A big game against Leicester was our final test before the break. A couple of losses to Arsenal and Wolves saw them sitting behind us by a good seven points, but the quality in their team was still clear. So far, their power had been in their attacking and finishing, mostly from their new record signing of Colombian right wing Antonella Gomez. I knew I'd have my work cut out for me after watching her highlights thus far into the season, but for some reason I was less nervous than I usually was the morning of the game.
Going through the pre-match customs, my mind was focused solely on the game. I barely participated in the chatters as we ate, hung onto every word Frank said to us before we left for the Bridge, and went through my warm up with Annika almost wordlessly. The first bout of nerves I felt for the game was stood in the tunnel, my eyes trained on the back of Annika's head. With Mason starting on the bench, there wasn't even the distraction of a touch on my shoulder or word of encouragement in my ear.
Apart from the Valencia game, this felt like my first test since being back in the starting team. Wolves and Everton and Lille had talent, sure, but at the end of the day I knew they were matches we were able to win. This Leicester team, meanwhile, felt tricky.
The Liquidator resonated through the tunnel and followed me onto the pitch as I shadowed Annika. The cheering Chelsea fans and jeering Leicester crowd sent my stomach turning, but I swallowed back any reservations as we lined up for a picture. With Mason's calf still worrying him, Fran took his place as our ten and Valentina Vargas filled in for Fran. A threatening thigh injury saw Olly on the sidelines, too, bringing Daniel Gregory into the starting line up.
Final words from Emiliano supplied a last bit of energy into the team before we took our places. I felt my pulse in my feet as I stood ready, watching the Leicester number ten stand with the ball under his foot. The whistle sounded, followed by a roar from the crowd, and ball went flying to their centre back.
From the first seconds, they threw everything at us. Fran's tackling wasn't nearly good enough to be going against Antonella Gomez, and by the twentieth minute they'd already had four shots on target thanks to her playmaking. Emiliano was putting on a heroic performance on my right and Rodri was picking out passes to get through their patchy defence, but they were still dominating us.
Our first chance came in the thirtieth minute from a great run by Elena and an even better cross, only for Kyle to volley it just wide of the goals. Tracking back in preparation for their goal kick, I felt on edge for the first time. Besides Emil and Rodri, the team was obviously rattled. We'd seen hardly any of the ball and it felt like there was only so much more we could do to hold them off.
True to my instincts, one of their midfielders rounded Rodri easily and chucked an incredible pass to cut out Val on the right. The ball landed directly in the path of their right fullback, with their winger sprinting down the length of the field. Annika tracked the runner, leaving Elena to manage the fullback. Glancing over my shoulder, I was being extra cautious of Antonella's movements.
While my eyes were off the ball, the ref's whistle made me aware of Elena's foul. Trying to keep one eye on Antonella and one on the ball, I saw it leave their fullback's feet and after a check over my shoulder, saw Rodri missing a header.
The ball went right again. Runners were streaming into the box, a step in front of my teammates it seemed. Fran was tight on their midfielder; Emil was chasing the excessive leads of their striker. Antonella was hanging wide, trying to draw me out, but I anticipated her run to the far post.
Sure enough, the ball was fired in. I could feel her at my back. The timing of my jump would be crucial. I watched it approaching, felt the Colombian draw up behind me. Leaping into the air, I puffed out a laboured breath as the ball hit my head. There was a couple of seconds when relief constricted my chest, but my header wasn't as great as I'd hoped.
From my head, the ball arced towards the penalty spot, where it fell perfectly for their striker to volley it into the back of the net.
My stomach dropped. Feeling like a fool, I turned away from the celebrating Leicester players, anger and humiliation heating up my body.
"Head up, Beck!" Emil yelled from my right. "Just forget about it!" To the other surrounding players, he called, "Come on, guys; we're better than this!"
We didn't have a response for the remaining minutes. Sulking off at half time, I listened to a heated argument between Fran and Emil all the way down the tunnel. A grim-faced Frank met me at the door. He clapped me on my back as I entered, making me think he wasn't as upset about my role in their goal as I was.
Shortly after the restart, the situation got worse. A long ball from their centre mid cut out both Rodri and Emil. A desperate attempt from Annika left her sliding into the legs of their striker, who easily converted the resulting penalty. Even Emil's boosts weren't making the helplessness I felt diminish.
A substitution from Frank saw Fran departing the pitch immediately after, Mason waiting for her at the sideline. Intense determination was on his face as he sprinted across the field, shouting instructions to Abby and Kyle, dramatic hand movements accompanying them. Getting into position, he looked over his shoulder at me.
"Hey!" I yelled, cupping my hands over my mouth. Mason's tackling was a lot better than Fran's, but he still needed to know where some of our woes were coming from. Running backwards, he stopped beside me as Kyle's ball for Abby went out for a goal kick. "Antonella's quicker than she seems, yeah? You can't fly in when she's running at you."
He nodded, eyes darting around the pitch in front of us. "Anything else?"
