Page 68 of Off the Pitch

“Oh, Christian.” I felt the warmth of Lucas’s arms wrap around me, pulling me into a fierce hug as all the emotions I’d suppressed over the past twenty-four years came pouring out of me in a torrential flood of tears.

When my tears subsided enough that I could sit up, Lucas grasped my shoulder. “Christian,” he said, in that firm tone he always used when he was about to tell us the truth. It was so distinctive it had become widely known at the club as Lucas’s ‘dad voice’. “I’m very proud of you. I know this can’t have been easy for you, but thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

“You… you don’t hate me?” I said, my voice shaking.

“Of course not. Why would I?” His face scrunched. “Are you afraid that the others will bully you? Have they said something?”

“N-no.”

“Good, because I will not have that on my team. Your sexuality makes no difference in your ability to play football. Neither does the colour of your skin or what you believe in.”

“But—but,” I said, my brain trying to process his words. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? After all my fears that I would lose everything, it wasn’t allowed to be this easy because then I would have thrown everything away for nothing.

“What will everyone say?”

“Does it matter what they say?” Lucas asked. It was the same question I’d heard countless times before from Lily, Mum, and David, but this time it felt different. Maybe because Lucas actually had a say in how things turned out at the club. “You don’t have to tell anyone. It will always be your choice. But whatever you choose to do, I will support you. We will all support you. This team, this club, we are a family, Christian, and we love you.”

I couldn’t speak. I could hardly breathe. All I could do was let tears course silently down my face. It was as if my fears were being washed away by his words, and suddenly they seemed so much smaller than before. It wasn’t the perfect fix. Lucas couldn’t magically make everything better, and I still had to figure out whether I wanted to tell just the team or the whole world, but it didn’t seem quite so bad anymore.

“Really?”

“Of course,” he said, giving me a soft smile. “And don’t think you’re the first person I’ve ever had this conversation with.”

I tilted my head, eyebrow raised and mouth open in shock.

“My little brother is gay,” Lucas continued, as calmly as if he was talking about the weather. “He was a footballer too for a little while. He didn’t tell anyone, for different reasons, but I made him the same promise I made you—that I would always stand by him.” Lucas chuckled, shaking his head as if remembering a fond memory. I shivered, my body suddenly remembering how cold it was now that it had calmed down.

“Right,” said Lucas, ruffling my hair. “Go and shower, and when you’re dressed, we’ll go and get some food.” He smiled at me as he stood. “Everything will be okay, Christian. I promise.”

Lucas took me to a little Italian restaurant just up the road from the training ground. It was one of those tiny places that you wouldn’t usually glance at, but as soon as we arrived the manager gave Lucas a big hug and shook my hand enthusiastically before taking us to a little table at the back where we wouldn’t be disturbed. As we were seated, Lucas explained that he liked bringing agents here whenever they came to visit him because it was quiet enough that they could hear themselves talk, and the food was good enough to win virtually anyone over.

As soon as I took one bite of my carbonara, I had to agree. It was some of the best Italian food I’d eaten in London, possibly ever. The spaghetti was perfectly cooked and oozed cheese and delicious crispy pieces of meat. Lucas gave me an approving look as I ate, saying nothing, and I wondered if he’d been worried I wouldn’t eat anything after this morning. He didn’t need to worry, though. Something inside me had finally clicked, and I was starting to believe that everything would be okay. Maybe I’d just needed to hear it from someone who had more of an outside perspective.

As we ate, we chatted lightly, steering clear of topics like my sexuality or my appalling penalty-taking skills. I wasn’t quite over punishing myself just yet, despite Lucas’s reassurance. It wasn’t until dessert arrived, a rich and creamy tiramisu, that he finally asked about David.

“So, who is this man of yours?”

I spluttered, trying not to choke on my mouthful of dessert. “Who?”

“This man that you love so much. The one you think you’ve pushed away,” Lucas said, casually taking a spoonful of his own pudding. He’d been the only reason I’d had dessert in the first place, and by that I mean he’d ordered both of them and given me a look that brooked no argument. For someone who wanted me to be at peak fitness, he was certainly allowing me to indulge. I was going to put it down to the fact that it’d been a rough couple of days.

“Tell me about him,” Lucas asked again.

So I did.

My words were hesitant at first because my brain didn’t quite seem to believe I was allowed to talk about David openly as more than a friend. I talked about meeting him when we were kids and growing up together playing football in the park as often as we could. About how David had injured his knee at sixteen after being hit by a car while riding his bike, and how he could have been England’s goalkeeper if it hadn’t happened. How he decided he’d teach me how to take penalties so that every time I took them, I still saw his face in goal. About how everything had dissolved between us when I’d left for Germany, but that I’d never really given up hope of seeing him again. About how I’d tried to forget about him until he’d strolled back into my life at an art gallery holding a plate of canapes. And finally, I told Lucas about how the last six months had been the best of my life.

Until I’d freaked out because I’d been so sure I couldn’t give him the life he wanted, one where we were together openly, or at least openly to our friends, without losing my whole career.

“And now?” Lucas said, fixing me with a look as he sipped his coffee.

“I’m not sure,” I said, shrugging as I stirred the last remnants of tiramisu around the glass dish it had arrived in. “I love him, and I want to be with him more than anything. I’m just not sure.”

“About what?”

“Whether he’ll forgive me.”

“Well,” said Lucas. “That’s the big question. And you have to decide whether it’s worth the risk of asking him. So, Christian, is he worth it?”

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