More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Nine

The game definitely improved from then on, but we still came away with a four-two loss.  Our first goal came from a jammy deflection off one of my crosses, which allowed Olly to simply tap the ball in.  However, Liverpool came back not long after that through a world-class header from Harry Sutherland off a corner.  Our second happened in stoppage time, so it was more of a consolation goal than anything else.  Frank still crapped on us after the match, though, saying that the last ten minutes of the game were how we should have played from the start.

But I came away on an absolute high.  My first game back in and it was clear the impact I'd had on it.  The gaffer had praised me after the game privately and welcomed me back in the team talk, which made my return that much sweeter.  Of course, there was still the bleakness that came with losing a match, and it dampened my satisfaction considerably.

I was still worried about Fran; she'd packed up and practically ran down to her car after the match, leaving before any of us could say anything to her.  She was taken off as Frank's last sub and judging by the way she stormed off, it was clear she wasn't happy about it.

Sorting her out would be Monday's problem. For now, I wanted to chill.  Even if it was no more than forty minutes I'd played, my body was exhausted.  The ice bath that I normally despised after games was actually exactly what I wanted, but by the time I'd taken a shower, too, my legs felt ready to cave in.

"Hart!"

I was about to leave when I heard Mason calling for me.  He was standing with a casually dressed Kyle, who was nursing his sore ankle.  He waved me over to where he was, an enthusiastic smile on his face.  I hadn't properly spoken to him yet; a knock near the end of the game had meant he spent a while longer on the physio table.

"Hey, here she is!" Kyle cooed, opening his arms wide for a hug.

I stepped into them with a chuckle, lapping up the compliments from my teammates.  Mason grabbed me next and squeezed me so tight I was worried he'd bruise my back.

"Hey, Mase was just saying we should go over and get some food, maybe play some Fifa.  You keen?"  Mason was nodding as Kyle spoke, his smile growing as he met my eyes.

"Yeah, I'm in," I replied with a grin of my own.  "Need me to bring anything?"

Mason shook his head.  "Kyle already ordered food, though, so we better hustle."

I laughed and followed the boys towards the exit.  Kyle informed me of his food choices: a nice balanced meal of steamed veggies and burgers from a place just off Kensington High Street.  Considering I had been planning to take the bus back to the hotel and get home from there, we piled into Mason's car, which he'd parked underground.  The drive to Mason's place wasn't far, especially given the time of the evening meant other cars were pretty scarce.

It had been ages since I'd been to Mason's house.  There was a time when home games always ended with at least Kyle, Mase and me there, if not with Fran, Olly, and Annika, too.  Kyle had told me early into last season that Mason had stopped inviting them over as well and he guessed it had something to do with a girl.  Liv was still a mystery at that time, but now I was sure she was the reason for the broken "tradition".  I'd been over a few times during the start of my rehab, but hadn't been back since December at least, either.

Stepping out of Mason's car onto the street in front of his town house filled me with nostalgia.  It felt like the days pre-injury, coming straight from the Bridge to Mason's house, still in our tracksuits.  Albeit back then, with Frank's first season as manager, the mood usually took a bit more lifting that it did tonight, even with our loss.  A wobbly few months followed Frank's appointment, but by February we'd turned Stamford Bridge into a fortress again.