𝙄𝙣 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙌𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩 𝙈𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 - 𝘊𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘥

𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙏𝙬𝙤. 𝘚𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵

I didn't want to come back to training yet. I wasn't ready- emotionally or physically. But Jonas had been understanding, and though he hadn't pushed, I knew the team needed me. We had important matches coming up, and the longer I stayed away, the harder it would be to return.

Still, as I walked into the training ground that morning, a heavy weight settled in my chest. The familiar buzz of activity around me felt distant, like I was watching through a fog. Everything had changed so quickly since my father's death, and it seemed like my mind hadn't caught up to it all.

My body moved on autopilot-changing into my gear, lacing up her boots, stepping onto the pitch. It wasn't long before I noticed her hands trembling. I shoved them into my pockets, forcing myself to breathe steadily.

"Focus," I whisper to myself, standing at the edge of the training field.

Caitlin was already out there, stretching near the goalpost. When her eyes met mine across the field, she gave a small nod of acknowledgment, but nothing more. I appreciated the subtlety. I wasn't sure if I could handle pity or concern right now.

The first few drills went by in a blur. My mind was far from the game, lost in the sea of thoughts I hadn't fully processed. Every sprint felt heavier than the last, every touch of the ball unsteady. I felt like I was moving through quicksand.

As we transitioned to partner drills, I found myself paired with Caitlin. The tension between us had faded slightly in the wake of everything that had happened, but there was still an underlying awkwardness. Caitlin hadn't brought up our argument since they had returned from my dad's house, and I hadn't offered much in terms of conversation either. The distance between us still hung in the air, unspoken.

Caitlin passes the ball to me with an easy tap, her expression unreadable.

"You okay?" she asks, her voice low so that only I could hear.

I forced a nod, avoiding Caitlin's gaze. "Yeah, just tired."

I knew Caitlin didn't believe me, but I was grateful Caitlin didn't press. We worked through the drills, Caitlin's presence quietly grounding me, even if I wasn't fully admitting it. Whenever I fumbled the ball, Caitlin would retrieve it without a word, resetting the drill with patience and precision.

Halfway through practice, during a particularly grueling set of passing drills, my focus wavered again. I misjudged a ball, my body stumbling as I tried to recover. I felt my knees buckle, exhaustion mixed with the mental strain I had been carrying all week. Before I could hit the ground, Caitlin was there, a steady hand catching me by the arm.

"Got you," Caitlin mutters, holding me upright.

I blink, dazed for a moment, my breath shallow as I steady myself. Caitlin's grip is firm, reassuring. I pull away, embarrassed by my own clumsiness.

"Thanks," I mumble, my cheeks flushed with frustration. I hate feeling weak, hate the vulnerability creeping up on me.

Caitlin doesn't say anything, just gives a small nod, her expression soft with understanding. There was no judgment, just quiet support.

Later, during a water break, I sat on the sidelines, wiping sweat from my brow. My body felt heavy, my mind clouded with everything that had happened.I take a slow sip from my water bottle, but my hands shake slightly, betraying my emotions.