The early morning drizzle settled over Newcastle's training ground like a cool whisper, the grass slick beneath my boots. I breathed it in—wet earth, fresh air, the hum of anticipation. Years in the game had taught me to read these moments before the ball even moved. Experience was my weapon. But today, that weapon felt dull.
I guess it's time for another session, I muttered under my breath oh i guess i am playing training with the sterling twins this time i never talked to them before well i guess because i never played last season.
Melissa Sterling controlled the ball like she owned the pitch. At just twenty-two, she was a prodigy—a genius playmaker whose vision sliced through defenses before they even knew what hit them. Her twin brother, James Alexander Sterling, was the heartbeat of the midfield, orchestrating plays with the ease of a maestro conducting a symphony.
I moved into position, voice steady, ready to claim the ball when it came my way.
"Here!" I called, sharp and clear.
But Melissa's eyes never found mine. The ball slid past me, a razor-thin pass meant for James. I shifted, trying to sync with their rhythm, but the timing was just… off. Each pass, each touch between the Sterlings was a step ahead of me. Like they were speaking a language I'd only just begun to learn.
This wasn't about skill. It was about chemistry—and no matter how many seasons I'd logged, no matter how many goals I'd scored, I was the outsider. A loose cog in a machine that had been running long before I arrived.
The coach's voice cut through the drizzle, sharp and impatient."Lukas! Keep your head in the game. Read the Sterling connection—they're your key."
I swallowed the bite of frustration.
I'm not the rookie anymore. I'm an experienced pro with a scarred past and a hunger that hasn't faded. I will prove I belong. I have to.
But right now, watching the Sterlings weave their magic with effortless precision, it felt like I was chasing the second hand on a clock, always one tick behind.
After training, I caught up with them near the benches, the cold air still hanging around us.
"Hey, Melissa, James," I started, trying to keep my voice steady, "how do you two always seem to know where the other is? It's like you have some secret playbook."
James smirked, tossing his towel over his shoulder. "Years of practice, mate. We're connected—grew up playing together since we were kids. You get used to the smallest tells."
Melissa nodded, eyes sharp. "But don't think it's all magic. We work hard, watch each other's movements constantly. You're new, so just watch and learn the rhythm. You'll get it."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "I appreciate that. I need to catch up fast."
James clapped me on the back. "You've got the experience, Lukas. Just gotta find your place in the flow."
Melissa smiled, a flash of encouragement in her eyes. "Don't be afraid to make the unpredictable play. Sometimes it's what breaks the pattern."
Later that night, the rain still tapping against my apartment window, my mind drifted back—back to when everything changed.
It was months ago. The season was turning sour, and I was weighed down by mistakes and missed chances. Elise showed up one evening after a match, her eyes not full of questions, but understanding ,at that time i was talking alot to her and it was not a player reporter relationship anymore.
"Come with me," I said impulsively. "To my place. I need someone who gets it."
She hesitated, then smiled—soft, real—and nodded.
In my apartment, away from flashing cameras and endless scrutiny, she poured us both a drink. "You're not what I expected," she said quietly.
I was scared then, scared of failing, scared of what the future held.
We talked for hours. About the pressure, the loneliness, the fear beneath the facade. She didn't need a story; she just listened. She saw the cracks beneath my armor and didn't flinch.
The first touch was tentative, but electric. The first smile genuine, not rehearsed.
That night, something inside me shifted.
She wasn't just a reporter anymore.
She was the one who saw me.
The one who mattered.
I blinked, shaking the memory away. The past was a weight I carried, but it was also the fire that kept me moving.
Tomorrow, on the pitch, I would find my rhythm. I had to.
Because this season—this second season—was mine to claim.