, just a simple nod of mutual appreciation and respect. The trophy was a familiar weight in her hands; cold and brilliant, and she'd prepared herself all night to be the one holding it.
The clapping slowed to a halt as her onlookers returned to their seats, waiting patiently for another memorable Toni Shalifoe speech.
For a moment, Toni's eyes lingered on the front row.
Only one seat had ever been permanently filled in her name.
Only Martha Blackburn sat in her corner as friends and family flocked to fill the chairs of her competitors. She used to feel a twist of sadness at the pit of her stomach every time she saw how few people she really had in her life. But that feeling had been strangled and submerged deep within her, somewhere that freed her from needing anyone at all. Martha was smiling coyly, clutching a program between her fingers and her pink purse. She was the only one Toni could trust to fill that seat. She had no room for anyone else anymore.
She had the game instead.
"Two years in a row, huh? I must be pretty good at this", Toni adjusted the microphone closer to her height, "I ought to thank... The Chelsea Organisation for taking me on four years ago, my manager, and my teammates. I guess soccer is more than just one player. You know, even if that player is me. I am forever indebted to the League and my team for giving me the platform to... Fucking kill it".
Martha coughed at the sound of Toni swearing, gently reminding her to keep it family-friendly.
Toni chuckled. She ran the tips of her fingers over the smooth surface of the trophy with a proud hum. There were no rampaging thoughts, no nerves, no weakness. Just the addictive feeling of being a winner.
"At the end of it all, soccer means everything to me. And this award doesn't stop what I'm doing, it's not made me satisfied no matter how much it proves my worth. I'm not planning on slowing any time soon. So, I hope you're ready to hear a lot more from me, and I'll see you in a year when I collect my next one. Thank you".
Toni finds her seat for the first time that night. She spared no look for her fellow, applauding, nominees as she collapsed into the comfortable, velvet chair beside Martha. The glint in her eyes never faded as the ceremony continued.
"Well done Toni", Martha leaned in to congratulate her, knocking her shoulder against her best friend's.
"All in a day's work, Marty B", she returned.
Martha reached up, tucking a stray black curl behind Toni's ear with a proud smile plastered on her face.
Toni considered herself incredibly lucky that Martha had transformed from her lifelong confidente to her Public Relations manager. Although there was very little luck involved; Toni had always been two things - an athlete and a trainwreck, working in constant tandem. So, It came as no surprise that Martha had found her employability and passion through protecting her best friend from herself and the world around her. Still, Toni called it luck. Everything else in life was torturously hard work. It was a comforting belief that her unbreakable bond with Martha Blackburn was the universe finally giving her something easy.
"I'm proud of you for trying to stick to the speech we agreed on. Didn't want the same flirting fiasco as last year".
Toni scoffed quietly.
"Thanking other people for the shit I pull off? Yeah, just about managed to say it without spewing".
"Hey, two teams from now on means double the team spirit".
Toni didn't want to be reminded.
"Whatever", she replied tersely, running her thumb against the defined engraving of her name from last year's award.
Soon she'd be leaving the world she enjoyed behind. Her contract with Chelsea had been begrudgingly declined for a fifth season, despite her desire to remain exactly where she was as well as the organization's desire to have her for longer. Her performance with the club had been beyond anyones' high expectations; holding them unwaveringly at the top of the league table, earning back-to-back FA cup trophies, and soaring Chelsea into their first Champion's League final. She had excelled away from the United States; away from Minnesota, away from her ex-girlfriend, away from foster homes, and away from her mother.
But now she had to go back. Not for them, she didn't need them anymore.
She wanted to win a World Cup.
"We leave tomorrow at five. Please don't stand me up at the airport", Martha teased.
"Tomorrow?", Toni grumbled, "Well, we better celebrate fucking hard tonight".
"Are you going to celebrate by getting that girl's number?", Martha's voice lowered to a hushed whisper as another winner was on track to be announced.
Toni gave her a puzzled look, before finally reminding herself of the French woman in the cloakroom. A name would have to be learned to acquire a number, she joked to herself. She shook her head with an excited grin.
"It's Paris, Marty. We're going fucking hard".
{+++}
CALIFORNIA, 2021
Shelby Goodkind licked her manicured fingers clean as she polished off her final bite of homemade burrata. The sound of rain tapped against the window of her apartment and the leaves of the overgrowing palm tree outside scrapped the glass with every gust of wind that blew in from the shore. Her eyes were glued to the flat-screen TV as she blindly placed the plate down amongst the other snacks she and Leah Rilke had prepared for the Ballon d'Or broadcast. She relaxed deeper into the beige blanket that was wrapped around her while Toni Shalifoe delivered her short acceptance speech. The soccer phenom seemed so calm and collected as she carried the trophy confidently out of the frame.
Shelby couldn't believe she was going to actually play on a team with her.
Leah sat beside her with a less starstruck look in her eye. Her arms were folded as she kicked like a toddler at the blanket so she could get comfortable.
"Toni fucking Shalifoe", she muttered with an unreadable expression.
"Lord, I know. It's pretty awesome, ain't it?", Shelby beamed.
Leah rolled her eyes, but gave Shelby a bittersweet smile, "If that's the word you'd like to use".
"It is", she grinned back at the TV, unable to register any level of sarcasm while her excitement was so high. She'd made it, she was playing for the United States. She was playing with the best of the best and she had no intention of leaving the World Cup without the Gold.