For a few seconds, he stares at me. Then Wagner barks, “Why the fuck would you do that?”
I shift in my seat. I’m not accustomed to discussing my feelings with anyone, especially with my coach. But I owe him the full truth.
“There’s something—someone—there. I love… I love her. And I chose this club over her once before. I won’t—can’t—do it again.”
Wagner steeples his fingers under his chin, studying me.
I fight the urge to fidget as the silence between us stretches longer and longer. I hold his gaze, waiting for him to respond.
After what feels like hours, he sighs. “This the same woman who had you so moody in Paris?”
I wasn’t expecting him to recall that conversation, let alone bring it up now.
Hesitantly, I nod. “Yes, sir.”
He leans back in his chair, appraising me. I hold his gaze, waiting.
Finally, he sighs. “You’re completely certain about this, Berger?”
“I am.”
Another heavy exhale. “Not the news I was hoping for.”
“I know.”
“But I will respect your decision. I’m aware your life outside this organization hasn’t been the easiest, and you’ve always prioritized this club. I understand you might need to shift those priorities now.”
I nod. Wagner is one of the few people who knows most of the truth about my childhood. Who’s aware my support system outside of football has been nonexistent for most of my life. But he’s never mentioned it to me directly, and his acknowledgment means a lot.
“It wasn’t an easy choice, sir. I appreciate?—”
Wagner holds a hand up, silencing me. “You’re under contract for another season, Berger. We can save the sentimentality for next spring. Especially since this really should have been done by your agent, informing the club management.”
I nod. “I’m aware. But I wanted you to hear it from me, before any announcements are made or the news leaks some other way.”
“How many people know?”
“Just, uh, you.”
Wagner’s graying eyebrows rise. “You haven’t told…”
“Claire,” I supply.
“You haven’t told Claire what you’re planning?”
I shake my head. “When I got injured, I realized…I realized how much of my identity had become playing for Kluvberg. I love this city and this club. Playing for FC Kluvberg was always my dream. But I need to see who I am, as a footballer and as a man, outside of this club. I’ll be a better player and a better person for pushing myself to transition to somewhere I feel less comfortable. And, uh, I’m pretty sure she’ll be happy about it.”
I’mpretty sureClaire will be happy about it. But I’m aware it will be a big surprise. I didn’t so much as hint this was something I was considering before I left Boston. I didn’t want to disappoint Claire if I decided it was something I couldn’t follow through on. I also assumed she’d try to talk me out of it. Tell me to prioritize my career.
Wagner stuns me by laughing. “You’ve got balls, Berger—I’ll give you that much.”
I grin. “Thank you, sir.”
He points a finger at me. “But if anyone asks, I knewnothingabout this plan of yours. I’ll do what I can to mitigate the fallout, but a media firestorm will hit once the news is out. This entire city—the entire country—has been waiting impatiently for you to return. Return foryears. They expect you to retire with the Kluvberg crest on your jersey.”
“I know, sir.”
Wagner gestures toward his office door. “Yves is waiting for you. Go get checked out so you can get officially cleared and we can figure out a plan for summer training.”
