“Time to stop trying to rewrite old stories, Captain.”
He gives me a pointed look.
“Go write a new one.”
Then he disappears into the tunnel, leaving me alone with the words.
And for the first time in weeks, I wonder if maybe he's right.
33
bradshaw, 8
NONSENSE BY SABRINA CARPENTER
I’m standing outside the locker room at the training ground, sipping a coffee, trying to pretend I’m not just gandering for a peek at Oliver.
Technically, I finished what I came here to do ten minutes ago.
I had a few charity appearances to confirm and some media requests to run by the players.
I could have left.
Instead, I’m lingering in the hallway like a teenager with a crush.
Carlos heads out of the locker room with Sebastian trailing behind him.
“There she is!” Carlos says, grinning.
“What’s up, Carlos?”
“Just excited for the match this weekend.” He points at himself proudly. “Three goals.”
“Own goals?” I quip.
“Oh!” Sebastian roars with laughter, like he’s been waiting his whole life for someone to roast Carlos. “She’s good! PR Queen has some fight!”
“PR Queen? Oh, I like that.”
I can see Matt watching the exchange and chuckling to himself, no doubt wondering how he can take credit for any achievement I have, even a fake royal title.
“Are you coming this weekend?” Sebastian asks me.
“Of course.”
“Good. We’ve decided something.” Sebastian smiles as he tugs on the towel around his neck.
“Oh god,” I mutter, already bracing. “Should I be worried?”
“You need your own kit,” Carlos declares, nudging me with his elbow.
“Yeah,” Sebastian adds. “A real one. With your name and everything.”
I blink. “Why?”
“For match days,” Sebastian says. “Plus, we decided.”
I point my coffee at both of them.
