Page 61 of Off the Pitch

“I guess we got complacent. We couldn’t give each other the right things, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to talk about it. In the end I think we resented each other for that and for not having the courage to be open about how we felt.” He grimaced and shook his head. “It’s hard realizing that you hate someone you once loved… and now we’ve done too much damage to each other to ever go back.”

I stared, trying to think of something to say. I couldn’t imagine ever getting to a point where I hated David like that.

“I’m sorry.”

He gave me a weary smile. “Thanks.” Then he chuckled, swirling the last of his champagne around in his glass. “It’s funny. I thought when we split up that we’d never have to speak again and that she’d go back to France, but apparently she likes London too much.”

“Well it’s a big city. You could just avoid each other.” I shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t see—” I stopped, shoving more food into my mouth so I couldn’t finish the sentence and cursing myself for my own stupidity.

Hugo gave me a funny look, but thankfully didn’t say anything. Instead he started talking about the food and today’s match and whether we’d all be allowed a day off training if everyone was invited to Liam’s wedding. I nodded politely and didn’t mind when he moved away to chat with Micah in rapid French, although I did hear Hélène’s name come up at least once.

No wonder poor Hugo didn’t want to get married again if things had ended so badly with Hélène. Still, never say never and all that. That’s what my mum had said when I’d asked her if she’d ever get married again. Her next words had been that the next wedding she was likely to attend was mine or Lily’s, and I’d just smiled and laughed.

I loved the idea of marrying David, but even now, I couldn’t imagine it happening. That would involve me facing my greatest fears, and I was starting to think I might be too much of a coward to do that. I hated myself for it.

Sipping my glass of juice, I casually watched Liam brush a stray strand of hair out of Ali’s face and offer her a bite of whatever he was holding. They were so in love it almost hurt to watch. If their marriage ever broke down, I think I’d stop believing in love. Their wedding would be picture-perfect, just like them. And their life together would be too.

I’d never be able to give David something like that. All I would do was drag him down. I thought about what Hugo had said—that he and Hélène couldn’t give each other what they needed. Part of me wondered whether it would be best to walk away now, before I could do any more damage to David or before he realised that I’d never be the person he deserved.

He deserved the universe, and all I could give him was a broken shell.

Chapter Twenty-Six

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET

Trossero’s men face toughest run yet with League Cup, FA Cup, and Champion’s League action!

BBC Sport

David

Something was wrong.

I wasn’t sure what it was, but something was definitely bothering Christian.

Over the last couple of weeks, he’d been quiet and distant, unwilling to reply to my texts or spend time with me.

He’d canceled two date nights and had only agreed to a cinema date because he’d really wanted to see the film. Plus, we wouldn’t have to talk that much. Afterwards, he’d driven me home and given me a soft kiss good night, but when I’d offered him the chance to come in, he’d declined, saying he had early training to get to.

Part of me wondered if there was something I’d done, but I couldn’t think of anything. At least, nothing terrible sprang to mind. Ever since we’d gotten back together, I’d been trying my best to be a good boyfriend. We went on low-key dates, I bought him bath bombs from Lush—which was an experience in itself—plus I’d re-introduced him to the joys of sex. And not going to lie, he hadn’t needed much help. He was pretty fucking good at it.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t me?

There was a lot of pressure coming from the media recently.

Greenwich Athletic were flying this season, and that was bringing with it a host of new problems.

Sure, they’d had a few knocks and stupid losses, but they were still on course for a top four finish in the Premier League. They’d gotten through to the next round of the FA Cup, and they’d also never gotten this far in the Champions League before.

Plus, Christian was still playing in the occasional international games that England had, and whenever that happened, the press seemed to be intent on dubbing him ‘England’s Newest Hero’ or some other shit.

Not that he wasn’t good—he really was. He just didn’t need that pressure.

Lily and I had already forbidden him from looking at various sports websites, fan sites, and Twitter feeds after I’d found him reading some shitty clickbait article about himself. Lily had even gone so far as to block them from his phone and laptop, although I thought that might be a little extreme.

The problem was, though, it wasn’t just the press and the fans.

The players weren’t stupid. They knew this was important. Greenwich had never reached the quarter finals of the Champions League before, and now they were one game away from the last eight of Europe’s most prestigious footballing competition.

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