The session was much tougher than I had been anticipating, as was the rest of the week.
By the time Friday afternoon came around, I was ready to sleep for days. I hadn't expected how hard it was going to be jumping straight back into normal training after the additional time off and, honestly, I was feeling pretty disheartened as I exited the changing room after training on Friday.
I'd made sure to shower and get changed as quick as I could, for once not in the mood to sit and talk shit with my teammates. I was keen to get home and lie on my couch and do nothing else until the game tomorrow. I hadn't been named in the squad, which didn't come as a surprise at all, but I was still going to watch the game against Southampton.
I was walking through the parking lot towards my car when I heard my name being called. I knew it was Mason â I would know his voice anywhere â and that fact alone made my stomach drop.
Spending more time with Mason this week had made me realise how much I'd missed him over the past few months. The fact that we still weren't on the best of terms upset me a lot, and the fact that he'd put in hardly any extra effort with me this week hurt even more, especially considering the extent my other teammates had gone to welcome me back: Annika had invited me over for a (small) celebratory drink with Olly, and Kyle had arrived at my apartment with Fran in tow for a brunch before our late training slot on Wednesday. It was great seeing their excitement, of course, but it made the lack from Mason so much more noticeable.
I stopped walking and turned around slowly. Mason was running after me, waving a hand above his head. I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face as one lit up Mason's face, too. I raised an eyebrow at him as he slowed to a walk.
"What's up, Mitchell?" I asked. "It's not like you to leave this early."
"Yeah, well, I just wanted to check up on you." The words left his mouth quickly as he came to a halt in front of me. My stomach clenched at the expression on his face. "You seem kinda... off. Everything okay?"
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, biting on the corner of my lip. I was off, in a big way. It may have just been the fact that Mason knew me so well, but the idea of others in the team noticing how weak I had been these past days left a bitter taste in my mouth.
"I don't know, Mase." I looked down at my shoes. "It's just been a long week."
Mason was silent for a moment, but as I looked up from the ground he was stepping forwards, his long arms drawing me in for a hug. For some reason I felt tears prickle the backs of my eyes. Blinking them back hastily, I returned the gesture and slipped my arms around Mason's torso, squeezing him tightly. My eyes shut in comfort as I rested my head on his chest.
The moment made me think back to our time in Russia, when we had been so close. The weeks leading up to the World Cup had probably been some of my favourites in my career, and Mason played a large part in that. I'd been so excited to get home to London and return to club training afterwards, eager to continue building my relationship with Mason, on and off the pitch. But we'd taken a step back due to my injury and everything else, as much as I hated to admit it. Maybe the realisation that things weren't going to that plan was what had me so disappointed, too.
"Look, Beck," Mason started speaking. I wondered if I should pull out of the hug, but when Mason didn't move I stayed put, too. "I know I've been a bit of a shitty friend recently. Well, for a while, actually."
Shock caused me to step back and look up at him. His arms remained on my shoulders, but I dropped mine from his sides as I waited for him to continue. Uncertainty clouded his eyes, but the set of his jaw told me he would get out what he wanted to say: Mason wasn't someone to start something he couldn't finish.
"And I'm really sorry," he admitted. My heart started speeding up. "I get that I sort of let you down and that was unfair of me."
I was rooted to the spot, unable to form any words and unable to take my gaze off Mason's face. The suddenness of his words surprised me more than anything else: as much as we enjoyed fooling around when we were together, our friendship had become a lot more than that before the World Cup. It wasn't unlike him to talk about stuff like this, but the last thing I expected today was to hear what he was saying now.
"Mason-" I tried to interrupt him. But he shook his head and carried on speaking, talking over me.
"I want to make it up to you, Beck. I mean, I know I need to make it up to you, but I just..." he trailed off, his one hand moving from my shoulders to run a hand through his hair. His other one slipped off, too, and the loss of his touch came rather as a relief. "I really miss you, Hart."
Meeting his wide eyes, I took the tentative expression in them to mean he was finished talking. Rolling my lips into my mouth, I thought about how to reply. There were things that I'd wanted to say to him for a while, but I thought better of saying them now. I missed him too, enough to try and forget about all the crap that had been going on lately.
"You have been a shitty friend," I admitted. "But it's okay. I get it; I wasn't really the easiest person to be around." I paused to let out a humourless chuckle. "And I miss you too, Mitchell. A lot."
"So I'm forgiven?" he asked sheepishly. Rolling my eyes at the expression he was pulling, I nodded.
"For now. But you do have to make it up to me."
He let out a chuckle, which somewhat diffused the moment. I smiled back at him and curled my hand into a fist. Softly punching him in the upper arm, I met his gaze again.
"Scout's honour," he teased, holding up a hand and placing his other one over his chest.
