“Yeah.”
I manage a small smile. “So, we’re good, then?”
“Come on,” he says, tugging me back toward the bedroom. “We can keep disagreeing in bed.”
32
the captain's armband
CARLO'S SONG BY NOAH KAHAN
We’ve hit a wall.
It feels like the weight of the season—and everything riding on it—is pressing down on my shoulders.
The pressure has always been there. That's football. That's promotion races. That's what happens when a club spends months fighting its way to the top of the table.
But before, it felt manageable.
Now it feels like suffocating.
The last few matches have been a mix of errors. Draws that should have been wins. Close losses that hurt even more than a thrashing. One point here, none there. Every match feels like another opportunity slipping through our fingers.
The worst of it plays on a loop whether I want it to or not.
Seventy-third minute. We’re level with Sheffield Wednesday. Tight match, but winnable. I’ve got the ball at my feet just outside the box, Brennan making a run to my left, Sebastian calling for it up front. It’s simple. I’ve made that pass a thousand times.
There’s a window.
But then—
For half a second, the pitch doesn’t look right.
It’s not the stadium. Not the crowd. It’s a memory, bleeding through. A flash of a different field, years ago. Muddy grass. Hand-me-down boots. Two boys in oversized kits chasing something bigger than they understand.
Henry.
I can hear him like he’s right there beside me, shouting, laughing.
Now, Ollie. Send it now before it closes.
The memory hits so hard it almost feels real.
And then, just as quick, it shifts.
Another voice. Another feeling.
Addison in my kitchen, wrapped in one of my shirts. Addison in my bed. Addison saying, “just for the season” like it’s nothing. Like it’s not a countdown ticking in the back of my head every time I step onto the pitch.
The window in front of me narrows.
I see it happening. I know it’s happening.
And I still hesitate.
Because that’s the thing about windows. You always think you’ve got one more second. One more touch. One more match. One more morning.
You think there’s time.
