Page 64 of Off the Pitch

“I do.”

“Then choose me. Choose me instead of football. Or better yet, choose both.” It was my ultimatum, and it was all I had left.

“So, you’re going to make me choose?” His voice was flat, almost robotic. “I never thought you’d make me choose. You said I could choose how our relationship went. You said you didn’t mind if I didn’t tell anyone. You lied to me.”

“That was before I realised you were going to be a coward. It’s been six months, and you still won’t even tell Liam and Jordan. I can’t be ‘an old football friend’ forever.”

“Then I know I’ve made the right choice. It was always going to be football.”

What was left of my heart shattered.

“Fine. I guess I’ll go,” I added, even though leaving was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to pull him close, hold him, and talk him through this, but I had no more words to say or fight to give.

I wanted him to choose me instead of football, no matter how scary it seemed.

I wanted him to love me as much as I loved him.

My feet carried me to the door, and in the distance, I could hear Christian snuffling.

I’m not sure how I made it home, but I did. I took one look at Kit eating ice cream on the sofa and broke.

I don’t know how long I cried. It didn’t matter.

Nothing did anymore.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

WICH HUNT

Trossero Under Pressure as Greenwich Crumbles

The Star

Christian

The bus to the stadium was completely silent.

Usually, there were jokes and laughter and singing along to the radio mixed in with quiet periods while everyone got their head together. Today, there was none of that. Just a heavy silence that weighed oppressively on my shoulders.

For once I would have welcomed Jordan’s bad jokes or Paulo’s terrible singing in a mixture of four languages. I’d spent the past thirty-six hours trying to convince myself that I’d done the right thing, but all I could hear was a voice screaming in my head about what a terrible decision I’d made.

I’d had a horrible few weeks, and just like that, my brain was telling me I had to choose, that this was evidence I couldn’t have both. Watching the season crumbling around me had sent endless fear rolling through me, and I’d done what I’d always done when faced with a problem: I’d run away.

It had seemed like the easiest thing to do, but even as I’d said all those terrible things to David, I knew I was making a mistake. I just hadn’t been able to stop myself. It had been like watching a car crash in slow motion, and I’d had no control over anything.

He’d been right to call me a coward.

He’d been right about everything.

Since then, Lily had refused to speak to me, and my mum’s reaction hadn’t been much better. Lily had ratted me out, and I’d had to sit through a twenty-minute lecture. I wanted to tell them they were supposed to be on my side, but I couldn’t because they were right too.

I tried to focus on the game, but every time I thought about it, I remembered how proud David had been when we’d won our last Champions League match, or his match-commentary texts—which I couldn’t bring myself to delete.

I barely heard any of Trossero’s pre-match talk, my brain drifting in and out despite my attempts to focus. There was too much at stake here for me to lose my cool now. I needed to get my head in the game and get my shit together.

“Are you okay?” Hugo asked, his face a picture of concern.

“I’m fine,” I lied, pulling on my boots and pulling the laces tight, trying not to look at his face.

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