Page 99 of Off the Pitch

I was just pulling my old t-shirt off when I heard the door buzz.

“Merde,” I muttered, trying not to fall over as I spun around to call out. “It’s open.”

I pulled the t-shirt harder, frantically trying to get out of it and into the clean one before Kit came in, but I couldn’t seem to get it over my head. My arms were tangled in the sleeves, and all I could see was the dark material that was now covering my face.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

“Two minutes,” I called, giving the shirt another tug. I couldn’t see a thing, and I knew I was wobbling on one leg. Fuck, I should have sat down to do this!

My balance gave out and with an almighty crash I hit the floor.

“Hugo? Are you—” The sound of Kit’s beautiful laughter filled my ears, and I could hear him moving around me. “What happened? Hang on, let me help you. I think you’ve gotten stuck.”

His fingers were warm as they brushed my arm, sliding the t-shirt over my head and finally freeing me. My cheeks were burning as Kit’s smile came into view.

“There we go! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, mentally scanning my body. “Thanks for that.”

“Not a problem at all,” he said as he handed me the clean t-shirt I’d gotten out. “These things happen. I’m just glad you didn’t hit your leg.”

“Me too,” I mumbled, trying and failing to hide my embarrassment as I pulled the t-shirt over my head. I was such an idiot.

Kit held out his hand and helped me climb to my feet, concern playing across his face as I perched on the side of my bed to pull on a single sock. Part of me wished I’d kept my flat a little tidier or at least made my bed this morning. Not that I’d thought Kit was going to be in my bedroom. He didn’t seem bothered though, instead he was watching me intently with the cutest wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Are you still feeling nervous?”

“A little,” I said, then I shook my head. “That’s a lie. I’m terrified. I’ve been up since five because I’m so worried that it won’t have healed.”

Kit nodded. “That’s understandable. I’d be fucking terrified too.”

I laughed, even though I hadn’t meant to. It was the first time I’d really voiced my fears and part of me had been expecting him to tell me it would be fine, but this felt so much more genuine. I don’t know why I was surprised. Kit seemed like the sort of person who'd always tell you what he was thinking. I loved that.

“Sorry,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. David always said I’m as subtle as a brick to the back of the head.”

“It’s fine. I like that you’re honest.”

“Really?” He looked at me like I’d suddenly grown an extra head.

“Really.” I smiled at him, watching him relax. He was so beautiful and unguarded, and it made my stomach feel like it was being tied into knots. What was it about Kit that had me feeling so completely at ease but also more nervous than ever before?

“Well, you’re the first person I’ve ever known who’s said that.” He looked down at his shoes for a second, a tiny hint of a blush on his pale skin.

I wanted to tell him there was no need to be embarrassed and that everyone else had been wrong. But as soon as I opened my mouth, my stomach rumbled loudly.

Kit giggled, seeming almost relieved at the change of subject. “That reminds me, I picked some pastries up on my way over from this gorgeous little bakery not far from my house! I didn’t know whether you’d had breakfast or what you liked, so I got a little selection.” He spun around and disappeared into the living room. “I’ll leave you to finish getting dressed, then we can eat and head to the hospital.”

“And afterwards?” I called. “What are you planning?”

“That would ruin the surprise,” he answered. “But I promise it’ll be fun!”

The pastries Kit had brought had been delicious—pain au chocolat oozing with dark chocolate; flaky, buttery croissants stuffed with Nutella and strawberries that melted in my mouth; and fruit danishes that exploded with the perfect balance of tart sweetness as they hit my tongue. Still, they’d only managed to distract me until we got into a taxi to head to the hospital.

Then the nausea had kicked in.

It wasn’t as if I had a specific reason to be scared of hospitals; I didn’t have any medical trauma to draw on, but I’d always had a bit of an overactive imagination and watching one too many gory medical dramas and documentaries had given it enough fuel to supply me with endless nightmares.

So now I was sitting in the waiting room clutching Kit’s hand tightly and trying to keep my breathing steady.

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