I scoffed. “I know, but I have trouble scoring and even aiming at the goal. I just can't do it. It's fear. My therapist said it was normal and that with time, it would pass. Which, you know, is a pity because I'm literally a striker. The ones who score goals.”
Doc also told me I wasn't going crazy, or anything like that, and a lot of athletes struggled with it. The problem was I hated being so fucking useless. People loved me as I was the star striker. The guy who could always score on and off the field. And now, I couldn't do either. But it wasn't something I was willing to share.
I only shared these things during my weekly therapy.
“Maybe we can practice some free kicks,” Max offered, slipping into his captain problem-solving role. “Just us three, no one else. Would that make you feel comfortable?”
His choice of words irritated me, and I wanted to bite his head off, but instead I nodded. “Sure, we can try.”
Make me comfortable. What bullshit. I wasn't broken. But they all looked at me like I was. Rosie was the only one who didn't think I was broken.
“I mean, if there's anything else,” Max started, his brain spinning a mile an hour, searching for the best solution.
“No, that's fine,” I shook my head, easing his worry and giving his brain a break. I knew it wouldn't work, but it also couldn't hurt to just try. Anything was better than my constant whining. Maybe I just needed to face the music.
“Our game isn't until next week,” Max went on casually. “You still have time to be a starter. Your speed and stamina are back.”
It's only your goal scoring.
The unspoken words hung between us.
I nodded, my eyes on Maddox, who was conveniently looking the other way, stretching.
“If you need to put Marco or Seb in again, I understand,” I said the words through clenched teeth. “They both showed up when I couldn't, so I know I need to earn back my position.”
“That's right, it's your position,” Max nodded, but his shoulders relaxed a bit.
We were all close, but the three of us were like a little family of our own. It must have sucked for him to tell me that I wasn't starting. But then again, I wasn't delusional. I knew he needed to do what was best for the team. Even if deep down it hurt him.
“Appreciate it,” I muttered, jumping off the treadmill. “I'm going to hit the showers, need to review some schoolwork as I have a quiz.”
They exchanged a look but didn't call me out on my bullshit. I didn't care about schoolwork or quizzes. I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, nor did I care. I was just looking for an excuse to be alone. Which I did a lot.
I popped my earphones in and pushed the volume to the maximum, trying to silence all my crazy thoughts, their silent judgement and power walked out.
I didn't care that I was sweaty or in workout clothes. It's not like I hooked up with anyone the past ten months, and I had no desire to become who I was before my injury.
The funny, the life of the party, playboy Dex died on that field as they wheeled him out.
Phantom pain sliced in my knee as I pushed myself to walk faster and reach the little café off campus where I always went. Where everyone always went.
I slumped into one of the armchairs in the corner, and instead of going up to the counter, I ordered over my phone before moving to mindlessly scrolling on TikTok. I didn't even register any of the videos I passed. Not the cheer videos, not the workout ones, not the cat ones, and not even the dog ones. I just kept passing them repeatedly, killing time until the drumming in myear became music instead of my crazy heartbeat.
Sweat trailed down my neck as the phone shook in my hand, and my vision turned all blurry.
My coffee appeared in front of me, and I already cursed myself for not asking for a decaf. But instead of correcting my mistake, I continued my endless scroll.
The smell of the coffee and fresh pastry tickled my nose as some of my senses slowly started to come back.
Deep down, I knew I needed to stop, lower the volume, and deal with the fact that I was having panic attacks, that I was having huge issues. But it was easier to ignore it.
I've become very good at that.
“Don't they have showers in the gym?” A voice suddenly invaded my foggy mind, and I noticed one of my earbuds was missing.
Looking up, Rosie sat on the armrest, her thighs brushing my arm as her blue eyes stared at me, waiting for a reply.
“What?” I asked, not even being able to sound polite.
