Chapter 48: First Team Calling [2]

Leo woke to stiffness the next day.

Not pain — not exactly — but a heavy, dragging soreness in his right leg that made even shifting in bed a slow, deliberate task.

The sun hadn’t quite climbed yet.

Just the faint glow behind the blinds and the sharp chill of early morning creeping through the dormitory window.

He peeled the covers back and tried to sit up, but his leg wasn’t exactly fond of that.

"Bloody hell," he muttered before lying back on the bed, but from across the room, a low groan stirred him back up.

Jake rolled over in the chair opposite Leo, hair a mess, voice muffled in the pillow he had brought from his room.

"Wait, what are you doing here?" Leo called before sitting right up, but that caused him to wince.

"You dying, or just moaning for attention? I just got into your room some time ago after Thompson told me to come and help you."

Leo grunted but accepted the explanation.

"Then come help me get to the bathroom and find out if I am dying or moaning for attention."

Jake didn’t answer for a few seconds.

Then: "You serious?"

Leo lifted the covers higher, showing the swollen shin now wrapped in padded bandaging from the night before.

Jake sighed.

"You’re lucky I’m a good teammate."

"And who was the catalyst for that change?" Leo replied.

A few minutes later, with a hoodie draped over his shoulder and socks halfway on, Leo leaned heavily on Jake’s shoulder as they hobbled down the hallway toward the shower stalls.

The tiled corridor was cold beneath their feet, the kind of early stillness that made footsteps echo louder than they should.

Jake helped him around the corner, half-lifting Leo when he flinched at a step.

"Have you ever considered working in care?" Leo asked dryly.

"You’ve got gentle hands. Could see you wheeling old women around a home in Surrey."

Jake snorted.

"And I’d make them tea after bingo, yeah?"

"Course. Maybe a little jazz music on Sundays."

Jake shook his head, amused.

"You’re lucky your leg’s busted, or I’d shove you headfirst into that cubicle."

Leo smirked as they stopped by the changing bench.

"Violence against the elderly. Classy."

"Shut up and sit down. I am a couple of years older than you, little shithead."

By the time they made it back to the dorms, other players were starting to stir.

Ezra passed them in the corridor and gave Jake a mocking thumbs-up.

"Look at you, Nurse Jake."

"He’s milking it," Jake grumbled, but didn’t shake him off.

Out on the pitch later that morning, the academy boys ran drills under a low grey sky.

Thompson stood with his arms folded, his voice sharp, even by his usual standards.

"Touch and go. No lazy passes, or we start again."

But the murmurs had already started.

By the time the second round of rondos began, two separate players had whispered variations of the same thing.

"Did you hear? They want Leo up with the first team."

"Thompson told Nolan after the match. It’s happening."

Another tried to act casual when he asked, "Like, permanently?"

"Don’t know. Maybe just to test him."

From the side, Thompson’s voice cut in like a blade.

"If you spent half as much time pressing as you do talking, we wouldn’t be in the bottom three of our league."

"Coach, we’re now 7th after our three wins," Ben said with a laugh.

Silence.

Everyone was expecting Thompson to lash out, but the latter just turned and walked away.

Back on the pitch, the ball rolled, and the players moved a bit quicker.

But it was still there, under the surface — that sense of something shifting.

Back in the rehab room, he was on a mat doing basic mobility work under Gareth’s eye.

The band still around his ankle.

Light core activation, simple hip raises, and controlled movement to avoid compensation strain.

It was the most boring number of minutes he’d had in a while.

But he didn’t complain.

Gareth watched him carefully. "How’s it feel?"

"Like someone used a sledgehammer on it," Leo said.

"That’s the swelling talking."

Leo exhaled through his nose.

"Feels weird not being out there, but at the same time, it feels familiar. I hadn’t played a single match for the United team, but here, I just feel appreciated."

Gareth didn’t look up.

"Don’t worry, you’ll be out there again soon and maybe, just maybe, on a different pitch."

