DESPERATE & DIVINE

12. Unravel

Who knew that nursing a one-sided beef with a sweet human rights lawyer could be so soul-nourishing? Ever since that day at the Manchester City match, it felt like my world turned upside down, and I've been on this strange, self-imposed mission ever since.

These past few weeks, I've had laser focus and unwavering determination. My attitude did a complete 180—suddenly, I'm the ultimate team player, the best friend anyone could ask for, and I've managed to keep up with my consistency on the pitch. It's like I've turned into some kind of superhero, fuelled by this petty little vendetta.

And the revenge body I'm sculpting during endless gym sessions? Definitely the cherry on top of this bout of insanity.

As childish and whiny as it seems, I've figured if Leah wants to move on, I'm not going to make it easy for her. There's a part of me that knows this is toxic, unkind even, but I can't let it go. Not yet. Even though she does her best to keep her distance, that's exactly what fuels me. I give 110% every day, not just for the team or for myself, but to make sure she notices. If she's not going to look at me on her own, I'll make her.

I post more on socials now—my agent is thrilled, of course, thinking I'm finally embracing the spotlight. But I'm doing it for an entirely different reason. Every smile, every gym photo, every success on the field is curated with one silent message: I'm still here.

~

I never expect to randomly see Leah on our days off and when I do, it feels almost cruel, like these moments are being orchestrated by some cosmic force just to mess with me. It's when I least expect it, too. When I'm on my own at home, I imagine all sorts of scenarios: telling her the truth, making up, arguing, even falling into bed. I rehearse the words, the gestures, over and over in my mind, obsessing over everything I've ever wanted to say.

But when it comes to the real thing, none of it ever plays out the way I imagine. None of it even comes close.

Today, I'm meandering through the aisles of Tesco, just trying to get my shopping done without overthinking everything. And yet, there she is again—like a punch to the gut, my eyes land on her at the exact same moment she notices me. She looks effortlessly stunning, even in casual clothes— loose fitting jeans, a simple Nike sweater, her high ponytail swaying as she walks.

It shouldn't still knock the wind out of me, but it does. Every. Single. Time.

My gaze drifts down to the contents of her shopping trolley, and before I can rein in any semblance of decorum, I point and accuse, "What the fuck is that?"

"Frankie?" Leah responds, clearly startled by my outburst. Her eyes follow my finger to the offending item, and when she sees what I'm pointing at, she sheepishly grins. "It's... Dolmio sauce."

"It's sacrilegious, that's what it is!" I exclaim, my hands flying to my head in exaggerated disbelief. "My ancestors must be rolling in their graves! I swear, my eyes are burning!" I rub them dramatically, as though the very sight of the jar has somehow offended my soul.

Leah bites her lip, trying to stifle her laughter, but it spills out anyway. "I'm not the best cook!" she says, trying to defend herself, though the mirth in her voice gives her away.

I shoot her a sceptical look, one eyebrow arched. "Don't give me that look," she protests, still laughing. "You know this about me."

I inch closer, peering into her basket with a raised eyebrow. "You're attempting to make bolognese," I state flatly, shaking my head in disapproval. Without missing a beat, I swiftly remove the jar of Dolmio and hide it behind some fajita kits, ensuring it's never to be seen again. Leah chuckles as I grab a bottle of passata, placing it in her basket with a smug sense of duty.