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“You’re okay?” I ask, rooted to the spot. She’s soaking wet and winces when the medic moves her arm.
“I’m sore but luckily nothing is dislocated or broken so I’ll be fine in a few days.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Are you okay?” she asks again, and I nod unconvincingly.
“You’re going to have a canny bruise,” one of the medics says to her with a chuckle and Nat laughs too until she looks over to me again.
“I’ll be done in five minutes. Can you take me home, Luke?” she asks me carefully, as if she knows I’m close to breaking down.
“Yeah, I’ll wait outside for you to get your things.” I need to get the fuck out of here before the room closes in on me completely.
Chapter Nineteen
Natasha
Despite the agonising pain in my right shoulder, I dress as quickly as I can, without even bothering to shower. I need to find Luke.
Bridget told me about his panic in the stands and I want to get to him as quickly as possible and reassure him that I really am okay. These things happen; it’s why we have Debbie as a substitute.
When I reach the car park outside the stadium, Luke is waiting for me by his car, his shoulders slumped and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He looks exhausted, as if he’s not slept for weeks.
He lifts his head and smiles at me when I approach, but it’s not his usual bright and happy smile, it’s forced. Even the kiss he gives me as he opens my car door is forced, and unease sweeps over me, something is wrong.
I watch as he climbs in next to me, buckling his seat belt and starting the engine avoiding my gaze completely.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks when he pulls out of the car park onto the main road that leads back to our building.
“Yeah, honestly, I’m fine. It’ll probably ache for a few days and bruise but apart from that, it’s all good,” I say, but he doesn’t reply, he just nods tightly, so I continue trying to reassure him. “It happens all the time, so it isn’t anything to worry about. It’s not even the worst injury I’ve had.”
I’m aiming for reassuring, as if brushing this pain off will help matters, but as soon the words tumble from me, I know I’ve said something wrong. He grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white as though he’s doing his best not to burst out of his skin. For the remainder of the journey there’s an awkward silence between us. No matter how many times I try to start a conversation with him, I get one-word answers or nothing at all, and by the time we get home, I’m a ball of anxiety.
“Luke, please talk to me,” I say, as he places my football bag down on the floor by my door.
I can’t take the stilted atmosphere hanging between us anymore.
Instead of answering, he closes the distance between us, taking me in his arms very carefully, and kisses me deeply as though his emotions are being imprinted on my soul. I lean into him, giving everything I have right back to him, hoping it’s enough.
It doesn’t take long to truly understand the meaning behind this kiss, and it’s not one I like, because it feels a lot like a goodbye. When it comes to a natural end, it’s my turn to panic.
“Natasha,” he says, stepping back.
“Don’t,” I say, already knowing where this is going. I’m losing him. “Please don’t do this. Don’t walk away from us.”
He takes my hands that are clinging onto him, removes them from his chest and squeezes them before letting them go.
“I have to,” he says, he drops his eyes, unable to look at me anymore.
“Why, why do you have to?” I say, my voice louder than I anticipated. It shocks both of us but all I can focus on is keeping him.
“Because… Fuck, this is hard.” He paces the room, putting space between us.
“Please talk to me. It doesn’t need to be hard; we can talk it through together. Whatever is going on it’ll be okay. Trust me, please,” I beg him, my desperation clear as day.
I can’t understand how just this morning we were waking up together, making love, eating breakfast, travelling to the game. And now…this. It’s not right.
“Seeing you out there, lying lifeless between the same goalposts as she did, I felt like that scared eighteen-year-old boy again!” he stumbles over his words, any trace of self control he was clinging onto has snapped. “My instinct after I saw that you were semi-okay was to be angry at myself for not protecting you better and demand that you give all this up, because I can’t lose another woman I love on a football pitch.”
“Luke…” I put aside the fact he’s just told me he loves me and focus on the important part. A part I should have figured out a long time ago. “Lauren Ramshaw…she’s your mam.”
“Yeah,” he says, and it all makes sense now. His connection to Coach who played alongside her for most of her career. His purpose for designing a game based on women’s football when he outright told me he had no interest in the sport.
