Chapter Text
The news hits like a blow to the head, leaving her reeling and miserable. Ellie sits on her bed, in her room at the training grounds, her phone screen illuminating the darkness around her. The shitty England infographic stares back at her, mocking her with its cruel words. She reads and rereads the message, each sentence cutting deeper into her already wounded pride.
They'd done it. Sarina had actually fucking done it—dropped her from the England lineup for Keating, without even so much as a phone call to explain herself. It's like acid burning in her chest, like a sledgehammer to the gut.
Khiara had already taken so much from Ellie - the number one shirt, the respect and mentorship of Mary, the adoring cheers of the crowd, and now she'd taken the one fucking thing Ellie had left: her England spot. It's a bloody hard pill to swallow, made even worse by the fact that Ellie had worked so hard to earn that spot, had given her all for the few caps she had, had proved herself, time and time again, that she was worthy of wearing the Three Lions on her chest. She reads and rereads the announcement, each word twisting the knife deeper into her wounded pride.
Why her? Why now? What does Keating have that she doesn't?
Ellie's throat starts to close up, feeling tight and her eyes begin to prick with red-hot tears. She gasps in a ragged breath. Her throat tightens further, constricting with the weight of her emotions, and she fights to steady her breathing. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. But the tears come anyway, hot and bitter against her cheeks, as she struggles to compose herself. But before she can fully process the crushing blow, her phone buzzes with an incoming call. Sarina's name flashes across the screen, and Ellie's heart sinks even further. Hands trembling fiercely in the cold of her room, Ellie clears her throat and answers the phone.
"Hello?"
"Ellie," Sarina's voice comes through the line, but there's no warmth or sympathy in her tone, only a cold professionalism that sends a shiver down Ellie's spine.
"Coach." Ellie replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She braces herself for the inevitable news, scarecly able to look at the phone in her hand, barely bale to listen. Fighting hard, her voice remains steady.
"Look, Ellie." Sarina's familar accent is not the comfort is usually would be, not the solace Ellie associates the Dutchwoman's oddly clipped words with. "I'm sure you've seen the news, and I am not going to lie to you. Khiara has been picked, over you, for the next camp, and the friendlies we will play in February." The words hit Ellie like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from her lungs as she struggles to comprehend what she's hearing. She'd known it was coming, but finding out the same way the public found out was fucking soul-crushing. Finding out through a shitty announcement on Twitter and Instagram, that had shattered Ellie's heart.
"I know." She says quietly. To her deep horror, her voice quivers. "I'm sorry." What, exactly, she's apologising for she doesn't know, but she feels she must. To, make up, in some illogical way, for her failures - her failure to start for City, her failure to leave in the January transfer window, her failure to even get on the bloody team sheet these days.
There's a pause on the other end of the line, and Ellie can almost hear the hesitation in Sarina's voice as she continues. "Keating is young, she deserves a chance."
"So am I." Ellie wants to say, wants to spit and curse and BLAME, and wail, like the child she feels. "I'm only four years older than her," Ellie wants to say. But she doesn't.
Instead, she sniffs and wipes her nose, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tears from clogging her throat and thickening her voice. Sarina speaks again, tone clipped, and, Ellie can hear, patience rapidly waning.
"It's not personal, Ellie. We just need to give our younger players opportunities to prove themselves."
Opportunities. The word rings hollow in Ellie's ears, a cruel mockery of the countless hours of hard work and dedication she's poured into her career. Opportunities. Like Sarina was actually going to give Khiara minutes, not leave her to rot on the bench in favour of Mary, like she'd done to Ellie for years. Ellie wants to scream, to lash out at Sarina for her easy dismissal of everything Ellie has sacrificed to get to this point. But she knows it won't change anything.
So instead, Ellie swallows her rage, her disappointment, her heartbreak, and forces herself to respond with a professionalism she doesn't feel. "I understand," she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. She nods, though Sarina cannot see. Ellie's not sure who's she's reassuring, because Sarina's made it clear she doesn't give a shit about Ellie, couldn't care less if Ellie just dropped out of football forever, content to let a benchwarmer slip away.
Maybe Sarina can hear the pain in her voice, and picture the tears in her eyes, because, when she speaks again, her voice is softer. Not motherly, nowhere near that, but softer. Gentler. Not kind, barely even nice, but something. And Ellie clings to that with everything she's got.
"It's not permanent, Ellie. You just need to be getting more game time, whether for City or somewhere else. There are several Championship teams in need of a good goalkeeper."
Ellie feels like laughing. Championship teams. Was that all she was now? A few years back, she was England's number one, getting the nod over the then-lesser Mary, and firmly City's keeper. Now, she was being offered fucking championship teams. It takes all her willpower to grit out a 'Thank you for your time.' before she hangs up and hurls the phone to the other side of the room, relishing in the thud it makes as it arcs onto the pile of freshly cleaned kit she hadn't bothered to put away.
