More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Sixteen

St George's Park would always hold a special place in my heart. It wasn't only the association it had with actually being selected for the England squad that made it so exceptional; each time I returned ended up being better than the last, and I was almost certain I didn't have a single bad memory from that place. 

So the rush I felt as I woke up the following morning was no surprise. I was desperate to get there, but I knew a day of travel still awaited me. At least I would have Mason to keep me entertained on the drive: he suggested the day we heard about our call-ups that we should get a car up together. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, given that in the breaks leading up to the World Cup we always shared a lift. It made sense; we lived close enough and were pretty used to travelling together. 

The time Mandy gave us to arrive at St George's was earlier than normal, meaning we needed to be up bright and early. I was wide awake before my alarm even went off, though, urged out of sleep by anticipation of the next ten days. True to my expectations from the previous day, my legs were beat as I moved around my flat making breakfast and triple checking my packed bag. 

I expected Mason just before nine, so at around eight-forty I gathered my things and made my way downstairs. Outside, the sounds of London traffic along with the sharp morning air hit me immediately. My flat, located a street down from the bustling Sloane Square, meant traffic was always in the back of my mind when I needed to get somewhere. As I leant against the wall outside my building, I hoped Mason had the same thinking. The last thing I wanted was to be late on my first day back at St George's. 

Evidently I had no need to worry, though. No longer than three minutes of standing on my doorstep, a car pulled to stop in front of my duplex. Frowning, I wondered if our driver was early picking us up. When no activity came from the car after a moment, I took to watching other cars drive past once more, assuming it had nothing to do with me. 

But movement caught my eye again and, glancing down, I widened my eyes as Mason emerged from the car. From my vantage point above street level, I watched him move around to the boot to unload his bags. His words were lost amongst the traffic, but the frown on his face was clear as he spoke through the boot to the driver of the car. 

I strained my ears as he rounded the car once more, this time moving to the opening window. Curiosity spiked in my chest as I saw Liv in the driver's seat leaning over the middle console. They spoke for a minute more – well, Liv clearly did most of the talking while Mason spent most of his time nodding away. 

A couple of minutes after they pulled up, Liv was driving away, cutting off a Mercedes as she went. Heart clenching, I watched Mason stare after the car, his hand running through his hair. He spun around, taking a second to wipe the grimace off his face and replace it with a big smile. 

"Morning, Hart!" Wheeling bag in one hand, boot bag in his other, he climbed the stairs towards me. "Guess what day is it today?" I grinned as he came to a stop on the step below me and dropped his bags, his hands lifting into the air. "England day!" 

I let out a cheer and mirrored his reaction, my head spinning with excitement. While they were up, Mason dived forwards and wrapped his arms around my torso, lifting me into the air as I squealed in surprise. 

"I can't even tell you how keen I am." Back on solid ground, I grinned at Mason as he stood next to me. 

"Fuck, me too!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up. He nudged me with his elbow. "How are the legs?" 

I pouted. "Tired. I'm definitely shot-gunning the middle seat." 

The grin that was on Mason's face disappeared. "No way."