entering the final third
LATE NIGHT TALKING BY HARRY STYLES
The locker room is buzzing after today's match. Another win for the team and another assist for me. I feel like I was everywhere on the pitch today, sharp and dialed in, with eyes in the back of my head.
I’m halfway through pulling my kit over my head when Carlos throws a towel at me from across the room.
“Alright, Bradshaw. Spill,” Carlos calls out, grin wide.
I raise an eyebrow. “What are you on about, mate?”
Sebastian jumps in, casually throwing an arm around Carlos’ shoulder. “Come on, man. You’ve been playing out of your mind.”
“And?”
“And,” Sebastian says, tilting his head. “What are you doing differently?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” they ask in unison.
I shrug, letting a slow grin spread across my face. “Just playing football.”
Carlos and Sebastian exchange skeptical glances, but give up their interrogation and head into the showers.
Brennan sits quietly in his stall, unlacing his boots.
“You alright?” he asks, quiet enough for just me to hear.
I nod. “Yeah, of course. I’m just… in a good groove right now. That’s all.”
He doesn’t press. He stands up, grabbing a towel from the shelf above.
“If you ever wanna talk, you can. Doesn’t have to be now.”
“I’m just playing good football, mate,” I insist.
He smiles at me. “But if you ever want to talk about why, you know where I am.” He pats my shoulder before walking away, like he knows what I’m not saying. His quiet understanding catches me off guard.
Is it that obvious?
The lads are noticing something is different about me, whether it’s a nice training regimen or some kind of new mindset. Carlos, of course, assumes it’s over a woman. I tell him to piss off, of course, but that’s mainly because it’s true.
I’m sharper, faster than I’ve ever been. It’s like I’ve unlocked another level to my game and I can’t switch it off. Every touch on the ball, every run down the wing, I just hear her laugh. I see her smile.
She’s not a distraction. She’s a fucking ignition switch.
But when people ask? I shrug. I smirk. I tell them to piss off.
It’s just good football.
It’s way more than that.
It’s the woman who won’t let herself fall. It’s the way her hand fits perfectly in mine. The way her eyes looked when we almost kissed back in Stratton Wood. That heartbeat of a moment where I could feel her breath, but not taste it.
She’s in my every thought, and it’s maddening.
I’ve never let anyone besides Mum and Henry call me Ollie before—except her. And she said it so casually, like it was hers to say.
I keep telling myself to let it go. This is Addison we’re talking about. Sharp, professional, rule-following Addison.
But then…. then I remember it’s Addie too. The girl who looked at my hometown like it was a secret, a precious place of peace.
I step out of the locker room, tossing a towel into the bin with a flick of the wrist. Matt and his crew are standing in the hallway, waiting.
Brilliant.
I slow my pace, already bracing myself for the performance I’ll have to put in. I’ve been exceptionally skilled at avoiding him, slipping into the shower when his film crew walks in, needing to have a meeting with the gaffer about strategy whenever I see his face.
He spots me before I have the chance to pivot.
“Bradshaw!” he calls out, voice bright with artificial charm. “Can I have a minute for some post-match questions?”
I glance toward the exit, weighing my options.
Bolt or behave.
But then I see her.
Addison stands off to the side, arms crossed, talking with Alan but watching me closely.
When our eyes meet, her face is clear—please don’t make this harder. She doesn’t have to say it. She doesn’t need to. Her eyes tell me all I need to know. She’s pleading with me not to make a scene. Just play along, grin and bear it.
I grit my teeth and walk over.
“Yeah,” I mutter, voice rough around the edges.
Matt’s smile widens. “Great game today. Total team effort, but you were in top form. What’s your headspace like right now?”
Fucking Christ. That’s a loaded question. My headspace is full of her. Can’t say that.
“Focused,” I say as dry and professional as I can. “We trained hard this week. It felt good to see it pay off.”
He nods, like that was a boring answer. “Has there been a change in the locker room? Something to light this fire in you?”
I blink. I glance at Addison and notice the tension in her jaw. “We’ve all stepped up. We’re gelling really well together. I think the results speak for themselves.”
Nice try, asshole.
“Alright. Last one, and I’ll let you go. Any personal goals this season?”
I glance at Addison. She gives me the tiniest shake of her head. He’s pushing too far, but I’m not going to let him break me.
“Win,” I say simply. “My focus is to win it all.”
Matt frowns. “Bradshaw, that’s not much to go on. How do you see your role? Your style?”
Time to have some fun.
“Well,” I say, thickening my voice with a Cockney flair. “I just try to use my loaf of bread to drown out the box of toys. Would you Adam and Eve it?”
Matt’s face scrunches in confusion. “I’m sorry. What?”
I smirk, eyes narrowing. “Oi, don’t worry, bruv.” I give him an over-energetic, over-friendly slap on the back. “You look like a proper Berkeley Hunt.”
Matt chuckles, confused because he can’t understand a word I’ve said.
He can’t be too surprised given my reputation for hating interviews.
He nods and heads off down the hall, chasing down Carlos.
Addison pivots and follows, knowing Carlos is always good for a sound bite she might have to walk back.
I’m sprawled across my couch, half-watching the telly, with a beer in one hand and my phone in the other. I chat a little back and forth with Mum. She texted me to let me know she watched the match and that I played well.
It’s late and quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your mind wander. Just when I’m about to finally settle on something to watch, Addison’s face lights up on my screen.
Addison: Great match today.
Addison: And thank you for not starting anything with Matt.
I smirk at the message. I sit up a little straighter, thumb flying over the screen before I can stop myself.
Me: Well, I wouldn’t want to create an issue for PR. I’ve heard she’s terrifying.
Three dots come up straight away. Addison’s still there. She didn’t just text me and put her phone away. She’s engaged, wanting to talk to me. That means more to me than it should.
Addison: Terrifying, huh? Only when necessary.
I feel like I can hear her giggling miles away.
Me: Honestly though, I don’t want to make things harder for you.
There’s a pause.
Addison: I know. Thank you.
Addison: Wait… what were you saying to Matt earlier? That Cockney thing?
I laugh, fingers tapping away.
Me: Oh, just a bit of rhyming slang to keep him on his toes. Told him I use my head to drown out the noise, if he’d believe it.
Addison: Omg ??
Me: Oh, and I called him a cunt.
Addison: Why?
Me: Because he is one.
Addison: Okay, maybe you did start something with Matt. Luckily, he’s too dumb to realize it.
Addison: Goodnight, Ollie.
That name again.
Me: Goodnight, Addie.
I set my phone down and close my eyes.
I’m so fucked.