Page 12 of That Reunited Feeling

He’s also the player most likely to be seen out on the town with a singer from whatever the latest girl band might be. But that’s hardly relevant to this devastating news that’s about to rock the football community around the globe.

It’s almost three-thirty in the morning in London. Man, he must be stressed to be up and about. Well, at least up. He’s not likely “about” much with a ruptured knee.

I hit call. He picks up on the first ring.

“What the fuck, man?” I ask before he’s had a chance to speak.

“Yup. It’s over.” He’s worryingly calm. Hugo usually takes being given one sugar instead of two worse than this, so he must still be in shock.

“What happened?” I’m devastated for him. “And when?”

He sighs. “In training yesterday. Thompson was showing off. Thought he’d take me down for a laugh.” He grunts. “Guess it wasn’t funny.”

“There must be something someone can do.” Why isn’t he more frantic? “I mean, you have the world’s best surgeons at your beck and call. Someone must be able to fix you.”

“Maybe if I was ten years younger. But in a thirty-four-year-old who’s been pushing his body to the limit for almost twenty years, it’s never going to heal well enough to play again.”

“But it was only yesterday. Surely worth getting some more opinions.”

He must feel like his life is over. Yet his voice is measured and accepting. “The top guy’s already seen the X-rays and the MRIs. The verdict is in.”

“Aren’t you angry? Frustrated? Sad?”

“Oh, yeah. Profanities have been yelled. Tears have been shed. And I’ll probably do a lot more of both for quite some time. Not much I can do, though. Just recover from it as well as I can and then take life from there.” There’s a sharp intake of breath and anoof. I presume he’s trying to move. “But before that, I have to do a fucking press conference in the morning.”

If there’s one thing Hugo hates, it’s the press.

“You’ll be fine. Just stay calm. Don’t lose your shit. And it’ll be over in a flash.”

The song coming out of the speakers changes, and a woman sitting at one of the few occupied tables gets up on unsteady legs and tugs at the arm of the man with her. “But it’s my favorite,” she begs. “Just one dance.”

The man snatches his arm away and stays firmly put.

“Thanks, mate.” Hugo chuckles, low and sardonic. “It was just an ordinary day. A regular training session. Then this shit fell out of the sky.”

“Talking of things that fell out of the sky…” This story should give him a laugh. “Not exactly in the same league as a career-ending knee injury, but turns out, I’m staying under the same roof as my high school girlfriend.”

The label-stripping guy three stools down looks at me out of the corner of his eye and winces.

“What the fuck?” Now that sounds more like the Hugo I know and love. If hearing about my woes cheers him up, I’m happy to go with it.

“And her son,” I add.

“What the fuck fuck?”

Label guy sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head.

“Indeed,” I tell Hugo. “My aunt took her on as a live-in housekeeper and somehow strangely forgot to mention it before I got here.”

“Ooh,” Hugo says with the tone of a schoolyard tease. “Do I sense a possibility to rekindle the old flame? Something to cheer you up? Drag you out of your stress pit of misery?”

Ridiculous. “Number one. I’m only just fucking divorced and interested in no one. Number two. If you’d seen the look in her eye when I bumped into her, you’d realize that fire is well and truly extinguished. Like, with water, and foam, and sand, andwhatever the hell else it is that puts out fires so well there’s zero danger of them reigniting.”

“What do you mean? She didn’t recognize you?”

“Oh, she recognized me all right.” I take a sip of my drink to cool the warmth rising in my chest at the memory. “And hated me.”

“Hate and love are so very close together, my friend.” I can almost see him pinching his thumb and forefinger together. “So very close.”

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