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THIS IS THE FIRST GAME OF the season. Well, not really. It doesn’t count since it’s a friendly match, but it sure as hell counts to me because this is the first game I’ll be playing with the team. I need to perform well.
The stadium lights blazed overhead, the crowd buzzing with excitement. My heart thudded in my chest as I jogged onto the pitch, the cool evening air filling my lungs.
This is it, my first proper game with the team. A friendly match, sure, but it felt like the world was watching.
I glance over at Felix, who’s cracking his knuckles and muttering something to Carson. Felix turns to me and gives me a curt nod, his game face on.
Despite the rocky start between us, we’d been working well on the pitch lately. We both care about the game and none of us were willing to lose a match because we don’t like each other.
Carson jogs past me to take his position in defense, slapping my back as he goes. “You ready, Connie?”
“Fuck yeah,” I replied, rolling my shoulders.
The whistle blows, and we go off. The game is intense right from the start. The opposition press hard, their forwards darting past our midfield with alarming speed, but Carson was a brick wall in defense.
About ten minutes in, one of their strikers made a sharp run toward our goal. Carson sprinted to intercept, sliding in cleanly and snatching the ball away with ease. Our side of the crowd erupts in cheers as he leaps to his feet, scanning the field.
“Jack! On your left!” Carson calls out, booting the ball forward.
Jack, quick as ever, darts between two opposing players and catches the ball with a perfect touch. He looks up, his eyes scanning the field, and knowing what’s about to happen, I start running. He sees Felix up ahead, unmarked, and sends a crisp pass his way.
Felix doesn’t hesitate. With a burst of speed, he tears through their defensive line, the ball glued to his feet. The goalkeeper rushes out, but Felix stays calm, chipping the ball neatly over him and into the back of the net.
The crowd explodes, and Felix shrugs his shoulders, grinning as he jogged back to the center line.
“Coulda been better,” I joke, slapping his shoulder as he passed me.
He smirks. “Your turn next, Connie.”
The game restarts and I can feel the adrenaline coursing through me. I want that goal. I need it. A few minutes later, I saw my chance. Carson, once again, steps up with a clean tackle, winning the ball just outside our box. He looks up and spotted me running into space.
“Connie! Go!” he shouts, launching the ball forward.
I took off, the ball bouncing once before I controlled it with my chest. My focus narrowed as I sprinted toward the goal, weaving past one defender, then another. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with every step.
And then, I saw the opening. With one swift strike, I send the ball flying past the keeper and into the net.
The stadium erupts. My teammates rush over, patting my back and ruffling my hair. Jack is the first to reach me, grinning ear to ear.
“Not bad for a new guy,” he teases, though there was genuine pride in his voice.
“Just wait for the rest of the season, Jackie boy.”
He rolls his eyes at my words, jogging back to his position and I go back to mine.
“Keep it up, Connie!” I hear Coach Castro yell.
Turning to face him, he throws a thumbs up at the air and I nod my head in response. First goal and it’s not even half time yet. I have time to get more.
But as the game goes on, the opposition grows more aggressive. Tensions were rising on both sides, the tackles getting harder, the fouls more frequent.
The twenty minutes left fly by quickly. We started off good but by the end of the half, it was shit. The opposing team are on us, they’ve been on our side more than we have been on theirs but they still haven’t managed to score a goal yet.
The referee blows his whistle, signaling the half time mark. Letting out a sigh, I jog over to my coach. “Now what in the world was that, lads?” he huffs, his arms in the air in frustration.
“We’re up two-nil,” Carson replies and I shoot him a look. Is he trying to make us do suicides after the game?
“Yeah, what happened to that?” Coach huffs. “Just because you’re up doesn’t mean you should start slacking and that’s exactly what you lot are doing.”
He starts off his speech, listing all the stuff we need to improve on and watch out for. I nod my head, humming at all the right parts even though my ears are drowning out the sound of his voice.
I grab my water bottle, squeezing it into my mouth before spraying my face. Of course England has a heat wave in fucking september. Lifting up my jersey, I wipe the sweat and water off my face.
“Understood?”
“Yes, Coach,” the whole team replies in unison.
“Alright get back onto the pitch.”
Listening to his order, my teammates start to make their way back into their positions and so do I. I can feel the many eyes on me but it’s not something I’m not used to. At Trinity, the students at the school showed up more than any other.
With one hand playing on the hem of my jersey, I take a look at the crowd, scanning the rows one by one until I lock eyes with someone.
Blondie.
She likes these types of things?
Her lips curl into a small smile as she gives me a polite nod which I return before turning my attention back onto the game as the whistle blows once more.
As a left winger, for the past thirty minutes I’ve been running up and down the pitch. “Come on, Felix!” I yell as the opposing team steals the ball off him.
“How about you try to do something instead of ball watching?” he snaps back.
I gave him that pass. It was bloody perfect. Him losing the ball has nothing to do with me. I let out a scoff and walk off, not wanting to start anything.
