A surprising nap before dinner left me rearing to go that night. This Ajax team were similar to us: a lot of young players in the team reinforced with a fair amount of experience, too, and a relatively young manager. Two of their key players had departed in the summer, and as much talent as they had, it was obvious they were still finding their footing without their hotshots.
One of the players they'd brought in the last window, though, happened to be the one player I'd hoped to never go up against again. I spotted him in the warm up for the first time, the Croatian winger who'd almost ended my career. The horror that I'd expected to feel upon seeing Luka Savic didn't appear, though. Instead, I felt a raw determination come over me: there was no way I would let him get the better of me or my team again.
True his decision, Frank didn't start Mason. Valentina Vargas came in for him, with Lucia Rodriges getting to nod over Olly as well. Lining up in the tunnel behind Annika, the Newcastle game seemed weeks ago. My mind was clear, my priorities in line. My chest swelled with eagerness, a contrast to the nerves I usually felt at this stage pre-match.
Out of nowhere, someone grabbed onto my hand. By the time I looked up and spotted Mason, his hand had slipped from mine. But glancing back over his shoulder, I saw the grin and nod he gave me clear as day. I still felt his touch as he disappeared out of the tunnel.
The momentary distraction left my mind when I heard the ref's call from the front of the line. Another hand clutched at mine, but this time the smaller one of the mascot at my side. I led her out, following behind Annika into the shower that fell over the Johan Cruyff Arena.
Like it always did, the Champion's League anthem sent shivers down my spine. God, we needed this win, especially after the weekend's game. Energy swelled amid my teammates as we gathered for a final huddle. Emil, a fiery expression in his eyes, gave us some definitive words of encouragement before we broke to take our positions.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I watched Emil and the Ajax captain do the toss. The crowd was thunderous, their cheers echoing around the pitch intimidatingly. I took deep breaths, trying to block them out. Rain had all but drenched my jersey and plastered my hair against my neck already. A strong gust of wind blew drops against my side and goose bumps ran down my arms. However, the rain and the wind and the crowd dissolved into nothing as the ref blew her whistle and the game started.
The balance between our teams was evident from the first seconds. We both wanted to press high and win the ball back, but both had enough presence in the midfield to try and pass around each other. Ajax won a corner first, but their centre half headed it over the goals. I fired one of my best crosses of the season into the box, but Kyle was just a step too far away to get on the end of it. Elena and one of their midfielders got into a hustle, earning them both yellow cards. Savic had one bite at my ankles in a terrible sliding tackle, but I jumped over him cleanly.
Walking off at half time, it was practically impossible to separate our teams. I couldn't see how we would get a goal past them, but at the same time there wasn't a doubt in my mind that we would keep a clean sheet. Head down, I followed behind Fran into the changing room, half-heartedly accepting a high-five from David and a clap on the back from Emil.
In the changing room, I peeled my soaked jersey off and sank back against the bench. Kyle lay on the physio table, Nicki working on his thigh; Emil and Valentina were engaged in a heated discussion; a stressed-looking Frank and Jody huddled together near the doorway. The mood wasn't down, exactly, but it felt like the weather and supporters outside had leeched all the energy we'd shown in the huddle before the game.
I accepted a drink from Abby and wiped my arms down with a towel while I waited for Frank to begin his talk. He'd moved on from Jody and now sat next to Rodri, making rapid hand movements as they talked. Leaning back, my eyes trailed around the room. They came to a stop on a seething Emil.
"Guys, why are we acting like we're loosing?" he shouted. In an instant the room quietened down, pairs of eyes lifting to our captain as he stood. "Come on! Where's your energy? We still have forty-five minutes to play out there."
"Emil's right." Frank, finished with Emil, stood up at the front of the room. He nodded to Emil as the Dutchman took his seat again. "I can't say you're playing badly, because you're not, but I need some energy in here, okay?" I nodded at the gaffer; he was right. "Cool off for a minute more, then we'll chat."
Murmurs of agreement sounded, followed by the sounds of conversations starting up again. I sat forwards, leaning my elbows on my knees while I waited for Frank to talk again. Jody spoke to him, both of their faces set in deep frowns. When they stopped and Frank stepped forwards once more, the room hushed.
