Page 46 of Off the Pitch

He was far too perfect for me, and I didn’t know why he couldn’t see it.

“Y’know, that’s not getting naked.” He smirked, his hands teasing the base of my hoodie. I blushed, attempting to stammer out an apology, but I didn’t get a chance before he was gently pulling my hoodie and t-shirt over my head.

“That’s better,” he said, fingers caressing my chest before sliding down to the waistband of my joggers. He knelt before me, pulling them off and coaxing me out of my shoes and socks. It was such an intimate gesture that I was lost for words as he wrapped my hand in his and lead me to the bath.

“C’mon, in we get,” he hissed gently, as he stepped into the shimmering water. “Fuck, I may have made it a bit hot.”

I climbed in, in front of him, the heat seeping into my muscles as I settled between his legs, my back resting on his chest.

“It’s perfect.”

“Well, you obviously have no skin.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “While I’m gonna cook like some weird lobster-boy.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice level and to stop the overwhelming feeling of wrongness from overtaking me.

This wasn’t what I’d imagined at all. My brain had conjured up all these scenes of David telling me how disappointed he was, how badly I’d played, how he couldn’t bear to be associated with me anymore. And yet here we were, in one of my truly safe places, together, warm and safe.

“It’s okay,” David said, wrapping me in his arms, letting the hot water wash over me. “It’s okay.”

I broke.

Fat, hot tears spilled down my cheeks as choking sobs forced their way out of my lungs and into the still air. David’s arms tightened around me, holding me in place as his fingers gently stroked my skin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried like this, and maybe it had never happened. It almost felt good to release the overwhelming waves of emotion rather than trying to suppress them and force them away.

“Breathe, baby. It’s okay.” David’s voice was calm, a life raft I could cling to while I rode out this storm. “It’s okay.” I focused on the soothing depths of his voice as his hands moved to rub gentle circles on my back.

David drew me back into him, letting me lean my full weight against him as he wrapped himself around me, his sheer presence comforting me.

He kissed my temple again. “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you? Or about what happened today.”

“No,” I said, but nodded. Mum had said I needed to talk to David, and now seemed like as good a time as any to pour out my soul. I’d been putting off this conversation for as long as possible, but now there was no point delaying the inevitable. It was better to just to tell him. Sucking in a deep shaking breath, I focused on the swirls of shimmering silver in the water and the last remnants of the bubbles.

“It’s just… I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?” David asked, his voice gentle.

“I’m supposed to be this great footballer, but I don’t know if I can be.” I took another deep breath, trying to order my thoughts. “I don’t think I’m good enough. I’m supposed to live my life according to this plan, and to never deviate from it, because following that will make me a legend. And everyone keeps telling me that I could be truly great, that I could win trophies and lead England to World Cup victory, but what if I can’t? What if I’m not good enough? What if… what if I fail?”

“What does it matter if you do?”

“I don’t know,” I said because genuinely I didn’t. I tried to get my head around the question. Would it matter if I failed? “People would hate me. I’d let everyone down.”

“Maybe,” David said. “But people get mad about everything, and the media is there to make things worse. At the end of the day, sure, it’s about you, but it’s not just you. You’re not the only player out there. You’re part of a team, and you all help each other. You win together, and you lose together. As long as you try your best, then that’s all anyone can ask of you. Win or lose, I’ll always be proud of you. I was proud of you today.”

“Really?” I said, turning in the water to look at him. “But I played terribly!”

David smiled at me, drawing me in for a soft kiss.

“Of course I’m proud of you. Why wouldn’t I be? You need to learn to not be so hard on yourself.”

“Maybe,” I said, letting his words sink into my brain. “I got called a faggot today.” The words slid out of me before I could stop them, and I felt David immediately tense beneath me.

“Who the fuck said that? I’ll fucking kill them.”

“The guy Jordan headbutted,” I said. “Which is why Jordan headbutted him.”

“Remind me to thank Jordan.” David’s voice was a low growl I’d never heard from him before. “Why the fuck didn’t the ref do something?”

“There’s nothing they can do,” I said with a sigh, resting my head against the wet skin of David’s chest. Somehow, his anger made my worries subside a little. “They didn’t hear it, and there’s no proof he actually said it. The club will probably appeal, maybe try and find some camera footage, but I doubt they’ll find anything.”

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