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“That’s my coach!” I hear the tail end of Wilks cheer as Alf plants himself back down beside me, visibly amused by how that play just turned out.
“He’s really good.” I nod over to Alf, eyes wide, still trying to take in the complete show Warren unknowingly put on. “I’ve never actually seen him play before,” I admit.
Alf nods in agreement, placing a hand behind his neck in a soothing motion. “You don’t get into the EPL unless you can really play, Laney,” he tells me. “Warren’s a stud. Always has been.”
I peel my eyes away from Alf and redirect them back onto the field, where I see Warren reach back for his jacket, giving the two of us a playful wink in the process.
Jesus.
Guess his mood has passed.
“Wait!” Alf’s words start to register. “Warren played in the premier league?” I question, noticing that I’ve subconsciously come to learn much more about this beloved sport than I’d even realized.
“Of course,” Alf speaks as if my question was a no-brainer. “Parker played in the EPL for years, all up until his injury.”
Before I can question the thought further, Alf’s interrupted by the buzzing in his pocket, which he reaches for as he raises a finger in front of me. “Gotta take this.” He pulls his phone in close. “I’ll be right back.”
I nod affirmingly, watching as Alf makes his way back down the tunnel and out of sight. Only, even though he’s out of vision, his words remain fresh in my mind.
How hadn’t I known that Warren played professionally? I suppose somewhere along the way, I assumed that Warren had always just been a coach. But now that I think about it, any coach I’ve ever seen has got at least a decade on him or more.
How was this such an oversight on my part?
And did Alf say injury?
What kind of injury happened that took him out?
How long ago was this?
With the racing questions in my mind, I watch Warren sideline the pitch, back to shouting at the boys—taunting them with his flawless execution as he watches their feeble attempts.
“Do it like I just did it,” I hear him command with urgency before a guiding thought leads me to peer back down at my computer screen.
Opening up a new tab on my web browser, I simply type “Warren Park” into the search engine, unaware of just what I’m about to walk into.
As the first result appears on my screen, a deep lump forms in the back of my throat.
Warren Park—Game-winning goal, career-ending shot.
“No, you guys!” Warren’s loud voice prompts me to peel my eyes back up. “This is how you do it!” he re-joins the drill once more.
I let out a breath, debating with my thoughts as they each pass through my mind, the most prominent being the voice that tells me that I shouldn’t be looking at this. Especially when Warren’s only a few yards away.
Yet, I can’t seem to listen to the logic in my brain as I peer back down at the monitor, desperate to open up the news article and find out exactly what happened.
As I skim through, keywords seem to stand out as they’re displayed across the screen.
Career high.
The most important game of his career.
Prospective recruit for team England.
The final shot.
The winning goal.
The career-ending move.
