The days leading up to the Ireland game had been intense. Training was sharp, spirits were high, and Yn felt prepared. But tonight, nerves lingered, and she found herself wandering down the quiet hallways of the hotel to grab a drink before bed.
As she filled a glass with water, she heard a familiar Irish accent call out, “Yn, get me one!”
Yn turned around, surprised, and saw Leah grinning, holding up her phone with Katie McCabe on the screen.
“Oi, Katie! You spying on us England girls?” Yn joked, walking over to Leah.
Katie laughed, shrugging with a cheeky grin. “What can I say? Gotta keep an eye on you lot. Leah was telling me all about tomorrow’s game.”
Yn leaned over Leah’s shoulder, getting a better look at the screen. “Well, don’t be surprised when we put a few past you,” she teased, her competitive streak kicking in.
Katie smirked, crossing her arms on the other side of the video call. “Oh, is that right? Better not let any own goals slip in there, then!”
Leah chuckled, trying to diffuse the banter. “Alright, let’s save the rival talk for the pitch. You both need to chill.”
Yn grinned, feeling a little of her nervous energy ease. “Alright, alright. Katie, good luck tomorrow. But not too much, yeah?”
Katie winked. “Same to you, Yn. Don’t go breaking any hearts.”
With that, they wrapped up the call, and Yn made her way back to her room, feeling a strange mix of excitement and tension.
---
The next day, Wembley Stadium was buzzing with anticipation. Yn had earned a starting spot, and as she took her position on the pitch, the roar of the crowd was deafening. It was game time.
The first half was hard-fought, and Yn was trying to stay focused. But in the 34th minute, disaster struck. A cross from Ireland’s left wing came into the box, and in a split-second misjudgment, Yn tried to clear it but instead deflected the ball into her own net. The stadium gasped, and Yn froze, staring at the back of the net, horrified.
She could feel her face flush with embarrassment, her heart sinking. Leah tried to comfort her, patting her on the back. “Shake it off, Yn. We’ve got time.”
But Yn couldn’t shake it off. The frustration boiled over, and a few minutes later, she found herself lunging into a late tackle on Ruesha Littlejohn. The whistle blew sharply, and the referee held up a yellow card.
Sarina was on her feet on the sideline, watching Yn with a look of concern. She quickly motioned to the bench, signaling for a substitute. Yn’s stomach dropped, realizing what was happening. She’d lost control, and now she was coming off.
As she walked off the pitch, Yn avoided everyone’s eyes, guilt written all over her face. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled to Sarina as she reached the sideline.
Sarina placed a hand on her shoulder, her expression understanding but firm. “We’ll talk later, Yn. Get some rest.”
Back in the dressing room, Yn’s thoughts spiraled. She’d let her team down, and the frustration gnawed at her. Before the game ended, she grabbed her things, slipping out of the stadium and catching a ride back home.
The weight of disappointment felt heavy on her shoulders, and as she sat in the car, she replayed every second of her mistake, wondering how she would make it right.
Yn stormed down the corridor, her emotions churning like a storm. She was halfway to the exit when she heard hurried footsteps behind her. Before she could turn, a familiar pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.
