The party at the Moss Side clubhouse was still in full swing. The beer was flowing, the music was blasting, and the stories were being told and retold with increasing embellishment.
Baz was dancing on a table, shirt off, belly wobbling, a pint in each hand. Kev was trying to teach Frankie the latest dance craze, both of them laughing like idiots. Big Dave sat in the corner with his wife, the trophy at his feet, a quiet smile on his weathered face.
I was sitting with Emma, watching it all unfold, feeling a deep sense of contentment. This was what it was all about. Not the tactics, not the data, not the analysis. This. The human connection. The shared joy. The family we'd built together.
"You look happy," Emma said, squeezing my hand.
"I am," I said. "This is perfect."
"Good. Because I'm writing an article about you being an insufferable genius, and I need you to look happy in the photos."
I laughed. "Insufferable?"
