And yet I unlock it for the tenth time in an hour.
No messages.
Not even a “good luck.”
Will she watch the match?
Did she watch the last two?
I did pretty well in those.
Hell… I don’t even know if shelikessoccer.
Funny how thirteen days can feel like a month when she isn’t talking.
And even funnier—tragic, really—that I miss her annoyed voice.
I even miss her calling me a pain in the ass.
What the hell is happening to me?
Turbo whips around. “Uh-oh, lady-face!”
“What?”
“You’ve got the face, Becker. It’s written all over your forehead!”
Doc looks up from his notebook.
“Please don’t get yourself suspended again.”
“I’m checking the lineup, Monroe.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s the new right winger’s name—‘Hot-Blonde’?”
The whole bus bursts into laughter.
“Idiots,” I mutter, but I can’t stop the smile.
The bus turns, and the stadium comes into view.
Floodlights already blazing, grass impossibly green.
Fans waving red and white flags outside, scarves fluttering like a sea.
Lakewood.
Home.
We’re playing at home today.
It’s going to be a tough match, but I’m ready to remind the club that I’m essential—not just for the gamestheypick.
I know they already know that.
They wouldn’t have reinstated me otherwise.
But still—I plan to make it very clear.
