Page 164 of Off the Pitch

It hurt, so I had to assume the moment was real.

“Let’s go,” called one of the coaches, waving the first team onto the pitch. I could hear the applause and the cheers, and it made my stomach clench, a wave of nausea washing through me. Would the fans be pleased to see me again?

Ten minutes later, the rest of the subs and I joined the others on the pitch to take part in our own shortened warm-up. It was mostly for us to stretch our legs and see how we felt, since none of us would be starting, but for me it was the perfect opportunity to see how it felt to step onto the stadium pitch again.

Nobody said anything as we made our way onto the pitch, and I felt the chill of the crisp November air through my warm-up kit. As soon as my feet hit the turf, a wave of calm washed over me and for the first time in a long time, I felt almost complete, as if a small part of me had been missing but had suddenly returned.

I knew I’d missed playing, but I didn’t think I’d missed it this much.

I heard the hum of the crowd, and there was a sudden scattering of applause that began to pick up into something more as a few cries of my name rang throughout the stands.

“I think you’ve been missed,” joked Toby, who was also starting on the bench today.

“I think they’ve missed you almost as much as we have,” added Callum, our reserve goalie, slapping me on the back.

I didn’t try to hide my smile as we warmed up. It felt great to be out on the pitch again, and with every passing minute my nerves settled, a sense of focus taking over instead. The stands were nearly full by the time we’d finished, and I quickly looked up, trying to see if I could spot Kit’s face on the balcony. I saw a flash of red hair and a waving hand before I was ushered back down the tunnel, and when I got back to the changing room there were messages waiting on my phone.

KitI’m so proud of you. You look amazing!

KitAlso, David might be right… you do look rather sexy in your kit. I may or may not have taken pictures…

KitFor posterity of course

I chuckled, slipping my phone back into my bag before pulling on my home kit and a couple of extra layers to keep me warm on the bench. It felt oddly comforting to be putting on the familiar black shirt with its bright blue and white detailing. It was something else I hadn’t realised I’d missed.

Since I wasn’t going to be playing in the first half, I settled onto the bench to watch. It was great to be sitting so close to the pitch, and it was fun being with other guys from the team. The match was a tense one—neither side had been able to find a way through, and I could almost feel Lucas’s frustration from his seat in the front row. He was sitting with his arms crossed, occasionally getting up to prowl up and down the touchline, gesturing furiously and shouting directions.

I was almost glad I wasn’t playing.

By the time halftime arrived, the score was still nil-nil. Nobody was exactly pleased, although we all knew it could be worse. We just had to keep pushing and play smarter, keep looking for their weaknesses and exploit them, while still maintaining our defence. The worst thing would be for us to give the ball away and let them score while trying to be clever. All they needed was one goal and then they could sit back and defend, and our task would get a lot harder.

The second half started, and both teams attacked the game with renewed enthusiasm. Christian got the closest to scoring anyone had gotten with a shot that spun just wide. It had needed someone to get on the end of it, someone to just give it a nudge in the right direction. But nobody seemed to have thought of that.

“Hugo,” said a voice, distracting me from my thoughts. “Hugo.” I turned to see Alex giving me a smile and nodding towards the pitch. “C’mon. You’re up.”

“Seriously?” I said, my legs carrying me out of my seat without me even noticing as I followed him down to the edge of the pitch to start warming up.

“Seriously,” he said before giving me some instructions. It was harder to watch the game while I was warming up, jogging and sprinting up and down the side of the pitch. When I got to my stretches, Lucas came over to talk to me.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his expression serious.

“I’m good.” It wasn’t a lie. Excitement and adrenaline were coursing through me, and I was desperate to get on the pitch, my feet itching to get the ball in front of them.

“Good,” Lucas said, giving me a brief smile. “Slot into the front with Christian, we need a little bit of creativity, I think, and someone to get on the end of Christian’s passes. They know what we’re doing, and I think we need to surprise them a little.”

“Who’s coming off?”

“Jordan.”

“I’ll slot into the left then, slightly higher than the midfield line,” I said, my brain already working out where I’d be best suited to help Christian out. “They’ve been boxing Christian out and that should open it up a little.”

“Good, good,” Lucas said. He looked up and around at the crowd before beckoning over the fourth official. Most of the crowd had noticed the change was going on, and I would have been lying if I said the excited hum didn’t make my heart soar.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. Christian and I needed to break their defence open, and we didn’t have much time to do it.

“Greenwich Athletic are making a substitution,” the announcer said, voice booming around the stadium as the official held up a board denoting the numbers of who was coming off and who was going on. “Number twenty-one, Jordan Green will be replaced by number eight, Hugo Serin!”

A wild cheer went up from the crowd as Jordan jogged past me, giving me a high five, and I went sprinting onto the pitch.

---