More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Twenty Eight

I still felt sick as we departed St James' Park later that night.  We seemed to be holding it together despite our lack of cohesiveness, but as soon as the seventy-fifth minute hit we completely crumbled.  The build up to their first goal started with Mason losing possession cheaply and ended with me missing a simple tackle, which just about summed up the day.  Frank pulled me off moments after that, and I was forced to watch us concede another goal a few minutes later.  When Thomas, my replacement, gave away a penalty in the dying minutes, I thought I'd cry.

Frank shat on us in the team talk.  He called out individual errors, which he never normally did, and had nothing positive to say about anyone.  We warmed down in silence, boarded the bus in silence, and sat in the train going home in the same ashamed, miserable silence.  I didn't open social media on my phone, afraid of what I'd see.  Instead, I sat staring out of the window, headphones on and head down.

Back in London, it was raining.  My body and mind were exhausted as we disembarked. All I wanted to do was get home and curl into a ball.  Adrenalin that had been fuelling me since my argument with Mason was wearing off, leaving me pathetically tired now that we were back home.

I barely said goodbye to anyone.  A seat near the doors of the train had ensured I could get off quickly and escape downstairs to the parking lot without too many interactions.  In the underground parking, I thought I was clear.  But the unmistakable sound of Mason's voice calling me added an obstacle I hadn't anticipated.

"Beck, wait up!"  Momentarily faltering, I was tempted to just ignore him. "Please!"

It was late – late enough for the garage to be empty.  Mason's footsteps echoed ominously around me, loud enough to force myself to a stop and turn around.  He came to a halt in front of me, eyebrows hovering above his eyes.

"Can we please talk?"  His voice was breathy, higher than normal.  I shifted my weight from one foot to another.  "For real?"

"I'd rather not right now," I murmured honestly.  His face fell, making my heart clench even after everything that had happened.  "Fine." When he said nothing, I snapped.  "Get on with it, Mason.  I'm exhausted."

Mason opened his mouth.  A moment passed before he finally formed some words with it. "What happened out there today?"

"Seriously?  You want to talk about the fucking game right now?"  Helplessly, Mason shrugged.  "Go home.  We can chat on Monday."

Finished, I turned around.  "No, I—Please, Beck.  I'm sorry, okay?"

"Yeah, you've said that a few times recently."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

He muttered it under his breath, but the words sparked up energy in me I didn't know I still had.  Angrily, I spun around, pointer finger raised.

"Really?"  He looked guilty at me, but I was sick of feeling sorry for him.  "Okay, fine, you want to talk?  Go for it!"  I lifted my hands in a shrug, motioning at him to talk.  Clearly surprised at my outburst, he just blinked at me.  "That's what I thought.  Fuck, I'm so sick of you doing this!"

"Doing what?" he asked softly.

"Only telling me half the story!  I mean, you give me this big speech in Bulgaria, then you try to kiss me, then you ignore me for a week–"

"I wasn't ignoring you."

"—and then you just expect me to be okay with you not giving me any kind of explanation," I finished with an infuriated huff.  Mason was silent, staring at me with glossy eyes.  "I'm not okay with it, Mason."

"I don't expect you to be okay with it," he muttered.  "I'm not okay with it.  That's why I keep trying to apologise, but..."

"But what?"

"I don't know!  Fuck."  He lifted his hands to cover his face.  Speaking into them, his voice was muffled.  "I don't know what I'm doing, Beck."

"Yeah, I figured."

Crossing my arms, I stared at Mason while he tried to gather himself.  I felt powerful having the upper hand in this situation; it felt like every time we'd had confrontations, Mason was the one ruling over them.  Now, it was him that was crumbling and me that was watching it happen.

"I get why you're upset with me."  He'd lowered his hands, but kept his eyes downcast. "I know that I haven't been fair to you lately, and I am sorry."

He paused.

"But?"  My heart beat picked up pace.

"But this hasn't been easy for me either, you know."

I could do nothing but blink at him as the meaning of his words set in.  "Excuse me?" My voice was soft.

"Come on, Beck, I can't do anything right anymore."

"What does that mean?"

Mason threw his hands up.  "You gave me all these signs and then when I actually made a move you rejected me—"

"Whoa, what?"

"—and then I tried to give you some space and you crap on me for ignoring you?"  Vulnerability clouded his scrunched up eyes.  "It feels like I kept trying to do the right thing but—"

"You really think trying to kiss me was the right thing to do?"  I wanted my voice to sound tough, but it came out as a feeble splutter instead.  "You realise how messed up that is, right?"

Mason looked away, his jaw set.  He lifted a shoulder in a pitiful shrug and the action made some of the anger I'd been feeling weaken.  Mason did look like a guy defeated.  Taking a deep breath, I tried not to let his weakness get the best of me: I was still pissed off with him.

"Like I said, I don't know what I'm doing." Even his voice sounded defeated.

Biting back the pity I felt for him, I gave into the fatigue that was rapidly clouding my mind.  As obvious as it was that there was more going on with him that he was letting on, it wasn't fair that it kept getting in the way of our relationship. I knew I would forgive Mason, such was the relationship we had.  But I also needed him to know that I wasn't okay with everything going on.

"Look, I don't want to fight with you right now, okay?  I'm tired." His eyes were hopeless, desperate, but I forced myself to hold his gaze.  "Can we do this another time?  Please?"

He nodded.  "I really did just want to say sorry.  And that we'll be friends again, yeah?"

I didn't say anything, afraid that the way he was now looking at me would make me want to start crying again.  Mason's eyes were wide and glazed over; he was clearly feeling the same exhaustion I was.

"Yeah, whatever you say."

Swallowing, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.  I looked down and crossed my arms, hoping Mason would take the message and end this conversation.

"Okay."  I heard him take a breath in, but kept my eyes on the concrete under my feet. "Well, see you Monday, I guess."

Without saying goodbye, I just nodded. Turning away, I managed to make it to my car before my eyes started dripping.  Gasping for a breath, I was afraid that Mason would see me in tears. Turning on my car, I drove out of the parking lot as quick as I could, running from the game, Mason, all of it.