"Right, what have I said all week?" he asked the room, hands on his hips. "I said it just before the game. And we've barely done it." No one spoke, so he raised his eyebrows. "Rodri? Know what I'm talking about?"
Rodri straightened. "The right fullback."
Frank nodded and looked around the room. "The right fullback, exactly. He's the weakest player on that pitch tonight, and we all know that. So why haven't we been targeting him like I said?"
Abby dropped her bottle and it cluttered against the floor, shattering the silence that hung in the room following the gaffer's question. Frank turned around to the whiteboard behind him, where blue and red magnets were set up in our formations. He moved them around to show our press and, with a black marker, drew a big circle around their right fullback. Facing us again, he tapped the board with the back of the pen.
"I'll say it again, then. When we don't have the ball, we hold off and force them to play right, and then we press, yeah? And when we get the ball, we have to look to shift it left. Rodri, Emil, Annika... you have to be looking for Beck or Abs or Val so they can crowd that channel and really put pressure on their fullback. And you three, get it down there; once you beat him – which you have to back yourselves to do – there's so much space behind him for you to cross it in, okay?"
I hung onto every word of Frank's, taking them in with more urgency than I had pre-match. He was right, and the nods that went around the room told me the team knew the same. When the bell shrilled through the changing room, informing us it was time for the second half, I was twitching to go.
After downing the rest of the sports drink in my hands, I pulled on a dry shirt. My chest brimmed with anticipation as I followed behind Abby back out into the tunnel. Emil cheered from the front of the queue, and a moment later I ran back into the rain, the roars of the crowd hitting my ears again.
The second half started off in much the same way as the first: Ajax had a shot saved by David; we got a free kick on the edge of their box that Abby fired into the wall. It took us a good seven minutes before we implemented Frank's tactics, and from that minute the game turned to our favour.
Suddenly we looked miles better than both of us had all game. We kept the ball, but won it back with ease when we lost it. Our backline was almost on the halfway line, putting them under constant pressure. We set up camp in their half, and I knew it was only a matter of time before we scored.
Ajax had a goal kick just after sixty minutes. Their keeper played it out to the centre back. Kyle and Lucia, who had been inch perfect in the press thus far, tucked in while Abby pulled out. The centre back, a hopeless look on her face, threw her hands into the air before she passed it sideways to their right fullback. In a second, Kyle and Lucia cut off his other options and Abby rushed forwards. She won the ball cleanly, like she had twice already.
I sprinted down the line to her outside as she lifted her head to scan the box. Kyle, Lucia and Fran were all tightly marked, and Rodri was just blocked out by one of their midfielders. Crossing wasn't Abby's strongest suit, so I yelled for the ball as I ran.
She played a perfectly weighted back pass. I didn't even need to lift my head to know the leads Fran and Kyle would be playing, pulling their defenders out. I fired in the cross first time; there couldn't have been sweeter connection if I tried. Lifting my head, I saw Lucia flying up into the air, my heart in my mouth. The ball hit her head and sailed past the keeper into the back of the net.
Blissful adrenalin heated my body as I ran to celebrate with the team. Lucia completed a dramatic knee slide and stood up, her arms raised. Kyle met her first, lifting her up and spinning her around. She was back on the ground by the time I arrived in the huddle. My hands on Emil's shoulders, I launched myself into the air, fist raised in triumph.
Unfortunately, Lucia's joy didn't last much longer. A minute after Ajax's restart, she went down from a bad tackle clutching her knee. The game came to a stop as our medics ran onto the pitch. The bench was on my side, so I stepped towards it and grabbed a water bottle. Turing my head to look at the subs, I expected Olly to be removing his bid. Frowning in shock, though, I saw Mason standing up. Abby wandered over and grabbed a bottle, too, her cheeks bright red.
"That was great, Beck," she told me in between sips. "Do you prefer the ball back or should I play it forwards for you to run onto?"
"Back was perfect, Abs. But just watch for—"
"Abby, Beck! Over here!"
