WOSO Imagines

Proud of You (Lucy Bronze)

"Jack!" Jessie yells from her position at the center line.

I turn, the ball landing perfectly at my feet and start my run toward the box. With Brazil's defenders focusing on marking Christine, I have a clear path to the goal. At least I thought I did.

The hit comes out of nowhere; I didn't realize any of the back line were near me. Her foot connects with the back of my calf, her elbow jabbing my spine. I feel myself start to fall and the studs of my cleat catch on the grass. I scream as I slam into the ground, a sickening pop coming from near my right heel.

I grind my teeth as I roll onto my back, holding my shin. I start seeing spots as I hear people around me shouting. Jessie's at my side in a moment, kneeling beside me and asking where it hurts.

"Achilles," I gasp.

Somewhere to my left, Cloe is yelling for the medics. Christine is arguing with the referee who has yet to yellow card the Brazilian who illegally tackled me.

Tears well in my eyes as my heel starts to burn and I bite my lip to keep them from falling. We weren't even ten minutes into the second half and I could've equalized if I hadn't been taken out. This was just a friendly, but it still meant a lot; we're trying to make it to the world cup next summer and every game counts.

"Can you keep playing?"

I shake my head. "It popped, Jess. I'm pretty sure I tore it. I'm done for a while. Fuck."

Jessie moves behind my head as the medics arrive, holding my hands so they can examine me. I try my best to disguise my pain, but with every minute movement or touch from their gloved hands, I physically wince and cry out. She squeezes my hands every time, reassuring me that I'm okay. Her words fall on deaf ears.

The medics decide I need a more thorough exam and I let Jessie and Cloe help me to my feet. I attempt to put some weight on my right foot sending a shooting pain through my entire leg. Jessie notices right away and signals to Cloe to help her get me off the field, each of them putting one of my arms around their shoulder.

The crowd erupts in cheers as I hobble off the field. Bev must've made the subs call already because Adriana is on the sideline, ready to come on.

My teammates pass me over to the medical team as they run back onto the field. My head droops as I finally let the tears fall, the staff escorting me back through the tunnel and into one of the physio rooms.

My ankle had swollen to twice its size in the last ten minutes, so our team doctor gently removes my shoe before placing my foot on ice.

"I'm going to give you some pain killers and I'll schedule some scans for tomorrow, but from the medics' exam and from mine, I'm pretty sure you tore your achilles tendon. I can't say for certain whether it's a partial or full tear," she says, opening a cabinet and removing a pill bottle.

"What would the recovery time be?" I ask, the pit in my stomach threatening to turn into a blackhole depending on her answer.

"For a partial, you're looking at 10-12 weeks, but a full tear would require surgery and that comes with a longer healing period. I wish I could tell you more, but we won't know until after the hospital," she explains, patting my knee empathetically. She places a cup with two pills and a bottle of water beside me. "I'll leave you to rest a bit."

I thank her and watch as she leaves the room. Finally alone, it fully hits me what just happened. Thirty minutes ago, I was on my way to scoring my fiftieth goal for my country, and now I would be out for at least three months.

I quickly swallow the pills before laying back, crossing my hands over my stomach as my thoughts churn bitterly and more tears fall down my cheeks. I can hear the muffled roar of the crowd and all I want is to not be alone. I want her.