With fifteen minutes left on the clock, we’re pushing for another goal like never before, especially with the Coach yelling at us every second.
Suddenly, Jack managed to get the ball, darting down the right wing with his speed. He cuts inside and passes to Felix, who flicks it toward me with a backheel.
I sprint forward, the ball at my feet. I can feel the goal coming, the crowd roaring in anticipation. But just as I’m about to take the shot, something slams into me from the side.
The world tilts as I hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of my lungs. Pain shoots through my leg, and I look up to see one of their defenders standing over me, a smug grin on his face.
“What the hell was that?” I shouted, scrambling to my feet.
He smirks. “It’s called defending, mate. Welcome to the game.”
I stepped toward him, my chest heaving with anger. “You call an illegal tackle defending? How fucking ass are ya?”
The referee blows his whistle, jogging over to separate us. “Enough! Both of you, calm down.”
He then turns to the defender and throws up a yellow card. In response, the guy lets out a huff.
I’m not calm. Not even close. The guy keeps running his mouth, throwing insults my way, and before I know it, I shove him. “Stop whining, bitch.”
He shoves me back, and the next thing I know, Felix and Carson are pulling me away while Jack tries to keep the other guy in check.
“Connie, don’t!” Felix hisses, his grip firm on my arm.
The ref isn’t having it. He holds up a red card for the both of us, signaling that we were out of the game.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, my hands balling into fists.
“Off the pitch, now,” the referee barks.
I storm off, ignoring the boos and jeers from the opposing fans.
Looking up, I see a disappointed Coach Castro. “Go to the locker room and cool off,” he says, his voice calm but firm.
I don’t respond, just walk away, heading towards the school. This is fucking bullshit. Absolute bullshit.
Frustrated, I walk through the large doors and stalk through the hallway. Once I make it to the lock room, I take a seat on the bench. Inside, the silence is deafening, my anger echoing off the walls. Placing my elbows onto my knees, I rest my head in my hand. I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself, but it’s no use. Fuck this shit.
The sound of the door opening makes my head jerk up. My dad. The look on his face said it all—he is furious. As if this can’t get worse, here he is.
“What the hell was that?” he barks, his voice bouncing off the walls. “You want to go pro and that’s how you’re going to play?”
“Dad, I-“
“Don’t you ‘Dad‘ me,” he snaps, stepping closer. “You’re an embarrassment. All that time, all that money I spent on you, and for what? For you to get a red card in your first game?”
I clench my fists, my jaw tightening. “It wasn’t my fault-“
He shoves me, his face inches from mine. “Everything is your fault, Connie. Every mistake, every screw-up, it’s on you. And if you keep this up, you’ll be nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing.”
Just like you, huh?
He turns and storms out, leaving the door swinging behind him.
The rage inside me boils over, and I slam my fist into one of the lockers. The metallic clang echoes through the room, but the pain in my knuckles are nothing compared to the anger I’m feeling right there.
For a moment, I stand there, breathing hard, the memories rushing back; hours on the pitch as a kid, my dad yelling at me, pushing me to be better, faster, stronger. No room for mistakes. No room for weakness.
He couldn’t achieve his dreams by making it pro now all the pressure is on me.
I need air. Sighing, I push the door open and head outside. The cool breeze feels relaxing but it ain’t enough to cool me off. I don’t know what I’m looking for-space, clarity, something to calm the storm raging inside me. My mind is a mess of anger, frustration, and disappointment, and I can’t seem to untangle it.
“Hey.”
The soft voice stops me in my tracks. I turn and see Carmen standing a few feet away, her arms crossed as she studies me. Her expression isn’t playful or teasing like it usually is-she looks concerned.
I nod at her, my jaw tight, and try to push past her.
“Aaron,” she says, stepping into my path. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend.
Her brows furrow, and she tilts her head. “Doesn’t seem like nothing. You stormed off the pitch, and now you’re out here looking like you’re ready to punch someone.”
I exhale through my nose, trying to keep my temper in check. “Just leave it, Carmen.”
But she doesn’t. Instead, she steps closer, lowering her voice. “I’m not trying to piss you off, okay? I just… you looked upset and thought I’d come check up on you.”
“Well, don’t,” I bite out, my frustration bubbling over. “I need space, not you hovering over me.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she crosses her arms again. “I’m not hovering. I’m just trying to help.”
“Seriously, Carmen,” forcing myself to calm down, I run a hand down my face, “I don’t need you right now.”
Her face twists in a mix of anger and hurt, and for a second, I think she’s going to yell at me. Instead, she takes a shaky breath and shakes her head.
“Really, Aaron?” she says quietly. “I don’t know what your problem is but don’t take it out on me.” Before I can respond, she turns and walks away, her shoulders stiff, her movements quick.
Fuck. I sounded just like him. I looked just like him. I was him.
I watch her disappear, a hollow ache settling in my chest. For a moment, I want to call her back, to apologise, but the words stick in my throat.
First the game, then my dad, and now this. It feels like I can’t do shit.
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