Page 93 of Be My Endgame

“Of course I’m sure,” Alex told him with all the confidence he could muster. After all, dreams died every day, and there’d be another World Cup four years from now, so…

Ugh.

Maybe he’d have a little cry once Lee and Jeff left, yeah, but until then he’d do his bloody best to smile. Fake it till you make it, right?

“I could stay,” Lee offered. “Help you take the ice pack off in a bit, keep up a running commentary on whatever’s on the telly?”

Alex reached for his hand and tangled their fingers, just briefly, before he released his hold. “No, seriously—go. It’ll be Alfie instead of me now, so the more time you can all train together, the better.”

“Okay.” Yet Lee sounded deeply unhappy about it, lips tilted into a downwards curve. He glanced from Alex to Jeff and back before he leaned in to kiss the corner of Alex’s mouth—except Alex turned his head just in time for it to become a proper kiss, comfort and warm familiarity as he let himself indulge for a few beats before he gently pushed Lee back.

“Go.”

“You’re really, absolutely sure?” Lee asked while Jeff was smiling a little, and Alex realised that this was the first time Jeff had seen the theory of Alex’s bisexuality executed in practice. Clearly, Jeff was fine with it. Alex hadn’t harboured any actual doubts, but with how shitty this afternoon had gone, it was a relief that at least it hadn’t skittered downhill even further.

“I’m really, absolutely sure,” Alex confirmed.

Lee hesitated for another moment before he sighed and slid off the bed to join Jeff. With a promise to be back as soon as practice was done, they left, Lee pausing for a long, sad look before he closed the door.

And then it was just Alex, alone with the sickening weight in his stomach. He buried his head in his hands and tried to take deep, even breaths while his childhood dream came apart at the seams.

Just a minute, that was all. One minute to mourn his loss, and then he’d raise his head and smile and be fine because he had to be—for the team and for Jeff, for Lee.

Just one minute.

17

Posted by @AlexanderBeaufort (July 12, 4:37 p.m.):

Sprained my ankle, at least ten days of rest.

I am GUTTED.

Posted by@AlexanderBeaufort (July 12, 4:39 p.m.):

But I will also be the loudest of all voices cheering on the team - even if it’s from the sidelines.

It wasLee’s turn at the daily press conference later that afternoon. Sat between Oliver and Kieran, he strove for an upbeat air as he dealt with the questions directed right at him, starting with one about his chances of taking home the Golden Boot, followed by another about the loss of one third of the Lee-Alex-Jeff triangle that had proven so effective in previous matches.

“Alex is a brilliant player, and it’s just terrible timing, honestly. He’s pretty bummed about it.” Could Lee say ‘bummed’ in a press conference? Too late. “But as a team, we have to be stronger than just one player. There are great guys waiting to step up.”

“It will require a slight adjustment of our strategy,” Kieran jumped in. “We may need to adapt the team in a small number of other positions to account for the change.”

Lee sat back as Kieran expanded on the qualities of several players, most notably Alfie who’d almost certainly fill Alex’s position. Alfie was good, really very good, or he wouldn’t be here—but his first instinct was to defend. That worked well for his home club, but England’s success so far had been founded on a strong offence. With only two days left until they were up against Brazil, it wasn’t enough to overhaul a system they’d spent weeks perfecting.

That time machine would come in really bloody handy right now. Where was Doctor Who when you needed them?

Lee got back just before dinner and helped Alex hobble down to the restaurant terrace. It hurt to see Alex quietly devastated, tension in his shoulders and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Show must go on, right?” he told everyone who came up to him. “With or without me on the pitch—we’ll bloodywinthat trophy.”

If it had been Lee with a sprained ankle, he’d have tried to hide his frustration too, tuck it out of sight so it wouldn’t affect the rest of the team. And yet he hated watching Alex put himself through it.

“It’s not so bad,” Alex claimed when Lee brought it up, back in their room. At Lee’s silent, pointed look, Alex shifted on the bed before he hung his head and shoved a hand through his hair. His voice dropped. “Okay, it is bad. Like, I kind of want to cry, and I kind of want to hit something, and I’m so fuckingmadat myself for twisting my ankle, and—”

Lee caught him in a hug, half on top of him, careful not to jostle his ankle. “I’m so fucking sorry, babe.”

Alex stayed silent but for a hiccuping breath, face against Lee’s neck. They sat like that for a few moments, the enormous fan above their heads whirring softly, daylight fading by the second.

“Do you want to scream into a pillow?” Lee asked eventually. “Or we go down to the gym, lock the door, and you take it out on a punching bag.”

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