A Moment Before The Storm

Xavier couldn't handle the embarrassment as the red-haired woman stepped out of the car.

He couldn't bring himself to go back home—he would look like an even bigger fool than he already felt.

Scratching the back of his head, he chastised himself for how things had unfolded.

'Wait… was that what she wanted to say earlier before I interrupted? Shit.

Still, coming early had its perks—at least he got a free ride and the chance to practice before the match.

"It's better if I practice before the match," he muttered to himself, trying to mask his awkwardness. "Gotta exercise my bones, you know," he added, though no one was really paying attention.

The coach, standing nearby, simply watched him in silence, his face unreadable. Xavier knew he looked ridiculous and scratched the back of his head again—a nervous habit. After a long pause, the coach finally nodded, allowing him to proceed.

Relieved, Xavier walked into the stadium and headed to the changing room. He quickly changed into his kit, deciding that practicing for a couple of hours before taking a rest would be the best plan. Once dressed, he stepped onto the field and began warming up.

Starting with a light jog and some stretches, he gradually worked his way up to more intense exercises. The empty stadium felt vast, the silence adding to the intensity of his training. Alone on the field, he practiced kicking the ball toward the goalpost, running drills as if the empty stands were packed with spectators.

He decided to practice the one thing he was terrible at—penalty kicks.

He kicked several times, but even with no goalkeeper, the ball refused to go in.

Frustrated, he decided to take one last shot—this time, playfully.

He backflipped before kicking the ball, and to his surprise, it hit the goalpost with a sharp clang.

"Goal!" he screamed, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.

He knelt and spread his arms wide, striking his goal pose—even though there was no keeper. But it still felt good, like he had proven something to the empty stadium, to himself.

After what felt like a long time, Xavier was breathing hard as he walked over to the bench. His body ached from the exertion, but the adrenaline made him feel alive. Reaching into his bag, he searched for his water bottle.

The moment he pressed it to his lips, he realized it was empty.

"For f**k's sake, this is stupid," he muttered, frustrated. He had forgotten to refill it in his rush this morning.

"Crap, crap," he mumbled, coughing lightly as if trying to dismiss his mistake.

Before he could dwell on his frustration, a hand stretched out toward him.

It was the red-haired woman—Elsa.

He had already decided to start calling her by her name instead of the obvious "red-haired."

"Here you go," she said, her tone warm and welcoming. "You must be thirsty and tired after all that training."

Xavier scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Thanks."

He took the bottle from her and drank deeply. The cool water was refreshing, easing both his thirst and the tension in his body.

"You should rest," Elsa added, concern in her voice. "You wouldn't want to drain all your energy before the match."

He nodded slowly, grateful for her consideration. He was feeling the strain of training, but the match was what truly mattered.

Then, Elsa handed him a small bag, her cheeks flushing slightly as she spoke.

"I got you something. You need to eat."

Xavier smiled, shaking his head slightly before accepting the bag. "Thanks a lot. I promise to pay you back."

She waved him off quickly. "No, no, don't worry about it," she said firmly, as though the idea of him paying her back was unnecessary.

Before he could say more, she had already turned and walked away.

Xavier watched her retreating figure, a mix of gratitude and confusion swirling in his chest. He sighed and sat down on the bench, the bag in his hands.

Opening it eagerly, he found a fresh, homemade meal inside. The aroma was mouthwatering, teasing his senses.

He devoured it as if he hadn't eaten in days, each bite more satisfying than the last.

Once finished, he sat back for a moment, feeling full and at ease. He stretched out on the long bench, closing his eyes to rest.

Time passed.

The evening approached, and soon, the other players would start arriving before the team bus came.

Being early had turned out to be a good thing after all. He had time to himself, time to prepare, and time to collect his thoughts.

After freshening up, he slipped into a Rochester hoodie and trousers. He knew that once they reached the stadium, there would be cameras. He didn't want to look unkempt or out of place.

Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he smoothed out his clothes and adjusted his hood before stepping out of the locker room.

He noticed the coach standing nearby, observing him.

"I hope you had a good rest," the coach said, his voice calm but direct.

Xavier nodded. "Yeah, I ate and rested. Feeling good now," he replied confidently.

He still had about two hours to rest before the game, but he felt ready. His muscles were loose, and his mind was focused.

The coach's next words caught him off guard.

"Did Elsa give you the meal I sent her?"

Xavier paused, taken aback.

So Elsa had brought the food on the coach's behalf?

He hadn't realized. And he had thought she did it because she…

'Damn, Xavier, stop getting ahead of yourself, idiot.'

He needed to focus.

"Uh, yeah, she did," he said quickly, masking his surprise.

The coach gave a brief nod, his expression unreadable. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Xavier to his thoughts.

Xavier stood there for a moment, letting the realization sink in.

So Elsa wasn't just being nice—she had been following orders.

It wasn't like he had assumed anything else… right?

She was just being helpful.

But that small seed of doubt had been planted in his mind, and he couldn't shake it.

He noticed his teammates had started arriving, the energy of the game slowly building in the air.

Players greeted each other, talking and laughing, the camaraderie of the team filling the space.

Xavier took a deep breath. He was ready.

The nerves, the tension, the excitement—it was all part of the process.

He had worked hard to get to this point, and now it was time to step onto that field and show everyone what he was made of.

"Bro is ready already," one of the players said.

Xavier smirked. Damn right, he was.