The Coastal Arena was a cauldron of noise, but for Marcus Price, the world had gone silent for a split second. He had done everything right. He had timed his run to perfection, ghosting past the Northcastle defenders like a phantom in the night. He had seen the goal gaping, the target large and inviting. He had struck the ball with the laces of his boot, a clean, powerful connection that sent the ball rising toward the top right corner.
He was already preparing his celebration. He could feel the roar of the home crowd building in their throats.
Then came Freddie Booth.
