So why does it feel like every step toward it is taking me further away from everything else I want?
Because football has always been the centre of my universe.
Until Addison.
I stay out on the pitch after training ends.
The ladshave filtered out towards the showers. It’s quiet out here. The cameras follow the herd.
They don't need footage of me sitting alone on a bench staring at grass.
I loosen my boots and look out over the empty pitch.
“Waiting for the grass to apologize?” Stan’s voice cuts through the quiet.
I sigh, not turning around. “Maybe.”
A second later, the bench dips beneath his weight.
“Want to talk about it?”
I stare forward. “Didn’t realize the post-training debrief included life advice now.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Good.”
“But watching my captain unravel like a ball of yarn does.”
Stan settles beside me, elbows on his knees. For a while, neither of us speaks. The stadium just sits empty around us.
“Listen to me, Bradshaw,” he says, voice lower. “I’ve followed this club since I was a lad. I watched every game from the stands until I worked my way up through the club. I feel this weight too.” He looks out over the pitch like it holds every good memory from his lifetime. “I know I’m not good at letting people in, at sharing bits of myself. I’ve always thought I could carry every load myself. It nearly broke me. Don’t let it break you, Bradshaw.”
I glance at him, surprised by the rare softness in his voice.
I shrug. “If we don’t get promoted, thatison me.”
“No.”
“I’m the captain.”
“And?”
I scoff. “That’s how it works.”
“No, that’s how you think it works.”
His voice stays annoyingly calm.
“You want to know what I think?”
I groan. “You’re going to tell me anyway, right?”
“Yeah.” Stan nods his head. “I think you’re trying to save something else. Something more than just this season.”
I freeze, heart pounding. He has no idea what he’s talking about, does he? He doesn’t know about Addison. He doesn’t know every match we play brings her one step closer to leaving for good.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
