“It’s okay. I know the drill by now.” Her grandmother’s condition had declined slowly the first couple of years, but by the third year, Lia had known she was no longer in a position to care for her. In the two years she’d been in the care home, it had continued to get worse.
“You played great today.”
“Thanks.” It was like a distant dream. She couldn’t have wished for a more perfect debut. Already, she could see the morning headlines—that she looked like she’d always been at Albion, that Wanderers’ earlier draw meant that they were missing Lia’s goals and would struggle for the remainder of the season.
But her visit had put things into perspective, her euphoria fading. There were more important things in the world than football, though Lia forgot that sometimes.
“Has she had a good week, though?”
“Yes.” Lucy squeezed Lia’s shoulder. “She won bingo yesterday, so she was over the moon about that. And we have a new patient, Beverley, whom she’s taken a liking to. The two of them are always sitting together gossiping. She’s happy.”
Lia nodded. “Good, that’s good. Hopefully she’ll be feeling better on Wednesday.”
“I hope so, too.”
Chapter 7
“And squat for one, two, three, four. Now rise for four.” Gregor’s voice cut through the sound of the rest of the team training in the other half of the gym.
They laughed and joked as they lifted weights or cycled on the stationary bikes, forced inside by the torrential Manchester rain to encroach on the space Erin usually had to herself.
All while Erin was stuck doing a set of squats, desperately trying to consistently get to a ninety-degree angle with both knees so she could tick off another box on her long recovery checklist.
She rose to her feet, the last squat in a set of ten completed.
Gregor nodded in approval. “Good. Now, let’s take a break.”
“I’m good to carry on.” Sweat dripped down the side of Erin’s neck, a reminder that the smallest of exercises left her breathless. As much as running again was a huge milestone she was eager to reach, she was not looking forward to building her cardio fitness to be ready to play a full ninety minutes.
Laps in the pool didn’t have the same effect as sprinting drills.
“No, you are taking a break.” Gregor pushed a bottle of water and a towel in Erin’s direction. “I am in charge here, remember? Sit.”
With a grumble, Erin dropped into a chair and took a long drink. He was used to her attitude by now, at least. Few people would be able to push back on Erin’s demands, but Gregor wasn’t one to back down easily. His own footballing career as a Russian international had been ended by a bad injury and a lack of effective rehabilitation, so his dedication to making sure his charges made a full recovery was fierce.
“Next we’ll do some heel raises.”
“How long 'til I can run again?”
Gregor pursed his lips. “You know I cannot put a date on that, Erin. Every person is different, and your recovery hasn’t been as straightforward as I would like.”
Some people could walk the day after their surgery, but Erin hadn’t been so lucky. It rankled to know she was behind where she could be, if things had gone more smoothly. Her eight-month goal seemed to slip further and further from her fingers every day.
“You will get there,” Gregor said, no doubt noticing the dark look on Erin’s face. “I do not accept failure. And, from what I’ve heard, neither do you. Do not tell me you want to give up.”
In her darkest days, Erin wondered if she should. If she should accept retirement, content with the accolades she’d managed to accumulate over her glittering career, and slip quietly into the shadows. Maybe fly out to Spain to spend a few months with her father.
Recovery was hard. Harder than she could have ever dreamed. The boredom was the worst, the endless monotony of doing the same thing over and over and over. Knowing she was supposed to be overjoyed at being able to walk or straighten her leg.
But first and foremost, Erin was a fighter. She’d started playing the game at a time when a handful of full-time women professionals existed. Had fought tooth and nail to get to the top of the game. To be a name people would remember.
And she was not going out with a whimper.
“I’m not giving up.”
“Good. So then give me twelve heel raises. Lift for two seconds, hold, then down for four seconds.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Erin could recite most of Gregor’s exercises in her sleep.
