Page 43 of Hotshot

Those two wordsmeant more to Ella than anything Minnie had said to her all night long.

CHAPTER17

It was the first time Sloane had been back in the main training gym since her injury and it was bittersweet. She wanted to do all the things everyone around her was doing: jump squats, sprint drills, leg presses. She even missed the sled push, and she hated the sled push normally. However, for now, those were out of bounds.

The good thing? Chatting with her teammates. Yes, they’d visited her, but this was different. Being back among the banter was the best thing for her. She’d had long chats with the other injured players – male and female – when they were with the physios and in the rehab gym, but this was different energy. It was positive. Vibrant.

“How are you, Patts?” Layla skulled a bottle of water, beads of sweat visible on her forehead. It’s what Sloane missed the most. Getting sweaty, making her muscles burn, putting everything she had into the session.

“Hanging in there.” Sloane added a smile to soften her words. “But the good news is I should be out of the boot by next week, and then I can spend Christmas and New Year really getting fit. The doctor said I could be playing again by the first week of January, but I think maybe a week or two more. But things are heading in the right direction, fingers crossed.” She pointed a finger in Layla’s direction. “Now you just have to keep winning our bread-and-butter WSL games so we can keep pace with United. Because they’re not giving this up for anybody, are they?”

Layla shook her head. “They’re not. But we’re not either.” She put her hands on her hips. “Going out of the Champions League was shit, but now we can focus on the league and the FA Cup. If we can keep in touching distance and then bring back our star striker, who knows what might happen?”

“Who knows indeed.”

Salchester Rovers had only lost once in the league since Sloane got injured, which she was thrilled about. But December was always clogged with games, and this year was no exception. Exiting the Champions League had hurt. Could she have changed the outcome if she’d played? Whatever, they had to learn, look at the positives and go again. That way, she could hopefully step up and make a difference in the second half of the season. That was her goal, at least.

Nat walked over and gave her a hug. “Missing you out there. Especially when it comes to penalties.”

They’d got one in the Champions League game against Lyon when it was 0-0. In Sloane’s absence, Nat had stepped up, and missed. Sloane hadn’t attended the game as the weather had been crazy icy, and Lucy had told her to stay home. She’d watched it on TV though, and had felt Nat’s pain.

Sloane stood and gave Nat a hug. The younger striker melted into her.

“You did great. Remember it takes courage to take a penalty. They’re all about glory or failure. There’s no in between. But you were prepared to step up and take the risk. High stakes. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, just like I told you in my SMS after the game.”

“You hardly ever lose.” Nat pulled back and puffed out her cheeks.

“Er, hello? I missed a penalty in the World Cup final.” It was what drove Sloane to practice as much as she did now. If she closed her eyes and conjured the stadium, she could still feel the itch of failure burned into her core.

Nat gave her a grin. “Even you’re not perfect.”

“Nobody is. You did great. And you’ll learn from it.” Sloane gave her a playful punch on the arm. “Because you’re Nat Tyler.”

On hearing her name, Nat visibly rose in stature. “I am, aren’t I?”

Sloane marvelled again at how young and impressionable she was. She remembered when she was the young hotshot coming in and sharing the limelight, ready to soak everything up and learn. Now she was the old-timer. The one getting injured more easily. But she could still help Nat from the sidelines.

“You’re doing great out there, leading the line.” Sloane paused. “Just remember your movement in the box. Come off the shoulders of defenders, surprise them. You’ve got youth on your side. Especially when you’re playing Leverton this weekend. Their backline is creaky. Jump around. Make them sweat. Sweep them off their feet in the best way possible.”

Nat gave her a firm nod. “I will. Are you coming to the game?”

“I hope so. I’m getting my boot off around that time, which will make things easier. But even if I’m not there, I’ll be watching on TV. Watching us win.” She paused. “Have you decided if you’re going home for Christmas yet?” Nat and her parents were on speaking terms, but they still hadn’t properly talked.

She gave a slow, wincing nod.

Sloane understood the energy precisely, having lived it in technicolour.

“I want to see my sisters. Plus, if we don’t talk, things are never going to move forward.”

Sloane gave her another hug. “You always have to be the brave one. It sucks, but you do.” She’d always been the brave one, and she’d always ended up disappointed. “I know I haven’t been around as much to chat to, but you’re always welcome at my apartment if things get rough. My door’s always open.”

“Thanks. Ella told me the same.” Nat gave her a shy smile and wandered off.

Sloane glanced at Layla. “How’s things with you? How’s Sara and little Darius doing?”

Layla gave her the widest grin in the world. “They’re good. We went out this week and bought the absolute cutest outfit for him – jeans, a white T-shirt and a fake leather jacket. He looks like a little dude and yes, I am living the childhood I never got to have through him, and I am here for it.”

Sloane laughed. “I can totally get behind that. There are worse reasons to have kids than wanting to dress them up in cute clothes.”

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