Leo looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"You heard too?"

Gareth smirked.

"This place has thinner walls than a London flat."

Leo lay back against the mat, looking up at the white ceiling.

Part of him still couldn’t believe how fast things had moved — from a brawl in midfield to a goal, to an injury, to now... this.

First team training.

Or at least, the door cracked open.

Outside, Thompson gathered the lads into a huddle near the end of the session. His face was set.

"Good energy today. Better focus after the first warning. But I’ll say this once — you train for yourselves, not in comparison to anyone else."

They all knew who he meant.

"No one’s above the group," Thompson added.

"No one skips steps. If Leo moves up, it’s because of what

he’s

done, not because you didn’t get a chance."

Silence again.

"Get in the gym after this, recovery bands, and a cold bath. And Jake — good job this morning."

Jake blinked. "Wait, what?"

Thompson’s expression didn’t change.

"Saw you helping him after I told you to try. That’s what teammates do. You all better take note."

Ben whistled under his breath while Jake scratched the back of his head and muttered, "I’m never hearing the end of this, am I?"

Thompson walked off before anyone could answer.

.......

Gareth stood and gave the file a final glance before snapping it shut with a satisfied nod.

"Alright," he said, shifting his weight.

"You’re lucky. No fracture. Just deep bruising and a mild contusion. Full recovery’s a matter of time."

Leo gave a slow nod from where he sat on the exam table, calf propped up with ice.

He didn’t feel lucky, but he supposed he could’ve been worse off.

Gareth continued, "We’ll start you on a rehab plan this week. If your body responds quickly, we could move on to putting a little bit more weight and attention."

A physio soon returned with a wheelchair and helped ease him down.

Leo winced slightly as his foot brushed the floor.

"I could walk," he muttered.

"You could hobble and delay your own comeback," the physio replied flatly, locking the brakes.

"Sit."

With a reluctant grunt, Leo obeyed, settling into the chair.

The physio turned him gently toward the door and began pushing.

They rolled through the quieter hallway first, the hum of voices, boots on turf, and distant whistles growing louder as they turned toward the main corridor of the training complex.

As they passed the corner, the main team’s outdoor training pitch came into view — all the noise and muscle of elite footballers at full throttle.

Shouts and one-touch patterns rippled across the grass.

Coaches barked corrections. Boots squeaked and studs clattered.

They didn’t stop, but a few players turned as Leo was wheeled by.

A glance, a half-curious look.

One of them squinted like he was trying to place the boy.

Another just glossed over before going back to his rondo.

Leo stared through the glass wall, his eyes flicking between players, scanning the group like it was a level he hadn’t unlocked yet.

He leaned slightly forward in his seat, brows drawn.

The chair slowed.

"You sizing them up already?"

Leo twisted — Dawson had come up behind them, coffee in hand, a light grin riding the edge of his face.

Leo shrugged with a smile of his own.

"Can’t size anything up from here. Gotta be in the thick of it first. But yeah... it looks nice."

Dawson’s grin deepened.

"You’ll get your chance very soon."

The words weren’t dramatic.

Leo nodded but didn’t reply.

His eyes had gone back to the field again.

Dawson gave the wheelchair a light pat on the handle and stepped away, heading toward the sideline.

His voice carried across the training pitch like a rifle shot.

"Sam, you’re holding it too long! Shorten the touch, then play!"

The players barely looked.

Just listened and then adjusted according to Dawson’s words.

Dawson was no longer just Leo’s link to the club.

He was part of the main machine.

And then Leo was wheeled away, the pitch slipping from view behind glass and concrete, the noise falling away.

But in his head, it was still playing.

Soon, he thought.

Not yet.

But soon.

A/n: Have fun reading, and I’ll see you in a bit. I’m still trying to fit this into my day so please hold on for a bit more as I am trying to settle into writing a Chapter of this a day and then another 2-3 Chapters for the other book but I’ll try and make it 2 Chapters for each book as soon as I get time.