“Ryan! Ryan!”
Jesse Sullivan paced up the right wing, ball glued to his feet. We’d practiced this move enough this week so that I’d dreamed about it at least once this week.
I backed away towards the goal post, waiting for the cross, losing Danny in the process.
Jesse kicked the ball, his aim almost perfect.
Almost.
I twisted to take the ball to my feet and then dropped. A pain as sharp as a fresh blade was enough to make me yelp as I went down, knowing exactly what had just happened.
The practice game stopped. Jesse had run over, squatting down with his hand on my back, his expression serious.
We had four players out injured already. Coach’s concern about my leg had been precautionary, but that was what had now properly given way. Hamstring. Hopefully a pull and not a tear.
“Can you get up?” Amber was first out. “Jesse, help him up that side.”
I manage to lift myself up, putting more of my weight on Jesse than Amber, and limped off the pitch. It was a closed training session, so there were no photographers or fans there to see. The rest of my teammates had stopped, some of them stretching off or doing short shuttle runs to keep warm.
Nate jogged up, taking the side that Amber was on. I didn’t know how his conversation with her had gone as I hadn’t asked – I wasn’t sure I wanted to actually know, especially as I was still scarred with knowing the physio table I was going to be on was where Nate had got it on with her.
“How’s it feeling?” Nate said, him and Jesse lifting me up between them. It wasn’t the most dignified way to get me inside, but I didn’t want to do something else that would make this worse.
At best, I was going to be injured for a couple of weeks. At worst, it could be a couple of months or more. After the initial pull, the pain had diminished, which suggested I hadn’t done too much damage.
“It’s okay. Don’t think I’ll be making it to Leicester on Saturday though.” One of the club staff came down the corridor with a wheelchair which I was deposited into. “Get back out there and carry on. Someone needs to put a smile on coach’s face.”
Jesse nodded. “Don’t try to be a hero and say it feels okay when it doesn’t.”
“Gotcha.” I looked up at Amber, who was watching Nate. He was pretending she wasn’t there and I wondered if he had cleared the air with her. “Let’s get this sorted.”
A scan, several discussions later, and an emergency appointment with a specialist, and I was looking at a week of rest, then another week to two weeks of rehabilitation. If I was a good boy I could be back playing just after Christmas. And I would be a good boy. I wasn’t ready to finish playing football yet and making a too quick come back from this could easily shorten my career.
Guy Babin, our manager, had an office directly opposite Genevieve’s. He was French, although he’d played in England for most of his career. Genny was part French – I’d been told her mother was from Paris, and Genny had lived between there and England growing up. Both of them were fiery, Genny more so than Guy.
I sat opposite the boss, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be wearing civilian clothes, rather than training gear or a match day suit.
“The specialist has cleared you to fly?”
I nodded, my crutches leaning against the bookcase behind me. “I’ll be gone five nights. No touring around or anything like that, and there’s a private pool in the apartment block.”
“I don’t see why not. We don’t have a game during those dates, so the supporters won’t be expecting to see you at the ground.” He looked at his watch. It was getting close to lunch time, which he had at the same time every day. I’d picked this time on purpose, knowing he’d want to stick to his schedule, which meant our conversation would be kept as short as possible. “I’m happy for you to go. I know you’ll follow the advice.” There was a small nod. “Make the most of your break.”
I stood up carefully. “Thank you. I just need to check with Otter that she’s good with me going over.”
The door to his office opened and Genevieve breezed in, giving me a charming smile which was extinguished as soon as she laid eyes on Guy. “Your lunch.” It was placed on his desk. “If you want coffee, you’ll need to get it yourself.”
She left, giving me another smile, not waiting for a thank you from Guy.
“Just so you know, I didn’t ask her to pick my lunch up.” Guy looked at me, his expression serious. “She likes to think she’s not being petty if my sandwich is there when she goes to get hers if she brings mine back too.”
“Do you need a food tester for it?”
He looked bemused.
“In case she’s spiked it with something,” I explained.
He shook his head. “She has more sense than to do that. Word of advice; don’t cross her. Or make her angry. Do you know she has a punching bag in her office with a picture of me stuck to it?”