"You can start now," I said. I was going to carry on and suggest he come over for an evening if FIFA, like we so often used to do, but the expression that came over his face made me stop, my stomach dropping.
"Uh, I can't do anything today," he said awkwardly, lifting a hand to rub it through his hair again. He was avoiding my eyes, which could only mean one thing. "Liv has this thing that she asked me to come to, so..."
Swallowing back disappointment and, as much as I didn't want to admit it, jealously, I forced myself to smile. "Don't worry, we can do something another time." My upbeat tone sounded strained and by Mason's despondent nod, I knew he had picked up on it too.
"Sorry, Hart," he said, shooting me a half-hearted smile. "Sunday?"
"Yeah, sure."
We stared at each other for a few moments in silence, the strain that had been between us lately having returned.
"Okay, well, enjoy your night," I blurted out, rapidly wanting this interaction to end. "I'll see you for the game tomorrow."
"Yeah, see you," Mason mumbled back, lifting his hand in a feeble wave. Spinning on my heels, I continued my trek to my car, the awkwardness of the end of our conversation weighing on my shoulders.
I hadn't met Mason's new girlfriend yet, which was strange. He had met her before we went to Russia and had claimed that their relationship started then, but I didn't believe him. A couple of weeks after we returned, he had said it was official. That was pretty much a year ago and he had yet to introduce her to any of the team, not even Kyle. I hadn't talked to the others about it much, but from what I gathered they also thought it was peculiar.
Reaching my car, I glanced over my shoulder to see Mason walking to his own. His shoulders were slumped and his hands in his pockets, making me wonder if he regretted the turn our conversation had taken, too.
Leaning on the roof of my car, I met his eyes from across the parking lot. I smiled at him, not even sure that he would be able to see it. But I saw the grin that spread across his face clearly, and this time his wave was a bit more enthusiastic.
***
I ended up doing exactly what I'd planned and spending the evening on my couch. I watched Crystal Palace play Liverpool before I crashed at half time, forcing my tired body to bed.
The next day brought with it cold wind and erratic rain, not rare for October in London but a shock nonetheless. I'd slept in, waking up only when my phone rang. After spending too long on the phone with my parents, I climbed out of bed in search of breakfast.
The game was scheduled for three in the afternoon, so I had most of the morning to still kill. Had I been playing, I would have been a nervous wreck, as I was before every game I played. But today, I was mostly just bored.
When it eventually came time for me to depart for Stamford Bridge, I was more than ready. I wanted to get there a bit early to watch the squad warm up ahead of the clash, so I arrived at the stadium a good forty minutes before kick off. Wandering through the tunnels towards the pitch, I greeted a couple of the familiar security guards and ground staff walking around, too. I'd gotten hold of a pitch-side pass from our team the previous day, so no one stopped me as I exited the tunnel.
Out on the pitch, the rain was threatening but thankfully not falling at the moment. A sharp wind hit me in the face as I stepped out and I was grateful for the massive Chelsea jacket that I donned. A shiver still ran down my spine as I spotted the team warming up on the right half of the field, though, busy sending balls flying across the green pitch.
Frank had named a slightly experimental starting eleven today, with our captain Emiliano Willems on the bench and Diego Foyth starting his first game since arriving at the club last summer. I still had confidence in them, given that Southampton had had only scored one goal in the competition, but it was strange to see the likes of Emil and Abby not warming up with the starting team.
"Rebecca!"
Turning to my left, I was faced with a beaming Frank. Dressed in his trademark game-day attire, a custom Chelsea suit and over it the same jacket I was wearing, he looked at ease for a manager about to play a Premier League game.
"Hey, Boss," I greeted him, returning his smile.
"Good to see you here." He lifted his hand for a high five and I slapped it with a chuckle. "How are you feeling?"
"Not too bad. Excited to see what's in store for the game today."
Frank and I chatted for a moment more before one of the assistant coaches pulled him aside, shoving a notepad in his face as they wandered towards the still warming-up team. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I walked back up the tunnel and went in search of others that weren't named in the squad but I knew were attending the game, too.
As much as I tried to repress it, bitterness still bit at my chest as the match started and progressed. Even with a relatively different team, we dominated the game and at half time we had a lead of two goals to none, coming from Kyle and a penalty from Fran.
I sat through the game with Valentina Vargas, Jonna Eriksson and Juan Medina, who all weren't named in the match day squad due to injuries or sicknesses. They were alright company, but I longed to be out on the pitch with the others instead of stuck behind the dug out listening to the chatters of the reserves.
The game ended at four-one, with Olly coming on after Kyle's second and slotting home the winner.  Their goal came from a moment when our defence fell asleep, which was particularly hard for me to watch.
The others left with the rest of the fans, and as much as I wanted to wait and congratulate the team, I ended up leaving shortly after them, my heart heavy with resentment that I hadn't been able to play.