Page 84 of The Fullback
“Fucking hell,” I said, ignoring the random pings of pain and discomfort that were starting to register. They could take a number and join the fucking queue. “That was a shitshow.”
“Such a fucking mess,” Bailey said. “That wasn’t just brutal. That was clinical.”
“Agreed.” I sighed and leant forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I knew I’d need to get up and grab something to eat to start refuelling my body. Then I’d need to get myself checked out by the team doctor, or at least one of the physios, and shower. But all of that felt like an exhausting prospect.
“Want me to get you a couple of wraps?” Bailey asked. “There’s a good selection today: fried chicken, hoisin duck, halloumi and roasted veg, and chicken, bacon, and avocado.”
“Did Chef know we were going to get our arses kicked and want to make us feel better?”
“Feels like it.”
“You know what I really want?”
“What?”
“A fucking cookie,” I said. “One of the white chocolate ones. With sprinkles. So many fucking sprinkles.”
Bailey let out a soft hum of agreement. “All the fucking sprinkles. More sprinkles than chocolate chips. No wait, an equal amount of both. But twice as many as usual. Maybe just two cookies. Sandwiched together with ice cream.”
“That does actually sound good.” I wasn’t usually a fan of puddings, and I didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but with how tired and miserable I was, Bailey’s suggestion did sound appealing.
Bailey reached into his locker and pulled out his phone, checked the screen, sighed, and threw it back again.
“Nothing?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
“Nothing.”
I huffed, then groaned as my thigh muscles twinged. In the ten days since Aiden had gone back to Leicester, his communication had gotten sparser and sparser. I knew he was busy with everything, the pictures he’d sent of the kitchen and the five-minute ranting voice note about the state of the situation making that clear. But he still seemed to think if he dropped off the face of the earth, we wouldn’t notice. Or wouldn’t care.
His messages came often enough to suggest he was trying to keep us at arm’s length while also hoping it was enough to stop us going to Leicester.
He was a man of infinite contradictions, but mostly it seemed like he was so in his own fucking head that he couldn’t let go and admit what he really wanted.
“What’s the plan?” I asked. We’d already discussed options. Our patience with Aiden had run out, so now we were going to do things our way. Communication might never have been our style, but there came a time when it was necessary. And that time was now. Whether Aiden liked it or not.
“We’ll go tomorrow,” Bailey said. “Assuming we can get out of bed.”
“Have an ice bath. You’ll be fine.”
“God, that should not sound like a good option.”
“I know.” I managed a wry smile, although it made my face ache. “Do you know where we’re going?” Despite telling Aidenwe knew there was a pub in his neck of the woods we should visit, we didn’t actually know where it was. My suggestion was to pull up a list of Leicester’s dodgiest pubs and drive around until we found Bacon’s, but that wasn’t exactly a solid plan. We didn’t even know what Bacon looked like.
“No fucking clue,” Bailey said.
“Think we can ask Jonny?”
“It’s probably our only option unless we want to spend tomorrow driving around and sticking our nose in every pub we can find.”
“At least I had an idea,” I said. I was trying to go for pointed, but it came out sounding petulant.
“Well done, do you want a fucking sticker?”
I snorted. When Bailey was tired, he turned into such a sarcastic bastard. “Have you got one?”
“No.”
“Then why offer me one?”
