Page 66 of There's No Us Without You
I shake my head at my stupidity and shove my phone back into my pocket.
Who the hell am I kidding? I couldn’t keep one man, let alone trying to keep two interested in me. And did I forget I’m lying to both, and once they find out about the bet I made, they’ll hate me?
Maybe that’s why Stella keeps to her romance books.
Living in a fantasy world can’t break your heart, at least not for real.
EIGHTEEN
Emerson
We fallonto the bench seats in the changeroom, heads hanging, and chests heaving. Terry takes the spot next to me and grabs the back of his shirt, yanking it over his head. His heavy breathing matches my own, and as the trainers go around the room, they hand out electrolyte drinks to each of us.
It’s half-time, and we’re down one to nil. It’s not ideal, but the situation isn’t hopeless either.
I’ve been lagging the first half, and I can only blame it on my injury. There’s always a defender stuck on my arse, and every time I put all my weight onto my left leg, I almost drop to my knees.
The painkillers I’m taking aren’t doing shit anymore. I need something stronger.
The next few weeks are some of the most important of my career and my team is going into the semi-finals as a favourite, so there’s no way I’m going to ruin our chances of making the finals. Not when we’re so close. The boys are relying on me as their Captain to see them through until the end of the season.
Terry shakes out his sweat-soaked hair and falls back against the concrete wall, his thighs spread wide. With a slap to my shoulder, he lifts his chin. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say, before sculling down half the contents of my sports drink.
Some of the blue liquid spills onto my bare chest, so I swipe it away as I sniff. Everything fucking hurts, and the stabbing pain in the front of my left knee is getting worse the longer I sit here. Hiding the pain is taking all my effort, so conversations are the last thing I want to be engaging in right now.
All I want to do is go home to Will and Eden, curl up with them on the couch, and forget my life for just a moment.
Terry nudges me, tilting his head, a frown on his face. “What’s going on, man? You seem distracted tonight. Those defenders are stuck to you like flies on shit.”
I glare at him, my eyes darting over his face. “Am I not allowed to have an off day? Maybe you should focus on your own game. I’m not the only one on this damn team.” I’m being a total dick right now, but I can’t stop myself.
Terry’s eyebrows shoot up and he holds his hands up in front of him. “I’m just saying. No need to bite my head off. We’re all in this together, remember?”
“Sorry.” My shoulders slump forward as I rest my elbows on my knees and scrub my hands through my hair. “Just feeling the pressure, I guess.”
“I know the feeling. But you’ve got this, bro. We didn’t choose you as our Captain for no reason. We all believe in you.” Hissing through his teeth, he stretches out his legs, rubbing at a red welt on his upper thigh. “Fucking O’Brian—can’t believe he didn’t get red-carded for that bullshit tackle he cracked me with.”
“Yeah,” I say, shaking out my sweat-drenched hair. “He’s still an ugly arsehole, so at least you have that over him.”
Ten minutes to half-time, Terry got taken out with a knee to the thigh. Corks hurt like a motherfucker, and he’ll be sore for a few days, but it’ll heal just fine. Unlike my knee.
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it,” Terry says, grinning.
Humour is wonderful for hiding my pain.
No amount of pretending is going to help me in this moment, so I’ll disguise it instead.
But Terry’s words of encouragement give me a small amount of confidence and motivation to get back out there and push harder.
Body on the line, like every game. Even if it breaks me.
Coach stalks into the room moments later to give us the big half-time speech about teamwork. I zone out for most of it, my thoughts purely on how I’m going to win this game for us.
Most of the guys cheer, pumping themselves up when Coach finally finishes. I’m feeling none of that optimism.
When the second half is called, I shove my arms into my wet shirt and yank it over my head as I follow the rest of the boys out into the corridor, our soccer boots clacking on the concrete floor and echoing through the walkway.
