He was driving up north any way, but to Liverpool, as he had a meeting there early in the morning. He was teetotal, so the awards had gotten to the point in the night where he was a little bored of drunk people, and he’d been easily persuaded by Lila’s tale of woe to chauffeur us up to Manchester.
Calvin also knew Ryan, as they both had Rhys as an agent. They’d met a couple of times at events, which Lila had him talking about. Like I said – new material.
I read the news, the match reports, saw the highlights of the game including Ryan’s goal, and the clash with the defender that had them banging heads, both of them ending up on the floor.
Ryan had been grounded, but not for long. He’d managed to walk off the field, supported by Jesse and one of the medical staff, but he hadn’t gone back on the pitch. The other guy, a Turkish defender, had been out for longer and stretchered off. The reports were that both were okay and were being treated as a precaution.
One which meant Ryan missed the team flight, but he was okay.
That was what I kept telling myself. He was okay. He was injured – injuries happened, but he was okay. It was a mantra that was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Fuck stupid decisions.
Fuck putting work first.
Fuck not being brave and having it all.
I’d never believed in serendipity before. I’d always thought it was something cute that happened in romantic comedies, and not real life.
I’d changed my mind.
We were just changing onto the motorway into Manchester when another message from Nate came through, giving me his number.
Nate GK: Call me if you want to speak. We’re at Manchester airport and heading straight to the hospital so Ryan can get checked again. He’s not allowed on his phone.
I rang straight away, ignoring Lila and Calvin’s conversation, which I’d been doing for most of the journey.
“Is that Otter?” I’d only met Nate once, after I’d watched a game at Athletic’s stadium and been in the box reserved for wives and girlfriends. He’d been messaging me through social media, so he wouldn’t have my number.
“It is. Is Ryan okay?” The worry in my voice was loud and clear.
Nate laughed, which kind of made me want to hit him. “He’s fine, just has a doozy of a headache. That big brain of his took a thud and a half.”
“I know. I saw it.” It had been awful to watch, the two players jumping for the same ball, and the defender mistiming, striking Ryan full on the side of his head. “Is Ryan okay to talk?”
“He is. I’m just trying to piss him off by hogging the phone. Here you go.” His voice went distant. “She wants to speak to you. Think you can string a sentence together?”
“Fuck off.” I heard Ryan swear at his friend. “Just give me the phone.” His voice grew louder. “You won. I’m so fucking proud.”
I laughed. Just hearing his voice was almost as good as my name being called out to accept the award. “I did. But that doesn’t matter. How are you?”
He groaned. “Better than I should be. I was unconscious for about five seconds and probably shouldn’t have flown, but I wanted to get back. They scanned me pretty much straight away – the doctors were brilliant – and cleared me to fly, but I have to do an overnight in hospital here.”
He sounded good. There were no slurred words, which I knew was something to look out for with concussions. “How do you feel?”
“A bit sick. I have a horrendous headache, and I’ve had too much alone time with Nate.”
I heard Nate swear at him in the background.
“Which hospital are you going to?”
He gave the name of a private one on the outskirts of the city centre. “The club has arranged a specialist to see me tonight and we go from there. I should be dropped off there any minute.”
“I’ll see you there.”
“Aren’t you in London?”
I laughed. “No. I’m about four miles from your hospital. I left the awards when I heard what happened.”
