Page 122 of Off the Pitch

“Not tomorrow?”

“Nope. You’re off until Monday. Enjoy the rest.”

“You both suck.”

“We love you too!”

Ellie chuckled as she led me out of the main gym and into another room that was specially designed for stretching and physio work. I sighed as the door swung shut behind me, resigning myself to another hour of torment. At least it couldn’t get any worse.

Except… it definitely could.

My body seemed to have decided that enough was enough, and I could barely do anything. Even the basic exercises, like balancing on one leg, were like trying to climb Everest. My balance was completely shot, and I could only manage a couple of seconds before I wobbled.

Part of me wanted to scream and shout and swear in frustration because this wasn’t supposed to be fucking happening. I was supposed to be preparing for another season, not failing to do exercises anyone could do. Anyone except me, apparently.

I flopped onto the padded floor, a growl tearing out of my throat and my fist thumping against the matt.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Ellie said. She sat down next to me with her legs crossed, the hint of a kind smile on her face. “Your body is just having a tough time adjusting. You need to give it time.”

“What… what if I don’t have time?” I said, my voice deathly quiet. I’d thought when my cast had come off, and Doctor Reynolds had told me I’d be okay to play again, that that would be the end of my fears. And it had been for a while. But recently the nagging doubts had resurfaced, egged on by my poor performance and recovery. Because what if I really didn’t have time? What if my body couldn’t cope with the pressure anymore? What if this was it?

I hadn’t planned for this. Losing football along with everything else felt like a sucker punch to my heart.

Except… I hadn’t really lost everything. I’d lost Hélène, but at the same time, I’d gained Kit, and if I were honest, meeting Kit was one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

But neither of those things had really equipped me for losing football. I wasn’t stupid. I knew I couldn’t play forever, but the thought that this might really be it was terrifying.

What the fuck was I going to do?

“Hugo, what’s this about?” Ellie asked, her question cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

“I just… I’m worried that I’m not going to be able to play again,” I said, not looking at her and focusing instead on the white ceiling tiles above me. “What if this is it?”

“It could be,” she said. “But it might not be.”

I turned to look at her, raising my eyebrow. “That’s comforting.”

“I’m just being honest. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I also don’t want you to give up. Sure, it might take longer than you hoped, but that doesn’t mean you’re never going to play again. I’ve seen players come back from a lot worse than this and keep playing for years. Have some faith in yourself, dumbass.”

I stared at her incredulously. “Dumbass?”

“It suits you right now.” She patted my thigh.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

Ellie’s words hadn’t exactly been comforting, but if I hadn’t known any better, I’d have said she’d gone a tiny bit easier on me for the rest of the session.

My mind was still cluttered as I collected my stuff and headed towards the front door of the training centre, trying to avoid everyone else. A couple of the guys had invited me to hang out afterwards, but I wasn’t really in the mood to spend time with anyone else. I knew they’d all be talking about football, and I couldn’t face that right now. They wouldn’t know how much it bothered me, and I didn’t want to explain. Call me a coward, but it was easier just to avoid them.

“Hugo?” A voice from behind me made me stop and turn around. Lucas Trossero, our manager, was striding down the corridor towards me. “Can I have a quick word?”

“Sure,” I said because I didn’t really feel like I had a lot of choice in the matter. Lucas gave me a smile and beckoned me to follow him back into the centre towards his office.

The office itself was a lovely space with wide, high windows that overlooked the training pitches, and there were several squishy-looking armchairs tucked into a corner, along with a large desk and accompanying chairs. There were various photos of the team on the wall and some nice artwork, although my first thought was that Kit’s was better.

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