Raising my head, I saw Frank standing with Mason motioning for us. A quick glance over my shoulder saw that Lucia was still lying on the ground. I stepped closer to the gaffer.
"Right, Abs, you're going to take over from Lucia, okay?" Abby, her head tilted to the side, just nodded. "Mase is going to come on the left so we have some fresh legs ready to put that pressure on."
"Want me to just stick with what Lucia was doing?" Abby asked, lowering the bottle from her mouth.
"Yes, yes, keep it up. Tell Kyle to do the same, yeah?"
I nodded and met the eyes of Mason for a second. A whistle sounded, forcing my gaze back to the pitch. Lucia was hobbling off with the medics. The fourth official behind Mason lifted the sub board, a number nineteen lit up in green next to the red number seven.
"Beck, more of the same, please."
I grinned as a brief smile passed over Frank's face. Abby took off across the pitch as Mason ran on, too. Taking a final sip from my bottle, I threw it to the side and took my position while I waited for Elena to take our free kick.
As we got more efficient, Ajax became more forceful. Two more yellow cards didn't slow down their aggression, in no one more than Luka Savic. A huge jostle happened just after Mason came on, ending with both of us on the floor. When he went in for a lunging tackle a while later, his studs got more of my shin than the ball. The next time I tried to tackle him I was rewarded with a shove in the back.
"Watch it!" I yelled, stumbling backwards as the ball went out for my throw in.
Looking up, the expression in his eyes turned my blood to ice. If I thought the vengefulness on his face was scary, the way his mouth twisted into a smile made me want to sub myself off. Wordlessly, he backed off to let me take the throw in, but he kept his eyes trained on me, that terrifying grin remaining.
I'd never been scared of a player during a game before now. I tried to shrug it off, but every time I neared him, my stomach sunk. Faux pain tingled in my knee as I recalled that game in Russia and the way he'd so brutally run me down. If he was willing to go to those extremes back then, there was no guaranteeing he wouldn't do the same now.
When Emil fed me the ball on the halfway line, I had no choice but to push the thought to the back of my mind. I got it under my feet and took off down the line. I knew Mason was just up ahead and Val was running a few paces behind me on my inside, but their fullback was stepping up. Get it around him and there'd be so much more space for me to chuck a pass into Mason. I was nearing him, a few paces away, when someone grabbed onto the back of my shirt.
I knew it was Savic before I even turned around. The tug pulled me back forcefully and despite the ref's whistle for a free kick, I was livid. Blood rising in my cheeks, I spun on the balls of my feet to face the Croatian.
"You that desperate for my jersey?" I spluttered, holding up the hem of my shirt. He took a step closer, but my fear for him was gone. "You could just wait until the end of the game and ask for it, you know?"
A step away from me, he got a bunch of the fabric in his hands. My heart skipped a beat as dark, spiteful eyes stared down at me. Rage was fading from my chest, but reappeared as he curled his lip.
"Aw, you want to take your shirt off for me?" he sneered. "Cute."
"In your dreams, fucker." Lifting a finger to his face, I ignored the tremor in my voice. "Let go of me."
He mumbled something in Croatian under his breath. The ref blew his whistle again. I could hear my teammates coming closer, shouting behind me. But I kept my eyes on his, locked in a psychological battle. I wasn't about to back down from this. Neither was he, it seemed.
"Let go of me," I repeated, narrowing my eyes.
Before I could process the smirk that came over his face, I flew backwards. My breath left my chest as I thudded against the wet grass. Astonished, I blinked up at Savic, expecting to see him still staring down at me, but he was face to face with Mason.
"What's your problem?" Mason yelled, shoving him backwards. "Don't fucking touch her!"
"Who are you?" Savic replied, lifting his hands to Mason's chest, too.
Scrambling up, I was about to intervene, but Emil already had a hand on Mason's shoulder attempting to pull him back. Still seething, Mase lifted a shaking finger. Annika, at my side, asked if I was okay, but I ignored her and kept my eyes on the scene in front of me. Another Ajax played had joined in and was trying to drag Savic away. He turned to look at me and laughed.
