More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Forty Seven

I walked up the steps to the East Stand of Stamford Bridge with my stomach in a knot of nerves.  A chilly wind hit my face as I emerged out in the open, and at once the atmosphere put a smile on my face.  Tinny music blasted from the stadium speakers and fan noise from those already there competed for the loudest sound.  Below me, on the bright green pitch, my teammates and our League Two opposition for the night warmed up.

I wandered down the stairs towards the dug out, glancing around for any sight of Mason and his sister.  We'd agreed to meet at the stadium; I'd wondered if there would be another request for dinner, but after my last refusal it didn't come as a surprise when there wasn't.  What did surprise me, though, was the twist of disappointment in my chest without it.

Reaching the lowest level of the stand, directly above where the subs would sit, panic welled up in my chest when I couldn't find either of them.  Biting down on my lip, the silly thought that he'd lied to me in his message appeared at the back of my head.  They were probably just getting a drink.  Or walking around.  Or popping down to the changing rooms to greet the team.  Or—

"Hey!  Hart!"

My heart rate calming, I looked down to the pitch with a smile.  Among the journalists and VIPs and mascots at the side of the pitch stood Mason, waving up at me.  Stomach warm, I lifted a hand to repay the greeting.

"Get down here!" he called.

With a nod, I spun around and hopped back up the stairs.   Down in the tunnel, there was almost more activity going on than there was on the pitch.  People swarmed around, flashing photos and shouting into walkie-talkies and standing in groups laughing.  After waving to the friendly guard outside the changing room and stopping to greet a familiar journalist, I walked out onto the pitch.

Despite the fact that I was merely a spectator tonight, and that I was dressed in a coat and boots instead of my kit, my stomach still leapt as I emerged from the tunnel.  It did the same when I eyed Mason ahead of me a moment later next to the Stamford Bridge stadium announcer.  As I watched, he glanced behind him and, as I'm sure mine did, his face lit up.

"Hi," I greeted, coming to a stop behind the pair.

Lee held out his hand for a high-five, but a call for him sounded from our right.  When he was gone, I faced Mason properly.  The wind left his hair attractively ruffled and, adding to his appeal even more, a Chelsea scarf was wrapped around his neck.

"Evening, Mitchell."  I tugged the ruffles on the end of his scarf and raised an eyebrow.  "Cute scarf."

Mason chuckled and pulled me in for a hug.

"Evening, Hart," he said, giving me a squeeze. "Nice of you to join us."

"You got here, like, ten minutes before me," I chuckled.

"I know.  I just missed you today, is all."

My cheeks warmed as I burrowed my head into his shoulder.  "Yeah, same. How was your day off?"  I pulled out of the hug and stepped back, remembering the thousands of eyes potentially on us.  At the same time, I realised the one pair that was missing.  Before Mason could reply, I frowned and spoke again.  "Where's Pippa?"

"With Abs," he replied.  "Pip wanted to see the stadium, so they went for a walk." A smile spread across his face. "I think she just wants a beer and knows Abby is more likely to get one for her than me."

I laughed.  "Sounds about right."

"But, to answer your question, my day off was barely that."  He rolled his eyes.  "Pip wanted to do, like, thirty different things.  She even made me do the London Eye."