"Fuck!" She almost yells, hitting one fist into the pillow lying next to her. Her head swirls, and she can feel a headache building in her temples.
Was this it, then? After everything, all the work she'd put in, all the matches she'd been the only thing standing between City and an embarrassing loss, one fucking red card meant the end of it? Khiara had messed up too, one awful mistake against Arsenal that'd cost them the game, but she still got called up. What did Khiara have that she didn't?
The room feels suffocating as Ellie's emotions swirl around her like a violent storm. It's not just the loss of her England spot that brings hot tears stinging her eyes, though that is a fucking difficult pill to swallow. It's the culmination of years of sacrifice and dedication, of pouring her heart and soul into her craft, into City, into England, only to be cast aside like dirt on Sarina's perfect shoe. It's the relentless pressure to prove herself, to be better, to be perfect, to be someone.
And yet, for all her efforts, for all her talent and determination, all those late-night training sessions, she finds herself left behind, practically drowning in a sea of doubt and self-loathing. She wonders if it's all been for nothing, if she'll ever find her way back to the squad.
The tears come in waves, each one more powerful than the last, until she's gasping for breath, her chest heaving with the effort of holding back her sobs. But no matter how hard she tries to stop them, the sobs keep coming, a relentless onslaught that threatens to consume her whole as she sits on her tiny bed in her tiny room at City's training grounds.
She wipes harshly at her face, snot staining her sleeve and eyes red and puffy. Her throat is raw and angry, a lump building steadily in it as the tears threaten to consume her. Her head aches with the force of trying to stay calm.
Why her? Why now? What does Keating have that she doesn't? The questions scream and repeat in a loop in Ellie's muddled mind, begging for answers she does not have.
A knock on the door reverberates through the room, jolting Ellie from her muddled thoughts. Steph swings the door open, a small frown marring her face.
"Ellie?" Steph starts. her face softens as she takes in Ellie's pathetic, tear-stained face. "Oh, Els." She says, coming to sit beside Ellie on the too-small bed. "I saw the news, I'm so sorry, sweetheart."
Ellie's throat feels tight, her voice barely above a whisper as she responds, "They dropped me, Steph. They picked Keating over me." Yet more tears prick at the corners of Ellie's eyes, threatening to spill over, but she blinks them back furiously, refusing to let herself break down. She can't afford to show weakness, not now, not when Steph was already gazing at her with such pity.
"It's not fucking fair!" Ellie's voice wavers. "I worked so hard for this, Steph, and I got nothing out of it. Khiara gets everything, and I can't even be made at her, because she fucking deserves it."
"Ellie, you can't just give up now, you're young, and you've got so much to play for." Steph starts, in that patient, infinitely comforting voice. "You're a class goalie, Roebs, and this rough patch won't last forever. It'll-"
Ellie cuts her off, sitting up and glaring at the older defender. "It'll what, Steph? It'll pass? Why should it? Yours didn't." She regrets the words as soon as they come flying, acidic and sharp, from her tongue. Steph says nothing, but Ellie knows her well enough by now to see the slight dimming of her smile, the faint flicker of her eyes. That had hurt her, Ellie sees, but she plows forward anyway, each word adding insult to injury as she cruelly lays out Steph's own, faded, career failures, one by one. "You got dropped, like me, Steph. You used to be England's captain, and now you barely start for City. Over 100 caps for England, and Sarina dropped you like it was nothing. Face it, Steph, we're both has-beens who'll never play properly again." The words are bitter in her mouth. She feels sick.
Steph presses her lips together and clenches her jaw, composing herself. "Maybe I'll never play for the Lionesses again, Ellie, but you will. You've got so much to offer, more than Hampton, more than Baggaley, more than Sandy. Don't look like that, we both know it's true. As lovely as Sandy is, you're better than her, and we both know it."
"But I'm not better than Khiara," Ellie says miserably, dropping onto her front to press her face into her pillow. She feels Steph's hand brush her own, as she reaches out to gently grasp Ellie's hand, offering her a reassuring squeeze. "I'm second best to her. Everyone knows it, even Mary prefers Keating over me. I'm just not as good as her."
"No." Steph's honest, brutal words contrast her gentle demeanor and tone. "You're not. But you will be, one day, Els. I reckon you can be the best in the world, and, eventually Sarina's gonna have to wake up and see that, or lose an incredible goalkeeper. "
"But you-" Ellie starts, faltering when she realizes the cruelty in her words. "You were-"
"Go on," Steph says. She doesn't sound angry, despite Ellie's bitter, accusatory words and harsh, biting tone. "It's ok, I'm not gonna get pissed off."
"But people said that about you!" Ellie says. "You were supposed to be a star, just like Taylor H, just like Lois, like Holly like a hundred other people I know, who had one dodgy game, one awful injury, made one shitty mistake, and got dropped. Just face it, Steph, you got dropped and now no one knows your name, and the same thing'll happen to me. Just watch."
