More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Twenty Six

Newcastle away was never an easy task.  They had been in good form before the break, like us, but they were still in the bottom half of the table.  We needed the win, both to keep our top-four place and to boost the squad's confidence before our next tough run of games.  Spurs were close on our tails: after their win the previous night, we'd go just two points clear if we came away with all the points at St James' Park.

We left for Newcastle on Saturday morning, taking the train up.  I curled up next to Annika feeling drained all round.  With the tension still rife between Mason and me on top of a tough week in training, my energy levels were starting to diminish.  Thankfully, Annika was engrossed in a new series and allowed me to shut my eyes and fall into a half-sleep for the ride.

A short lunch and team meeting preceded our check in to the hotel.  It boosted my energy a bit being able to focus on the game, but I was still sluggish as I headed to my room for a nap that afternoon.

I was never a good napper, and today was no exception.  I'd been wracking my head all week trying to work out a way to fix things between me and Mason and it was still spinning now.  Clearly acting normal was not the way to go, but there was only so much more of this silence I could take.  I'd dreaded training the rest of the week, the thought of having to put on a brave face around Mason driving me insane.  And then seeing him, sitting next to him in the changing room, but not interacting with him, made me feel sick.

I could tell that some of the team started to pick up on it, too.  Mason remained distant during training, going to new lengths to avoid me.  This only made the group cling to him more, which meant I was forced to detachment myself from them.  Kyle in particular grew steadily more suspicious, even cornering me after training to try and talk.  As much as I wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to tell him what was going on: George's words sprung to my head every time I considered it.

My head spun as I stared at the ceiling. I knew Mason wasn't a pre-match napper either.  With us both starting, we owed it to the team to leave whatever was happening with us off the pitch.  But with the way things were, I wondered if I was able to do that: we were barely able to play on the same five-aside team on Thursday.  I felt nauseous every time I pictured us messing up this game, doing exactly what George had warned us we would do.

A knock at my door forced me out of my head. Sitting up straight, I felt my heart pounding in my chest.  No way it was Mason.

"Hello?"

"Beck?  It's Mason."

I bit back the distress that punched me in the gut.  Gathering what composure I could, I climbed from the bed and headed to the door. Pulling it open with shaking hands, I was met with a Mason looking as timid as he'd sounded, with his hands deep in his tracksuit pockets.  Just seeing him sent my stomach turning.

"What's up?" I asked coolly.  I held onto the door, which prevented him from entering and ensured I'd stay upright.

"Uh, I just wanted to chat."  He cleared his throat.  "If that's okay."

He hadn't spoken directly to me all week. I didn't know how to act all of a sudden.  He now had his hands joined in front of his body, his lips rolled into his mouth.  It was hard not to feel the same unnatural awkwardness he was showing, but I had to try.

"Chat about what?"

The door closed behind me as I stepped backwards to let him in.  This was the first time since Bulgaria that we were alone.

"Beck."  His words faltered for a moment.  "Come on, you know."  I was enjoying seeing him squirm too much, so I just raised my eyebrows and acted dumb. "Well, things are...  I just want to make sure we're good?  After— yeah."  I didn't say anything.  "Are we good?"