"So your boyfriend has to protect you, huh?" He laughed again as my blood boiled. "Pathetic."
Mason, a flurry of insults flying from his mouth, lunged forwards again. Savic's laugh got louder. Heart hammering, I moved to the other side of Mason as Emil.
"Mitchell! Stop." His arm slipped from my grip, but Emil pushed him backwards.
"Get a grip, Mason."
"Hey, chill!" I yelled. Stepping in front of a visibly steaming Mason, I put my hands on his chest. "It's not worth it."
I threw a glance over my shoulder to see Savic marching off and the ref raising a yellow card at Mason for his role in the battle. When she showed it to Savic, too, he spat on the ground and threw his hands in the air. Mason's chest was rising and falling rapidly. Emil stepped away, leaving just us.
"You good?" I asked, lowering my hands. For the first time, Mason met my eyes. The same anger that I'd seen in Bulgaria after his fight with Lance twisted his face, but he nodded.
"Yeah, sorry. You okay?"
I nodded and stepped away, aware that everyone was almost ready to restart. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Mason held my eye contact for a second longer before he nodded again. Lifting a hand, he squeezed my shoulder before taking off down the line. Ignoring the warmth in my chest, I spun the ball into place on the grass in front of me.
There were only a couple of minutes left in the game, thankfully. Ajax didn't look a team about to score, but I wanted to game to end out of worry that another fight would start up. As the minutes ticked down, the game slowed. Ajax seemed to have given up while we seemed too drained to put another goal past them. Well, I felt too drained, at least.
The added six minutes were nearing completion when we won a corner on my side. Walking to the flag, I surveyed the box. Savic had quietened down since the fight, but now I spied him marking Mason. They were elbowing each other out of the way before I'd even laid the ball down. My stomach turned watching them; the final whistle couldn't come any sooner.
I played the corner out short to Valentina. When an Ajax player came to meet her, she passed it back to me. Stopping the ball under my foot, I waited for someone to take me on, or for the final whistle to go, but everyone backed off and the ref stayed silent. Scanning the box, I spotted Kyle past the far post, motioning inside. Since it seemed no one was going to challenge me, it was worth a shot.
I looped the cross in, only for the keeper to come off her line and parry it away. Frozen in place, I watched the ball sail over the players in the box, on its way to where Mason and Savic still shoved each other. Both of them leapt into the air and attempted to win the header, Mason a beat ahead of Savic. Mid-air, Mason's head made contact with the ball, and a second later it hit the back of Savic's head.
As both players landed on the ground and lay down on the sodden grass, the ref's whistle went. My chest tightened as I jogged closer to the pair. They both had their hands to their heads: Mason's were pressed against his forehead; Savic's clutching the back of his skull. Both set of medics rushed onto the pitch, blocking my view of Mason when I got close enough.
"Christ, that looks bad," Rodri commented from beside me.
My stomach sank as I stood on my toes to peer over Stu's shoulder. I winced back at the sight of blood. Guilt forced me to keep my gaze on him, though: if I hadn't sent that cross in, this wouldn't have happened.
"I hope they're okay," I said.
Diego, who had come on for Fran, appeared on my other side and handed me a bottle. He and Rodri started up a conversation in Spanish, leaving me to stand and sip my water in worried silence. Mason sat up, his face twisted in discomfort. Stu had a wad of gauze pressed to the side of his head, the edges of which were stained red already. Normally the sight of blood didn't worry me, but considering it was Mason's, my head turned light.
Minutes passed before the injured pair were escorted off the pitch. Stomach churning, I stood next to Diego and Rodri and watched Mason stagger off, his hand still clutching the considerably redder gauze. Savic seemed worse off between the two, if it was any consolation prize.
Somehow, the ref awarded us a free kick for the incident. Abby lined it up as play resumed, but hit it straight into the wall again. By the time they'd cleared it well over the halfway line, a screech of the ref's whistle signalled the end of the game. I trudged off the pitch – sopping wet, exhausted, Mason-less. Even with all the points, the unpleasant end to the match and the sinking feeling in my stomach it caused felt like anything but a win.