Dylan Reeve

The hospital ward was too bright, too clean. Dylan shoved his hands into his pockets, walking down the long row of beds, not looking at the patients. Instead, his attention fell on the rhythmic beep of machines and the low hum of voices from a nurse's station-any distraction to keep his mind steady.

His mother's bed was next to the window where the pale light of a rainy afternoon poured in. She was much smaller than he recalled, lost in a white sheet, her hair spread out on the pillow like wisps of smoke. She'd always been a force unto herself, all fire and opinions, but now she was as fragile as paper.

He cleared his throat. "Hey, Mom."

Her eyelids fluttered, and she turned her head, squinting at him before a faint smile softened her face. "James. You look tired," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, yet still managing that tone only mothers have-the one that sees right through you.

"Guess that makes two of us." He tried to smile back, dragging a chair up close and sinking into it. Her hand was cool when he took it, her fingers fragile in his.

"Did you bring the book?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"Yeah, I've got it right here." He pulled the worn novel out of his jacket, flipping to her bookmarked page. She nodded, eyes drifting shut, but her fingers tightened around his hand, and he felt a lump in his throat he couldn't swallow down. He started reading in a low steady voice, filling the quiet room with stories that once used to be part of their routine- a small comfort in a place that felt anything but.

After 20 minutes Dylan closed the book with a gentle movement; his eyes did not leave his mother's frail face, etched with strength and struggle. Life had really become hard on her these last years; seeing her this way ripped his heart apart. 'You don't deserve this', he thought, a wave of helplessness flooding into him.

Just then, her quiet voice brought him back into the room. "Is that man still bothering you?

He blinked, taken aback. She was regarding him with a faint, knowing smile, her exhausted eyes still lit with humour. He forced a small, false smile, but the ache in his chest only deepened.

She was speaking of Edward. In the last five days, Edward had been over at the store nearly each day. Initially, Dylan had been cautious around him; his impression of Edward hadn't exactly been warm. However, as they spoke, Edward managed to surprise him. They talked about anything from shared memories to deeper topics, and although mostly Edward spoke, Dylan found himself gradually opening up, sharing bits and pieces.

Every time, Edward would finish their conversations with an invitation to get him into the club. And every time, Dylan said no thanks. But Edward would always return, persistent and patient.

"I really think you ought to give his offer serious thought," Ari said softly, her fingers drawing soothing patterns in the palm of his hand. Her touch was warm, although beneath that a quiet strength was still remaining there, against her weakness.

Dylan shook his head, looking down at her hand in his, torn. "I don't know, Mom-it just. doesn't feel like me. I'm not even sure if I can play like I used to."

She smiled, the corners of her lips curling up just enough to remind him of better days. "Sometimes, we find parts of ourselves where we least expect. Maybe that man sees something in you." Her voice grew faint, but there was a conviction there, an unspoken encouragement that was hard to ignore.

Dylan looked away, her words echoing in his mind as he held her hand, unsure of what the future might bring but feeling, for the first time, a seed of possibility.

This peaceful moment was ruined by an alarm vibrating in Dylan's pocket. He pulled his phone out and silenced the alarm before he glanced down at the time. "I've got to go to work," he said reluctantly.

Ari's hand had lingered on his, her eyes filled with understanding mingled with a trace of sadness. "I know, sweetheart. Go on, don't let me keep you." She loosened her fingers slightly, though held onto him just a moment longer.

"I'll be back tomorrow, same time," he promised, his voice low as he gave her a gentle squeeze of the hand.

She smiled faintly and nodded. "I'll be here," she whispered. Her gaze followed him as he stood.

…

2 hours later

Two hours later, the store was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only thing that would occasionally cut through the silence.

Dylan stacked some boxes behind the counter, his mind half-returned to thoughts of his mother, when the familiar jingling sound of the chime above the door made him look up.

Edward came in, grinning as usual, and headed straight for the aisle with snacks. "Hey, lad! Miss me?" he shouted, rummaging through the shelves and gathering a mix of potato chips and candy bars as he headed to the counter with loaded arms.

Dylan half-smiled and shook his head. "Didn't think you would return so soon, Edward.

"What can I say?" Edward returned, shrugging as he unloaded his pile onto the counter. "I'm a creature of habit."

Dylan scanned the items, feeling Edward's curious gaze on him. Despite misgivings about Edward, he couldn't help but admit that the man knew how to ease his guard down-mostly with his constant, easygoing presence.

As Dylan rang up the last item, Edward leaned against the counter, eyeing him over thoughtfully. "So… you thought about what I said?"

Dylan hesitated, his mother's words from earlier echoing in his mind. He finished bagging Edward's items, the silence growing thick between them.

After a moment, Dylan spoke. "I used to play. Was with Liverpool's youth club, playing center midfield. They called me 'Hawkeye'—always spotting the gaps in defense, always knowing when someone was free. People told me I had potential, especially since I was only 19 back then. I believed them."

He paused, gripping the counter. "Then… everything fell apart. I got a call from the hospital. They told me my mom had fainted at work. Turns out, she was diagnosed with heart failure. I had to take on debt just to cover her medical bills. My performance suffered, and the club let me go. Since then, it's been job after job, just to keep up with the debt."

Edward listened, his usual grin replaced by a look of understanding. For a moment, he seemed lost for words, just nodding thoughtfully.