"Don't say such bullshit, Roebuck!" Steph says. Her tone is tight and her eyes are annoyed; Ellie can tell it's taking all her willpower not to roll them in frustration. "It's different for me, I'm well past it. Only reason City keeps me is cause they feel bad for me and cause they know I need the money to look after my husband. But you're gonna be golden, yeah? You're still young, Roebuck, this is not the end. We're in opposite situations here - you're gonna be a star, and I'm not, I'm over it, but I'll cheer you on each day, alright?"
A small, embarrassed smile plays across Ellie's face. Steph counts that as a win, because, usually, it'd take the combined efforts of Alex Greenwood, a shit ton of alcohol, and Chloe Kelly at her absolute loudest and funniest, to make Ellie let her many guards down and actually have a laugh. Steph's happy with drawing a smile from the usually-reserved goalkeeper.
"Thanks, Steph," Ellie murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "I needed to hear that. Who knows?" She sighs and rolls over. "Maybe you're right. But you're most likely wrong, Steph, don't say I didn't warn you."
Steph sees the hopelessness in Ellie's eyes, the dull quality to them, like, along with her starting position, City had taken the light from her as well. Steph's heart aches for her younger teammate. She knows that words alone aren't anywhere near enough to help, but they could distract her. At least for a little while.
"Look, Ellie." Steph is cut off by a strangled, half-gasp escaping from Ellie's mouth, face down in the cushion. Her shoulders shake as she tries to hide her tears, cursing bitterly to herself as she wipes the marks of her misery from her face.
"Oh, Els." Gently, Steph reaches out and pulls Ellie into a tight embrace, holding her close as the girl's shoulders shake with silent sobs. For a long moment, they simply sit there, the only sound in the room the soft sound of Ellie's tears.
Ellie curls her finger around the rough material of Steph's City kit - dried mud cracks off and gets stuck under her nails, Steph smells like sweat and grass cuttings, and yet, somehow, Ellie feels safe in Steph's arms. "I dunno what to do, Skipper." Ellie murmurs into Steph's shirt. "I feel like a complete fucking nobody. Like I should just retire, so I don't end up spent and washed up."
"That won't happen, sweetheart. " The older defender replies as she rubs comforting circles on the back of Ellie's clenched fist with her thumb.
"It did though." Ellie groans petulantly as she detangles herself from Steph and sniffs hard. She scrubs at her face with the back of her hand. "Sarina offered me a fucking Championship team. Gareth told me, in January, that I wouldn't play for City again, unless Khiara AND Sandy got injured. What if I never make it back, Steph?" She whispers, her voice filled with fear.
"Then you leave. Any team would be lucky to have you, and you'd be starting in nearly any team in the world, it's not your fault Gareth's got some kind of vendetta against you. I'd say i'd go with you, to your new team if you wanted, but we both know Barcelona would never want me." Steph jokes, poking fun at herself again, like she hadn't been capped hundreds of times for England, like she hadn't been their Captain for years.
"I'm nt going to Barca, Steph. Don't be ridiculous. Maybe I'll go to Everton, or Brighton, or something. Some shitty mid-table team, get some game time. But I love City, I don't want to leave. It's my home."
"Then fight for it." Steph's voice changes, becoming harder, more authoritative, and Ellie finally sees the fiercesome Captain she'd heard from Jill, Lucy, all the senior players, that Steph could be. "Fight for it, Roebuck." Steph repeats herself.
"I am!" Ellie protests. "I really am, I'm not just letting it go."
"Why are you in here, then?" Steph asks abruptly. She points out to where Ellie can hear the thud of footballs against the goalpost, and the clatter of boots on concrete at the team walks out to training. "You want an England call up? Should be out there, training before Khiara is. And certainly before Sandy, come ON Els. Prove to Gareth that you're going to put the work in, cause City is your home. "She draws in a breath "Don't let it just slip away, get out there," She gestures to the steadily filling training fields. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ellie. Khiara's very, very good, better than you, at the moment. She's incredibly talented. So you have to put in the work. Hard work beats talent, nine times out of ten. No, nine times out of a hundred. Like," Steph takes a second to compose herself, and her tone become softer, less wild. "Look at me, look at Nobbs, Zelem, Coombsy. We're not, and have never been, phenomenal players; we're not naturally at the levels of Kiera, or Stanners, or whoever. But we work for it. And, look, Roebs. You're lucky, ok? Naturally, you've got the talent, the raw skill to succeed.But you've just got to WORK for it, Ellie, you have to show Gareth—and everyone else— how good you are, if you want to stay at City. Get to training, make some saves, and shine, Els, cause you bloody deserve it."
With that, Steph offers Ellie a final, reassuring smile, stands up from Ellie's bed, and walks out the room. She closes the door with a gentle, 'Thud.' It feels , weirdly, Ellie thinks, like an order.