More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Three

The session was much tougher than I had been anticipating, as was the rest of the week.

By the time Friday afternoon came around, I was ready to sleep for days. I hadn't expected how hard it was going to be jumping straight back into normal training after the additional time off and, honestly, I was feeling pretty disheartened as I exited the changing room after training on Friday.

I'd made sure to shower and get changed as quick as I could, for once not in the mood to sit and talk shit with my teammates.  I was keen to get home and lie on my couch and do nothing else until the game tomorrow. I hadn't been named in the squad, which didn't come as a surprise at all, but I was still going to watch the game against Southampton.

I was walking through the parking lot towards my car when I heard my name being called.  I knew it was Mason – I would know his voice anywhere – and that fact alone made my stomach drop.

Spending more time with Mason this week had made me realise how much I'd missed him over the past few months.  The fact that we still weren't on the best of terms upset me a lot, and the fact that he'd put in hardly any extra effort with me this week hurt even more, especially considering the extent my other teammates had gone to welcome me back: Annika had invited me over for a (small) celebratory drink with Olly, and Kyle had arrived at my apartment with Fran in tow for a brunch before our late training slot on Wednesday.  It was great seeing their excitement, of course, but it made the lack from Mason so much more noticeable.

I stopped walking and turned around slowly. Mason was running after me, waving a hand above his head.  I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face as one lit up Mason's face, too. I raised an eyebrow at him as he slowed to a walk.

"What's up, Mitchell?" I asked.  "It's not like you to leave this early."

"Yeah, well, I just wanted to check up on you." The words left his mouth quickly as he came to a halt in front of me.  My stomach clenched at the expression on his face.  "You seem kinda... off.  Everything okay?"

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, biting on the corner of my lip.  I was off, in a big way.  It may have just been the fact that Mason knew me so well, but the idea of others in the team noticing how weak I had been these past days left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"I don't know, Mase." I looked down at my shoes.  "It's just been a long week."

Mason was silent for a moment, but as I looked up from the ground he was stepping forwards, his long arms drawing me in for a hug.  For some reason I felt tears prickle the backs of my eyes.  Blinking them back hastily, I returned the gesture and slipped my arms around Mason's torso, squeezing him tightly.  My eyes shut in comfort as I rested my head on his chest.

The moment made me think back to our time in Russia, when we had been so close.  The weeks leading up to the World Cup had probably been some of my favourites in my career, and Mason played a large part in that.  I'd been so excited to get home to London and return to club training afterwards, eager to continue building my relationship with Mason, on and off the pitch.  But we'd taken a step back due to my injury and everything else, as much as I hated to admit it.  Maybe the realisation that things weren't going to that plan was what had me so disappointed, too.

"Look, Beck," Mason started speaking.  I wondered if I should pull out of the hug, but when Mason didn't move I stayed put, too.  "I know I've been a bit of a shitty friend recently.  Well, for a while, actually."

Shock caused me to step back and look up at him.  His arms remained on my shoulders, but I dropped mine from his sides as I waited for him to continue.  Uncertainty clouded his eyes, but the set of his jaw told me he would get out what he wanted to say: Mason wasn't someone to start something he couldn't finish.