Dylan took a steadying breath, pushing away the vulnerability that crept in. He packed up the last of Edward's items and handed him the bag. "So yeah. That's why I haven't jumped at your offer."

Edward's face relented as he took the bag, his eyes clouded with a hint of sympathy. "I understand, mate. That's a lot of load on your shoulders. But you have talent. You shouldn't need to give that up just because life threw you a curveball."

Dylan shrugged, an uneasy smile playing on his lips. "It's not that simple. I am not able to just walk away from my responsibilities.

"True, but what about doing something for yourself? You put everyone else first for so long, it might be time to reclaim a bit of your own life." Edward leaned in; the usual playful note replaced the intensity in his tone. "Joining the club could be a way to start fresh, find that spark again. You could still help your mom while following your passion.

Dylan shook his head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "You don't understand it. Every time I think about playing again, I feel like I'm abandoning her. Can't risk it.

"Risk is part of life, Dylan," Edward said firmly. "You risked everything to take care of her. Maybe it's time to take a risk for yourself. You could be a leader, someone to inspire others-just like you were meant to be. This club… it could be a new chapter."

Dylan was quiet for a while, Edward's words settling over him like weight. He so desperately wanted to believe that there was still hope left for him. The images of his mother cheering him on, the hum of excitement during the game, tumbled in one after another in his mind. But the fear of not being good enough restrained him.

"What if I can't take it?" he asked finally, his tone laced with some vulnerability.

Edward smiled; the reassuring warmth swam back onto his face. "Then you'll take care of it with the team, right? You won't be alone. That's what a team is for-to help each other out when times get tough. Just think about it, yeah? You're way stronger than you think.

Dylan stared at the bag in Edward's hands, the snacks a jarring reminder of lightness he had almost forgotten. A part of him ached for that joy, the need to run after a dream once more, even if it felt like a memory from another life.

"I'll think about it," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good enough for me," Edward replied, clapping Dylan on the shoulder. "Take your time. Just don't wait too long. Life has a way of flying by."

Every time Edward would make his way to leave, the bell above the entrance jingled again. And Dylan just lost himself, his mind musing over impossible choices that lay ahead. For the first time in a long while, hope fluttered faintly inside his chest, mingling with uncertainty. Perhaps it was about time he found himself amid the chaos.

….

"Home sweet home," Dylan lets out a tired sigh as he opens the door to his apartment, kicking off his shoes.

He walks wearily to the couch and lies down, closing his eyes to sleep, but sleep doesn't come. His earlier conversation with Edward is still ringing in his mind.

Feeling restless, he gets up and goes to the closet. Turning on the light, he moves aside countless boxes until he finally reaches his destination—a dust-covered football.

Dylan stood there staring at the football, with memories weighing on him for one long moment. He hadn't touched a ball in years, hadn't felt that spark since everything had come crashing down around him. Slowly, he reached out, dusting the layer of dust off with his fingertips, feeling the familiar grooves under his hand.

It felt strange, foreign almost, like reconnecting with a part of himself he'd buried.

As he raised the ball, memories surged like an oncoming tide of emotion: the thrill of the game, the cheering crowd, his mother's proud face smiling back at him from the stands. He squeezed harder on the ball at the memory of Edward's words: "You could be a leader, someone to inspire others-just like you were meant to be.

He could almost hear his mom's voice, too, from earlier in the day: "Sometimes we find pieces of ourselves in places we least expect. Maybe that man sees something in you.".

With a sigh, Dylan sagged onto the floor, clutching the ball tightly. He wasn't certain if he could just walk back into that world; so much had changed, and he changed along with it. But sitting here, the quiet of the apartment settling around him, he felt a glimmer of something missing for too long.

Hope.

He took out his phone searching through his context list before his fingers came to a stop. Dylan hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button as he stared at Edward's name on the screen. For a moment, he felt that familiar doubt creep in—What if I can't do this? What if I fail again? But then he thought of his mother's encouragement, the quiet strength in her frail smile.

With a deep breath, he tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear. The line rang once, twice, and then he heard Edward's upbeat voice.

"Dylan! Didn't expect to hear from you so soon," Edward said, sounding genuinely pleased.

Dylan's voice felt shaky, even though he tried to keep it steady. "Hey, uh… I've been thinking about what you said. About joining the club."

There was a brief pause, and then Edward's voice softened. "That's great to hear, mate. Really great. You don't have to decide right now, though. Just wanted you to know you're welcome anytime."

Dylan closed his eyes, gripping the ball tighter in his other hand. "No, I think I want to give it a shot. See if there's still something there."

"Brilliant," Edward said, his voice warm with encouragement. "You've got a lot more in you than you realize. Trust me, we'll take it one step at a time, yeah?"

"Yeah," Dylan replied, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "One step at a time."

For the first time in years, the weight on his shoulders felt just a little bit lighter.

.....

Edward, who had just finished his call with Dylan, flashed a toothy smile. The next thing you know, he starts punching his fists in the air, his joy obvious.

"Finally, step one is complete," he says, calming down as he glances at the table behind him, covered with countless A4 sheets filled with plays and formations. Among them, a few basketball and football plays are scattered.

"The next step will be three months from now," he says with a grin, turning off the lights to the room.