Game

                                    

                                          
I hand the driver some cash and close the door as the taxi pulls away, leaving me shivering in the cold night air. The wind bites a little sharper than I expected—I really should have remembered a warmer jacket. As I steady myself on my crutches, I shift my weight carefully, trying to ignore the throbbing pain radiating from my foot. Normally, it's my knee that nags me, but today, it's my foot, and each step feels like a reminder that healing is just as unpredictable as it is slow.
The noise of the city surrounds me, horns blaring and people chatting in excited voices. Despite the crowds, I keep my hood up, trying to stay under the radar as I make my way toward a nearby store. I have some time before the game, and I don't want Kyra or Leah spotting me just yet—not until I've pulled off my little surprise.
Inside the shop, I make my way to the counter, where a young clerk raises an eyebrow as he spots me leaning on my crutches. "Hi, can I help you with something?" he asks, glancing between me and the Arsenal merchandise.
"Yeah," I say, nodding. "Can I get a personalized shirt made?"
After a few clicks on his computer, he nods. "Sure, just give me a name and number."
I grin, imagining Kyra's reaction. "Cooney-cross 32."
He smiles back, already gathering the materials. "Good choice."
While I wait, I think back to how this whole night started. I'd been at home, nursing my leg and bored out of my mind. When I checked online, tickets were completely sold out, of course. But luckily, Alicia came through with VIP access, and now here I am, about to surprise everyone. I slip on the shirt as soon as it's ready, feeling a strange sense of excitement bubbling up.
Finally, I make my way to the Emirates Stadium. I head straight to the VIP lounge, stopping at the entrance to grab a bottle of water from the cooler. I need to take my pills, but before I can, I notice a group of people approaching. They're all wearing Arsenal staff badges, each with a curious look directed my way.
One of them smiles and extends a hand. "Blair Becks, right? Didn't expect to see you here tonight!"
I shake his hand, smiling back. "Yeah, decided to come last minute."
They exchange glances, clearly pleased. "Well, it's an honor to have you here. If you'd like, we can show you to your seat—or we could give you a quick tour, if you're up for it?"
I chuckle, looking down at my crutches. "As long as you're up for a slow tour."
They laugh, one of them offering an arm as we start down the hallway. We pass through areas I'd never have access to otherwise—team facilities, press boxes, the private hallways that weave through the stadium. The whole time, they chat with me about racing and football, and it's kind of surreal, being treated like a special guest here. Eventually, we arrive at my seat in the VIP box with an incredible view of the field.
As the game is about to start, I settle in, unable to shake the smile from my face.
Settling into my seat, I pull out my phone to send Kyra a quick message before the game begins.
Me: Good luck tonight. I might be cheering a little louder than usual.
A few seconds pass, and then the dots pop up, signaling she's typing. I can picture her rolling her eyes, probably amused that I'm sending last-minute messages when I know she's about to go on the field. Her reply comes through, simple but effective.
Kyra: Thanks, Becks. I'll score one for you, if I can.
I chuckle, feeling an unexpected thrill. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I lean back, soaking in the stadium energy as the stands start to fill, chants already beginning to build. Just as the players emerge from the tunnel, the stadium erupts, and I can spot her even from up here, her focus and intensity locked in as she takes her position.