Page 240 of My Italian Love Affair

2 - 2.

My jaw tightens.

Not fuckinggood enough.

*

There’s something to be said about missed opportunities.

I don’t know what that something is, though - because I never miss any.

I sprint forwards, Milan players scrambling to catch me, but the moment I intercept the ball, I know this is it.

One lunges, I skip past him.

Another throws himself into my path, I flick the ball around him.

And then -

CRACK.

A brutal impact slams into my ankle, and the world tilts.

Pain shoots up my leg as I crash to the ground, the force knocking the air from my lungs. My head spins, my ears ringing.

For a second, I don’t move.

I hear the crowd, the furious shouts from my teammates, the Milan players protesting, but all I focus on is the fire burning through my ankle.

Fuck.

Then I hear the whistle.

I force myself up on my elbows as Ricci crouches beside me, his face tightwith anger.

"You good?"

I test my ankle, wincing as pain flares.

"I’ll be fine."

The ref signals for VAR, and I stay where I am, taking advantage of the momentary rest and forcing my breathing to slow as the replay flashes on the big screen.

The contact is clear. There’s no fucking doubt about it - he wasn’t anywherenearthe ball.

The ref turns back to the pitch, and my heart is in my throat.

He points to the penalty spot, and the stadiumerupts.

Milan players surround the ref, yelling, waving their arms, but I don’t hear them.

Physios rush over, but I wave them off as I push to my feet.

I make my way towards the penalty spot, pick up the ball, and place it down carefully. My ankle’s a little sore still, but this is mine.

The Milan keeper watches me as I line myself up, bouncing lightly on his toes, trying to get inside my head.

I can’t help smirk.

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