Game On (Game On 1)

It was music to my ears.

When the match began, I took my seat with the coaches. Miguel sat behind me, and although we couldn’t engage in any public displays of affection, he occasionally leaned forward to whisper something in my ear on the pretence of talking about the game.

“Hey,” Freya said, nudging me in the ribs, “can you two knock it off? You’re making the rest of us feel sick.”

I craned my neck to look round at Miguel and in perfect unison, we said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on now,” Freya laughed. “Speaking the same words so soon?”

“We were discussing how well Collinson is doing in spite of his knee injury.”

“Ohh. So Miguel wants to take Jude out to dinner next week to, what, celebrate his goal saving achievements?”

“Jude Collinson is a very good-looking man,” Miguel said with mock seriousness. “He’d be lucky to have me.”

“That’s true. Perhaps Leah and Bree could hook up too?”

Freya wasn’t speaking loudly, but something about the suggestion of two women getting together alerted the senses of every man within a five foot radius. It was like they all had some kind of built-in lesbian radar. Heads turned in our direction and Jesse said, “On behalf of the team, I want to say we totally support this idea.”

“Keep dreaming lads, I haven’t kissed a girl since Uni.”

Jesse let out a small groan. “

Do you have photos?”

“Kidding!” I laughed. “I’m strictly men only!”

Our sordid conversation came to an abrupt halt as the crowd got louder, and chants for the Warriors filled the stadium. We all turned our attention to the pitch where Cody Rivera was speeding towards the opponent’s goal, expertly weaving his way through Phoenix’s poor defence. He paused for a moment, weighing up his options and as he was about to be tackled, he hammered the ball the width of the pitch where McCoy waited. As the ball came towards him, he leapt in the air to head it into the goal. It was as if he had springs on his feet as he soared. Instead of making contact with the ball, he was blocked by another player and their heads cracked together in mid-air. The ball was kicked away, but while Phoenix’s number twelve landed with barely a stumble, McCoy crashed to the ground.

Everyone on the Warriors bench jumped to their feet, shouting, and the referee blew the whistle and ran over to McCoy. Time seemed to stand still as we waited for him to get up but he didn’t move. Richard and Will walked briskly on to the field to assess the damage to their star player, the medics quickly following.

I’d never seen anything like that before. Sure, I’d seen sportspeople who had bones sticking out of their bodies at weird angles, but nothing ever affected me as much as witnessing McCoy getting knocked unconscious after bashing his head. I truly thought I was going to vomit, right there in front of everyone.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, watching his lifeless form being carefully manoeuvred on to a stretcher.

“I think so,” Freya said. “It’s probably just a concussion.”

My eyes widened in surprise at the casual way she’d said concussion. People die from head traumas, and he’d been hit incredibly hard.

The more time that ticked away without him moving, the more nauseous I became. It was probably only minutes before he was carried off the pitch and out through the tunnel but it seemed like hours.

Shake it off! You’ve witnessed things far more horrific than this.

Miguel wrapped a supportive arm around my waist, “Come on, Leah.”

I let him usher me off the field into the tunnel. There was no sign of McCoy, but Richard was pacing the floor, speaking into his mobile.

“The match will go ahead,” he said. “Call me as soon as you know anything.”

Richard snapped his phone shut and wearily rubbed his eyes. A long-term injury to McCoy could throw Westberg’s chances of winning any trophies way off course, and even though Richard usually stayed calm under pressure, he was clearly concerned about Radleigh, not to mention the club’s standings if he didn’t make a quick recovery.

“Leah,” he said, his voice strained, “is everything okay?”

I nodded, “I think so. I … is McCoy-” I trailed off as a fresh wave of nausea washed over me.

“We were wondering if he’s okay,” Miguel finished, tightening his arm around me.

“Not sure yet,” Richard answered. “He came round in the ambulance which is a good sign. Will’s with him, he’ll keep me updated.”