There isn’t.
By the time I move, it’s gone.
I force the pass anyway, but it’s late. Sloppy. Intercepted clean. Their counterattack is fast and ruthless.
I’m still turning when the net ripples behind us.
And just like that, it’s over.
I hear the whistle in my head more than I feel it. The final score doesn’t matter. All I can see is that moment—where I had it, where I knew what to do—
and didn’t.
I lace up my boots slower than usual today, my fingers pulling the laces so tight they bite into my skin. The locker room is quieter than it usually is. Even Carlos and Sebastian’s comedy tandem is at a standstill.
We were flying back in the fall. We weren’t just winning—we were scoring goals like we didn’t know how to stop. Now we’re clawing for points, settling for draws, and watching the table slide just out of our reach.
I know the lads are looking to me. They’re frustrated. Afraid.
So am I.
I’m the one who’s supposed to steady the ship, but I feel like I’m barely keeping it from going under.
It’s not the gaffer’s fault. Or Stan’s. Or the keeper’s. It’s mine. I’m the captain. That armband is a responsibility. You don’t get to share the blame. You take it. I’m supposed to steady the ship. Instead, I feel like I'm bailing water with my bare hands.
Addison keeps telling me I’m doing everything I can. That I don’t need to carry the pressure alone. But she doesn’t see the way the lads look at me after every match, like they’re defeated and waiting for me to fix it.
And the worst part?
I don’t know if I can fix it.
And I know exactly what’s wrong with me.
It’s not mounting pressure or tactics.
It’s time.
It’s the fact that every match we play is one match closer to May. One match closer to the season ending. One match closer to Addison leaving.
It’s hard to have a love for the game when every win is a depressing reminder.
She was always planning to leave. I know that. She was upfront about that before we even started up whatever it is we’re doing. She didn’t lie. I wasn’t misled. I was even the idiot who said, sure, let’s make the most of the time we have. I said that like it was easy. Like she wasn’t about to become my entire universe.
The one thing I can’t seem to outrun is that ticking clock.
But I try. I really fucking try.
I try to be everything everyone needs from me. The leader. The steady hand. But underneath it all is this panic that no one sees but me.
And the cruelest part is that the thing I've wanted my entire life is finally within reach.
Promotion.
The dream. The goal. The reason I've pushed myself for years.
The thing Henry and I used to talk about when we were kids kicking a ball around on a muddy pitch.
We're closer than we've ever been.
