The locker room is buzzing after today's match. Another win for the team and another assist for me. I feel like I was everywhere on the pitch today, sharp and dialed in, with eyes in the back of my head.
I’m halfway through pulling my kit over my head when Carlos throws a towel at me from across the room.
“Alright, Bradshaw. Spill,” Carlos calls out, grin wide.
I raise an eyebrow. “What are you on about, mate?”
Sebastian jumps in, casually throwing an arm around Carlos’ shoulder. “Come on, man. You’ve been playing out of your mind.”
“And?”
“And,” Sebastian says, tilting his head. “What are you doing differently?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” they ask in unison.
I shrug, letting a slow grin spread across my face. “Just playing football.”
Carlos and Sebastian exchange skeptical glances, but give up their interrogation and head into the showers.
Brennan sits quietly in his stall, unlacing his boots.
“You alright?” he asks, quiet enough for just me to hear.
I nod. “Yeah, of course. I’m just… in a good groove right now. That’s all.”
He doesn’t press. He stands up, grabbing a towel from the shelf above.
“If you ever wanna talk, you can. Doesn’t have to be now.”
“I’m just playing good football, mate,” I insist.
He smiles at me. “But if you ever want to talk aboutwhy, you know where I am.” He pats my shoulder before walking away, like he knows what I’m not saying. His quiet understanding catches me off guard.
Is it that obvious?
The lads are noticing something is different about me, whether it’s a nice training regimen or some kind of new mindset. Carlos, of course, assumes it’s over a woman. I tell him to piss off, of course, but that’s mainly because it’s true.
I’m sharper, faster than I’ve ever been. It’s like I’ve unlocked another level to my game and I can’t switch it off. Every touch on the ball, every run down the wing, I just hear her laugh. I see her smile.
She’s not a distraction. She’s a fucking ignition switch.
But when people ask? I shrug. I smirk. I tell them to piss off.
It’s just good football.
It’s way more than that.
It’s the woman who won’t let herself fall. It’s the way her hand fits perfectly in mine. The way her eyes looked when we almost kissed back in Stratton Wood. That heartbeat of a moment where I could feel her breath, but not taste it.
She’s in my every thought, and it’s maddening.
I’ve never let anyone besides Mum and Henry call me Ollie before—except her. And she said it so casually, like it was hers to say.
I keep telling myself to let it go. This is Addison we’re talking about. Sharp, professional, rule-following Addison.
But then…. then I remember it’s Addie too. The girl who looked at my hometown like it was a secret, a precious place of peace.
