Page 123 of Off the Pitch

“Have a seat,” Lucas said, gesturing at the armchairs. “Do you want a drink?”

“Water would be great.” I dropped my bag on the floor and perched on the edge of the chair, not really daring myself to relax into it. Part of me wondered whether this was it—whether this was the moment that Lucas told me enough was enough.

“So, how’re you getting on?” he asked, handing me a glass before settling himself in an armchair across from me. Even from where I was sitting, I heard the popping in his knees as he sat and saw the blink-and-you’d-miss-it flicker of pain on Lucas’s face. He was always so full of life that it was easy to forget his own career-ending injuries and the knee problems he’d suffered since. Although his injury was due to his body giving out on him, not a tackle gone wrong like mine.

“Okay,” I said. Lucas gave me a long look, as if he was trying to work out whether to believe me.

“Ellie says your leg is healing well. I believe Andy says the same. They’re pleased.”

I snorted. “Really?” That hadn’t been the impression I’d gotten. Then again, I hadn’t exactly asked for their opinions.

“Yes,” Lucas said, taking a sip of his own drink and shooting me a smile. “You don’t think so?”

“No? Well… maybe? Yes?” I had no idea which one was the right answer, so I decided it was better just to stop talking before I fucked everything up further.

“There isn’t a wrong answer here, you know.”

“No, then. I think it’s going terribly. I can’t run, I have no balance, and my fitness is shot. How can I not think it’s going badly? I’m never going to play again like this.” My words poured out in a torrent, and I wasn’t able to stop my fears from getting mixed up amongst them.

“I understand that,” Lucas said with a nod. “And I’m sure everyone has told you that it’s going to take time.”

“Yeah, they have,” I muttered.

“And, knowing you, you are refusing to listen.” Lucas chuckled while I stared at him in disbelief. “You may be very laid back, Hugo, but you’re stubborn. It’s very difficult to change your mind.”

“Hmm.” I couldn’t decide if that was a bad thing or not. “I think my ex-wife said something similar.”

Lucas laughed. “It’s not always a bad thing. Stubbornness can drive you. But I think right now, you’re stubbornly refusing to see any improvement, even though it’s there. Just because you’re not at the same level you were six months ago, doesn’t mean you’re not better than you were last week.”

“I suppose,” I said, not willing to admit that he had a point.

Lucas gave me the same smile he always did when he was right. “So,” he said, giving me another long look before changing the subject completely. “How are you coping outside of your recovery? I feel like I haven’t seen you much lately to ask how your life is.”

That was one of the things I loved about having Lucas as a manager—he cared. It wasn’t fake or forced; he genuinely cared about his players and their lives.

“It’s going well,” I said. “I, um… I’m seeing someone new.”

“Really? That’s good. Is it going well?”

“Yeah, it is.” I felt my cheeks flushing as I thought about that morning, waking up with Kit curled up in my arms. “His name’s Kit. He’s a friend of Christian’s.”

I watched his face carefully. I knew Lucas shouldn’t be too surprised given that Christian was now out to the team, but it was always hard having to come out to someone new and wait to see if their opinion of you changed. Part of me was just waiting for him to dismiss it because I’d been married to a woman, so it was impossible for me to date anyone of another gender.

“That’s wonderful,” Lucas said simply, breaking into a beaming smile. “He has red hair? I think I saw you chatting at Christian’s barbecue in May.”

I nodded. “He does. He’s an artist, and he used to be David’s housemate. He’s… he’s amazing.” I sounded like an idiot, but I couldn’t think of how to describe Kit without launching into a whole speech about just how wonderful he was. I hadn’t felt this way about anyone in years, and although part of me was worried the feeling would fade, I was determined to make every second count and learn from my previous mistakes.

And deep down, a tiny part of me wondered if I’d ever even felt this way about Hélène. An even tinier part of me whispered that I hadn’t.

“I’m glad,” Lucas said. “It’s good to have someone to take your mind off your recovery. I’m sure he stops you from wallowing in self-pity every night.”

I laughed. “I don’t wallow.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “One simple broken leg does not a career-ending injury make. Well, not in this case anyway.”

I wanted to argue, but I had to admit he had me cornered there. I’d known guys who’d come back from far worse injuries than mine with no problems at all, and it wasn’t as if I’d ever been injury plagued before. And it wasn’t as if my break had been that bad… I mean, it wasn’t as if I’d needed surgery to pin everything back together.

Maybe I had been wallowing in self-pity… just a little.

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