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“I should go get changed or the girls might think we are up to no good in here,” she says, but making no attempt to climb off my knee.
“Brooke is going to take you home this afternoon, I hope that’s okay. I have to stay and sort through this footage while I have the studio and the technicians booked.”
“Okay, don’t stay too late. You need to rest too.” She looks up at me with concern, running her hands through my hair and down my neck. I melt into her touch and let out a relaxed moan as my head lolls to the side.
“You’re incredible, Nat. You know that right?”
“I’m glad you think so.” She’s trying to sound like she’s joking, but I know her well enough now to see when she’s self-conscious.
“I mean it.” I stroke her neck and tilt her face to look at me again. “Before we started this, I was stuck in the same place I’d been for years. Even though this game means more to me than anyone will ever know, I had no drive, no motivation, no inspiration. The second I met you something in me clicked. I would never have gotten this far without you.”
“Thank you,” she says shyly.
“I wish you could see yourself like I do. You’re beautiful and kind and a true inspiration. I wish you could see the way you build up and inspire those little girls who wait around after a match to talk to you. I wish you could truly grasp the way they admire you. You’re their role model, Nat. You’re changing their life simply by being true to your- self, and I know not everyone in your life understands that. They don’t see the real you. But I do. I see it all. I just thought you should know.”
She swipes away a rogue tear from her cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispers, kissing me. “I needed to hear that.”
“Whatever you need, Nat. I’ll move heaven and earth to give it to you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Luke
The light drizzle that began early this morning has evolved into a torrential downpour. From my usual seat in the stand, I can see Nat is soaked to the bone. Her hair is drenched, she’s constantly wiping the rain that drips from her nose and there are water droplets running down her body.
“Bridget, at what point does the match get cancelled?” I ask as the rain comes in sideways.
“Oh, they’ve played in much worse conditions than this. I wouldn’t worry,” she says, which doesn’t help at all because I am worried. It’s not even half-time and the girls already look exhausted from trying to stop themselves slipping constantly onthe mud, and although it’s now approaching summer, the wind still has a chill to it. “It looks like it’s expected to be sunny in the second half. This will pass,” Bridget says, putting her phone back in her pocket after checking her weather app and returning her attention to the pitch to shout at a decision the referee has made in favour of the opposition.
Since Natasha and I got together a few weeks back, I’ve been to all her games and the anxiety is always there. It starts the second she walks away from me in the stadium to get ready for the match and doesn’t go away again until she’s back by my side. Obviously, I’ve hidden this anxiety from her, I don’t want to put any more pressure on her than she’s already under.
I turn back to watch the match, which is currently nil–nil, unconvinced that the dark clouds above are ever going to clear. Although Mam passed away in autumn, the conditions are eerily alike. The dark clouds and the rain, the team they’re playing against, and the fact Natasha is playing in the same position she did.
Less than five minutes later, one of the Durham City players sprints with the ball towards Nat’s goal. She’s fast and our defenders have trouble keeping up with her with thecondition of the field, slipping and stumbling as they try to close the distance.
It all happens s quickly. As she shoots towards the bottom right corner, Nat dives to the floor, pushing the ball away with her outstretched hands and saving the goal. But when I’d expect her to come to a stop, she doesn’t, she continues to slide on her shoulder until her tiny frame collides heavily with the post, shaking her like a ragdoll.
Even from the stands, I can hear her yelp as she hits it and then there’s nothing, nothing at all. No movement, no talking, nothing.
The world around me throbs in my ears, the sounds of the stadium non-existent as panic builds in my chest and I watch the medics run to the girl I love, lying lifeless between the goal posts. Everything else might as well not exist because the only thing I’m aware of is the thumping heartbeat in my chest.
“Luke, Luke, are you okay?” I can only just make out Bridget’s voice through the brain fog. “Luke?” she shouts, finally getting through to me as the noise rushes back to my ears and I return to the moment.
“She… she’s not moving. Why isn’t she moving?”
Bridget stands to look over the crowd that are now murmuring between themselves as they watch.
“Come on, I can’t take you to the touchline, but… look they’ve got her onto her knees and Debbie is getting ready to go out, so they’re taking her off. Let’s go to the changing rooms, they’ll be taking her there.”
Bridget drags me by my arm, down the row and towards the stone steps that lead out of the stadium. Numbly, I follow, not really paying attention to my surroundings, instead relying on muscle memory alone.
When we reach the changing room, we’re held outside. It’s agony, not knowing. It’s agony not being able too see her for myself, to see that she’s okay with my own eyes.
The first thing I see when I eventually do enter the room is Nat, sitting on the cold wooden slats of the bench, being fussed over by medics and some of the coaching staff. She smiles up at me when she notices me standing frozen in the door frame. I wish I felt relief, but I don’t because my focus is on the fact that, for a moment, I thought she could be dead.
“Luke, you look terrible,” she says, looking between me and Bridget. “You’re so pale, what’s wrong?”
