The next Tuesday hosted out first Champions League game of the season. To say I was thrilled would be a crazy underestimation. Watching the team play in the Europa League the season I was out had made me feel slightly better: if I'd missed out on a season of Champions League as well as the normal league, I would have been devastated. Granted, they got to lift a trophy at the end of it that I had nothing to do with, it still wasn't the Champions League.
We met on Sunday afternoon for a session, which was rare but necessary. After we were left with so little time to prepare for one of our biggest games last week, we hadn't paid much attention to the game against Valencia at all so extra training was required. I didn't mind coming to Cobham on Sunday. I was still riding a high from my recent return to top-flight football: I would have spent all day there if Frank had asked at that point.
The session was pretty chilled, mostly just a run around to get rid off stiffness and have a ball at our feet so we could get our minds around the next game. I stayed behind afterwards to do some free kicks with Mason, Daniel and Abby. Frank stayed behind with us, too, and getting advice from the legendary free kick taker was always beneficial.
The sun was starting to get low in the sky as we wandered off the pitch later that afternoon. Daniel and Abby were engrossed with something Frank was telling them, so Mason and I pulled ahead of the trio.
"Think I'm going to get into the pool for a bit," Mason commented, kicking out his left leg as he walked. "My muscles are so tired."
"Enjoy," I laughed.
I hated the cold pool downstairs; during my rehab I'd spent time in it just about every day. I never got used to the aching in my feet as I climbed in and, to this day, the thought of getting in made me feel sick.
"Come with," Mason begged. I turned to look at him incredulously to see him pouting at me.
"I hate that place. Sorry, Mitchell."
"Come keep me company at least?" His wide eyes made me want to say yes, but I was also keen to head home. "Come on, we can make tea and then head down."
Because it was Mason, I let out a groan. "Fine. But you're making the tea."
We de-booted and headed to the changing rooms to put our slides on. Stragglers from the normal session were sitting around; Emil and Victor seemed to be in the middle of a tense Uno match and Annika was busy straightening her hair in the mirror. In the dining area, Sam the fitness coach and Nicki, one of the physios, were sitting with cups of coffee, and they greeted us as we passed through to make some tea.
Cobham in the late afternoons was always a strange place. With players and staff lingering around and the late sun streaming in through the big glass windows, it reminded me of being back at St George's Park when training was finished and the squad could just relax. Annika and I always joked that we could live at Cobham if we wanted, and this time of day always made me think that, if I wanted to, I really could.
Tea in hand, Mason and I headed down to the pool. I still had flashbacks to when I was limping down the stairs, barely able to bend my knee enough to step down, and they returned as we descended the final steps to the poolroom. It was empty inside, which wasn't all that surprising.
"I thought others would have done the same," Mason muttered as he took a rolled up towel from the pile next to the door. "Or is it just my legs that are beat?"
"I don't need one of these," I retorted as Mason threw me a towel, causing him to chuckle. "I mean, mine are okay, but I only played thirty minutes yesterday."
"And you were still probably our best player on the pitch."
I didn't respond to Mason's compliment, but my heart swelled at his words. "If I play on Tuesday I'll probably be aching on Wednesday though."
"Frank would be dumb not to start you." Mason's aggressive tone took my by surprise. He looked over his shoulder and shrugged, clearly seeing my expression. "What? It's true. No offence to the guy, but Thomas has been really average so far."
We'd reached the small cold pool, but were just standing beside it. I shrugged. "It's hard coming to a new club and being thrown in the deep end, I guess." Mason's face lit up and he raised an eyebrow. "Don't get any ideas from that metaphor, Mitchell."
He chuckled. "It's hardly a new club," he said, his smile fading. "He's been here since January."
"Yeah, but we still had Gregor until the end of last season."
The big, Ukrainian left back had played for me while I'd been out, but when rumours of him leaving for Inter came up, the club signed Thomas van der Berg from Schalke in the January window as a potential replacement for him. But Mason was right: Thomas wasn't playing particularly well since he became our regular starting left back.
"Well, still." Mason reached down to dip a toe into the water and flinched back. "Fuck, why did I want to do this again?"
"Don't ask me." I laid my towel out on the tiles and sat cross-legged on top of it, holding my mug with both hands. "I told you this place sucks."
Mason mumbled something under his breath and leant down to place his mug next to me. Glancing up, I saw why: he was pulling his training top off, tugging it over his head. My mouth momentarily went dry as his top landed next to me and he stretched his arms above his head. More lean than brawn, Mason always joked that he needed to spend more time in the gym. I'd tried in the past to tell him he was in great shape, but with players the size of Thomas and Victor Dubois to compare himself to, it wasn't hard to see why he wanted to bulk up.
