CHAPTER 147: SECOND STRING.

Carlo stretched his legs out onto the stool and let the highlights of the game they had just watched replay in the background.

"You guys were lucky, by the way," he said, pointing at the screen as if the winning goal needed further analysis.

"Blackpool switched off at the last minute. That’s all."

"Well, the game isn’t done yet until the referee’s whistle goes," Leo said as he got up from the couch he had fallen back into.

"Still," Carlo muttered, scrunching up his face like the goal Wigan had scored wasn’t supposed to count, while Leo slipped on his jacket.

"I’m not entertaining you."

Carlo snorted. "Coward."

Leo zipped the jacket halfway and headed toward the door.

"You’re leaving already?"

"Yeah."

Carlo nodded before picking up his phone and then turning towards Leo.

"Okay. Gianna’s coming over later anyway."

Leo paused.

"From Italy?"

The surprise in his tone came naturally as she had never struck him as the type to drop everything for a spontaneous trip.

Carlo nodded.

"Yeah. She’s flying in tonight. We’re trying out this whole living-together thing for a couple of weeks here to see how we manage."

"I thought she was still in school there," Leo said.

"She is. But she finishes next year. She got some small but decent window, and I suggested it."

Leo nodded again, processing that as he placed his hand on the doorknob.

"You little bit-! So you had me fill in for her because she hadn’t come yet," Leo said, to which Carlo shrugged, but the bop of his head as he turned to face the other direction told Leo all he needed to know as the latter sighed.

"Have fun."

He didn’t wait for a reply and slipped out, leaving Carlo alone in the quiet of his apartment.

Later that night, Leo’s room was filled with the smell of Nando’s, mostly because Jake had ordered way too much for one person.

Boxes were spread across the floor, as if they were hosting a tasting session.

Jake and Ezra were already going at it while Leo sat cross-legged, taking smaller bites, and Jake was still on a high from the day.

"You saw Ez, right? Came on for five minutes and flipped the whole game. And I scored two this morning," he said, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth as Leo looked up from his phone.

"Thank you, Jake. Without you telling me, I never would’ve known. Two goals in the mighty U21S. Incredible achievement. Historic."

Jake squinted at him for a second before stuffing himself in the face with another portion of fried chicken.

"You’re actually annoying."

Ezra laughed, leaning back on his hands.

"That’s just him being supportive."

A moment later, Leo stood up, brushing crumbs from his shorts while Jake pointed at him with his fork.

"That’s all you’re eating?"

"Yeah. I want to sleep, not spend the whole night in the bathroom."

Ezra nodded in agreement and moved the food away from him, but Jake looked at both of them like they were speaking nonsense.

"You two are strange," he muttered, already reaching for another piece of chicken.

Leo shook his head and walked to his bathroom, washing the stains of the food off his hands before coming back.

Ezra, on the other hand, leaned forward and grabbed one more bite before setting his container aside, stretching out on the foot of the bed.

Jake, meanwhile, kept eating, as if nothing could come between him and his food.

The day’s break they had been given passed quickly, and by the time the squad filed back onto the training pitch two days later, they looked well rested.

The sun hadn’t fully pushed through the clouds yet, and most of the lads stood around in loose circles, rubbing their hands together for warmth while half–chatting and half–waking up.

Mclean was the loudest of the lot, leaning on his boots while whispering to a couple of the younger boys.

From the way they were smirking and shaking their heads, everyone knew he was up to something.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the group to drift toward the same conversation.

"Argentina. No chance anyone else touches them," one of the fullbacks said.

"You’re mad. France is winning it. Easy money," Mclean shot back, grinning.

Someone asked for odds, and then a small circle formed.

A few lads dug into the imaginary pockets on their shorts like they were actually considering it.

Before things could progress further, Dawson stepped onto the pitch just as the muttering turned into open bargaining.

He raised an eyebrow, watched them for a moment, then said, "Mclean, do you want to be fined two months’ wages for running a betting ring at my training ground?"

Every head snapped toward him, who laughed wryly before slipping in the back.

"No, boss."

"Good. Then stop before you bankrupt half the team."

A few players chuckled under their breath as Dawson then walked toward the middle of the group.

"Listen. What we showed against Blackpool wasn’t good enough. Not for a team that talks about promotion. Not for a club that expects better."

Dawson looked around the circle, taking in each face.

"Things need to change. And I’m not saying that to scare anyone. I’m saying it because we have the chance to do something about it."

A few of the boys nodded, their expressions more serious now.

"Fortunately or unfortunately for you, not one of you got called up for the World Cup. And before anyone starts sulking, hear me out."

He paused, letting the silence settle.

"That means we have everyone here. Every session. No travel. No disruptions. For the next few weeks, we’ll have one match a week, maybe two at most. Do you know how rare that is at this level?"

"It gives us time. Time to experiment, time to rebuild some things from the ground up, time to actually improve instead of firefighting every three days."

He crossed his arms lightly, not in a threatening way, just firm.

"I want you all to take this period seriously. Not because I’m asking you to, but because you should want to walk off the pitch feeling proud of yourselves again. You’ve all got more in you than what we showed last weekend. And it’s on us to bring it out."

One by one, the players nodded as Dawson gave a small nod back.

"Good. Then let’s get you guys recovered before we consider doing anything strenuous, and as I said before, if you feel anything wrong with your body, tell us so we can take care of it quickly."

A physio stepped forward as soon as Dawson finished, clapping his hands once to get everyone moving.

The squad drifted into loose rows across the pitch, boots scuffing quietly on the grass while the morning chill still lingered.

He eased them through hamstring sweeps, hip openers, calf rocks, then the usual rotations.

"Cousins, get into it," Dawson muttered from the side after he saw the former half-assing the routine.

"You keep that up, and you are going to be on the stretchers and not the bench," Mclean added from the side, but Cousins didn’t pay him any mind.

After a couple more sets with the players, the physio wrapped things up with a light jog across the halfway line and waved them back to Dawson, who was already holding a folded sheet, eyes running once more over the names before he spoke.

"Right. Into two groups," he said, lifting the paper slightly.

"Starting lineup and the bench on my side. The rest on the far side."

The squad broke apart in a quiet shuffle.

A few players drifted across with mild disappointment on their faces, others with relief.

Leo peeled away with the second group and made his way toward the kit manager, who was handing out bibs from a small crate.

"Green," the kit manager said, handing the jersey over with a smile as Leo took one, slipped it over his head and jogged out to join the rest of the non-starters.

When they had all settled in their respective groups, Dawson walked a few steps between.

"I need every one of you to be able to carry your weight in a match," he said.

"And if the game demands it, I need you to carry someone else’s as well. That’s how teams get through tough spells. Everyone covers. Everyone steps in when things break down."

"We’re going to work on that today," Dawson said.

"Situations where the shape falls apart, where someone is out of position, where decisions need to be made without waiting for direction. Some of you really need to work on that."

His words weren’t meant for any player in particular, but the rest of the team couldn’t help but steal glances at Cousins, who had been mediocre at best in his last few matches and had also gifted the Blackpool goal a couple of days ago.

Just as he finished, Dawson stepped back to give Nolan space.

"Get into your shapes," the latter said as the players began moving.

"We’ll start from there."