"If you get caught high and I have to step up, you're going to have to get back and cover me. Can you do that?" He met my eyes and nodded, understanding passing between us. He lifted a hand to my arm for a second before he took off, sprinting forwards to help us press.
It took minutes for Mason's effect to be felt on the pitch. New energy spread between us, and when Abby departed for Lucia Rodriges, the same thing happened. It wasn't obvious where the change started, but all of a sudden we were winning balls back, making smart runs and overall playing neat but threatening football. My hopes were high as the fiftieth minute came that we would get back into the game.
We were on the scoreboard three minutes later. Mason got the ball on the halfway line and cut inside, running through players as if they weren't there. Laying it off to Kyle, it only took a simple pass around their keeper for him to score.
Spirits lifted even further after that. Leicester were the ones feeling the pressure now, and it was evident in their playing. Their passing became sloppy, their challenges lazy. When Val went off for our last sub and fresh-legged Spencer Ingle came on, it seemed to be the last straw for the Leicester team.
A lucky clear off the line and a goal ruled off by VAR were the only things playing to Leicester's favour. We'd been playing out of our socks, but in a flash there were only five minutes left and we were still a goal down.
So much adrenalin pumped through my body, forcing me to run more than I thought I could. Their right back seemed to have given up, which meant I was sprinting up the pitch to attack, falling back to defend, and running forwards as soon as we won the ball back.
One of these runs finally paid off. Rodri had the ball in the middle. He drew in their right mid and, with Antonella left huffing way behind me, I had heaps of space on the left. He played it directly to my feet, and I was off. I played a quick pass inside to Lucia to get around a player. She passed it back to me first time as I pushed forward, my body driven by adrenalin. I cut around their weak right back and spied Mason out the corner of my eye. I heard Kyle calling from the box, heard Rodri calling for me to pull it back, but I fed it forwards for Mase.
I was so sure he would score that I was cheering as soon as he got the ball. And he did: he took it effortlessly and blasted it past the keeper into the back of the net.
The only celebrating Mason did was turning around to give me a point and a smile. Kyle gathered the ball and we restarted in a flash, intent of scoring a winner.
The winner never came, though. The final whistle went, much to the relief of my burning legs but to the displeasure of knowing we could have put the game to bed. I was exhausted, physically and mentally. Hunched over and breathing heavily, it seemed like too much effort for me to pull myself across the pitch thanking the Leicester players.
My captain came to embrace me first, a smile on his normally serious face.
"Great stuff, Beck," he said, pulling me in for a sweaty hug. I nodded.
"You too, skip." He grinned, leaving my side to shake the hand of the approaching Leicester captain.
Dragging my weary body forwards, I thanked the dismayed Leicester team and the red-faced ref. Kyle and Annika high-fived me, Elena gave me a hug, and Spencer shook me by the shoulders so hard I almost fell over.
I could see Mason chatting to Simon Hall, the Leicester centre back. Mase was all smiles, barely looking tired. I wanted to congratulate him properly: I was sure that had he not come on when he did, we wouldn't have come away with a point.
Frank intercepted me first, though, taking me in with a laugh before he wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
"You look beat," he commented. Nodding, I huffed out a laugh.
"I am."
"Doesn't surprise me with how much you ran. Go get on the physio table, yeah?" I nodded again and came to a stop to clap the fans with the gaffer. "And well played, Beck. You really picked up there, so good job."
Still smiling with his praise, I glanced over my shoulder in search of Mason. Now, he was standing with Kyle and Olly a bit away. As I approached the trio, Mason noticed me and the smile on his face widened.
"My God, Beck, you look like you're about to collapse," Kyle joked.
"Yeah, because she actually does some running in games," Olly said, nudging the striker in the side. "Well played, Becks!"
Kyle repeated his compliment as Mason opened his arms. Almost falling into them, I couldn't help chuckling.
"Fuck, that was tough."
"You were a beast, Hart." Mason squeezed me into his chest, where it was weirdly comforting to feel some sweat: he must have been a bit tired.
"You were unbelievable, Mase," I said, lifting a hand to poke him in the side. "What the hell? I thought you were meant to be injured or whatever."
"Nah, that was fake," Mason mumbled. "I made it up."
Kyle scoffed. "I can't even play like that with a normal calf, let alone a sub-par one."
"Hey, who's calf are you calling sub-par?" Mason said.
Letting go of me, he lunged forwards to throw a fake punch at Kyle. As the pair ran off towards the tunnel, I trudged behind them with Olly. He would be off to France in the morning, like Mase, Kyle and I would be off to St George's.
"So, no FIFA tonight?" Olly asked with a grin.
"God no," I said with a laugh. "I'm going straight to bed. I'm so tired."
We entered the tunnel and broke apart in the changing room. There was one table free that I made a move for, desperate to get off my feet. As soon as I lay down and Nicki took hold of my leg, I knew I'd be feeling the effects of this game for the next while. I shut my eyes as the thought of doing this again in a few days made me smile. Except this time, it would be for my country.