"God, this is going to suck."
As he started to slip his shorts off, I could feel my cheeks heating up. I looked down into my tea mug, noticing a piece of loose leaf floating around.
"Just get in as quickly as you can," I told him. "If you don't, your feet will start stinging and then you're fucked."
Mason chuckled and I looked back up to see him climbing down the steps, a pained expression on his face. "Talking from experience?" His voice was shaky.
"Too much experience."
He was submerged up until his belly button; his face pulled into a grimace. I couldn't help giggling at him as he started waving his arms around.
"Hey, stop that," he scolded, but a smile formed on his face.
"You look like you really need to pee."
"Good thing I can if I want." I rolled my eyes at the childish comment, but clearly shouldn't have.
"Mason!" I yelled with a gasp as icy water hit my leg. I glared at him as he shrugged innocently. "That was uncalled for."
He started doing small circles in the water, his face scrunched up again. "Shit, you weren't wrong about the feet."
"Are they aching?" I grinned at him. Nodding, he started hopping closer. "They'll start to go numb soon, don't worry."
"I'll take your word for it."
He rested his arms on the edge of the pool and placed his chin on his hands. Tilting his head, he looked up at me. Cheeks flushed and eyebrows raised, I distracted myself by shifting my position so that I was hugging my knees to my chest.
"In other news," Mason said abruptly. "I heard Hannah Kingsley got injured in City's game yesterday."
"What? For real?" I widened my eyes as Mason reached for his tea.
"Yeah, I was chatting to Walt earlier and he told me." Looking up at me, he grinned. "Your England chances are looking better and better."
"You just got back from being with England," I mumbled. "The next break's not for weeks."
"Yeah, but if Hannah's injured..."
"Then there's still Zach Smith." Mason scoffed, pausing to do so with his mug raised to his mouth.
"Zach plays on the right. And plus, you're ten times better than him, Beck."
"Whatever, I don't want to think about England yet," I sighed, putting my half empty mug down next to me. "I need to get back into the Chelsea side first."
"And you will."
I kept my eyes down, studying my chipped pink nail polish. It started to bug me, so I spread my legs out, my toes almost in Mason's face. He pulled an expression which made me chuckle before shifting away from them, closer to the rest of my body. When he laid his arms out this time, his elbows brushed against my legs.
"I kind of hope I don't play on the weekend, though," I said with a humourless chuckle. Mason nudged his elbow against my leg, sending shivers down to my toes that I tried to hide.
"Why the hell not?" I was about to tell him why when realisation washed over his face. "Oh, shit, Emma plays for Wolves."
I nodded glumly. "Yeah, she does."
"And so?" I looked at Mason incredulously, who just shrugged. "What? It happens. Whatever."
"Don't whatever me," I groaned. "I've never played against her before. Do you know how weird it's going to be?"
"Trust me, I know exactly how weird it is."
Mason was sipping his tea, his expression flat. With a sinking heart, I remembered that he was in pretty much the exact same position as I was: one of his best friends, Callum Dawson, played for West Ham. Similar to me and Emma, they'd both joined the Chelsea academy from a young age until Callum was asked to leave at fifteen. He moved to West Ham, and had been playing for their first team since the start of the previous season.
"Yeah, sorry. I forgot you've done it a couple of times." Mason shrugged, still studying the top of his tea. "Is it... how much does it suck?"
"It's not that bad," he said with a small chuckle. "It's just one of those things, you know?"
"Have you guys ever fought about it?"
Emma and I were both highly competitive and so was the very nature of our friendship. I was worried that playing against each other would take it one step too far and things would be affected off the pitch.
"Nah, not really." Mason shook his head and placed his mug down. "You both have to realise that whatever happens on the pitch needs to stay there. No hard feelings afterwards."
"Yeah, I don't know if I'm very good at that." I pulled my knees up to my chest again.
"Oh, yeah, shit." Mason laughed. "Remember when Aaron fouled you at the Emirates and you didn't talk to him for, like, the first three days at St George's?" I rolled my eyes as Mason laughed louder. "And when you and Randall got into that fight against United? You still hate him."
"Okay, I don't just hate Lance because of that." I lifted a hand up in my defence. "The guy sucks in general. Don't pull that face; you also hate him!"
"Yeah, can't argue that." Mason chuckled once more before his expression became serious again. "You just have to be professional about it, Beck, that's all I can say." Meeting his eyes, I saw how sombre they were. "You and Emma will be fine. Cal and I always are."
I nodded, only then becoming aware of how stressed I must seem for Mason to be reacting like this.
"And anyway, we'll beat them, so it's more her reaction you have to worry about." A smile formed on my face as I nodded. "Now, tell me: is it normal not to be able to move my toes in here?"