Chapter 5
AUSTIN
—Hide and Seek
by Kodaline
For someone who waylaid me and gave me permission to mingle with the team, Johnson is doing a spectacularly bad job of following through on that. Unless he meant mingle with everyone except him. In that case, mission accomplished.
He barely looks at me during training. If he does, it is quick and then his attention goes somewhere else. When he talks to me, it’s all short answers and nods. I guess that’s his way of acknowledging my existence while giving me the hint to go away.
But he can’t avoid me forever because fate, luck, or some sort of punishment, has decided we’re sharing a room in Copenhagen.
I sneak a look at him after we get the keycard to our room and head upstairs.
His jaw is clenched and his mouth is set in a hard line.
He unlocks the door, steps inside, and immediately claims the bed closest to the window by dumping his bag down on it.
I swallow a sigh. I would really love the chance to talk to him, clear the air. But it doesn’t seem like he wants to hear me out.
The game in Rio yesterday totally wiped me out.
The Brazilians played ruthlessly, pressing us hard from the first minute.
We fought hard for every inch of the field, and by the end, my lungs burned every time I tried to breath deep.
Even now, my legs still feel like they’re packed with wet sand.
Okafor, the other goalie, proved to be as good as Johnson, though.
Shot after shot came at him, and he stopped all of it.
We ended the game zero to zero, but it still felt like we won.
I drop my bag by the other bed and sit for a second before giving in and lying back. The mattress is softer than I expected, cool sheets brushing against my skin. I tell myself I’m just resting my eyes.
The next thing I know, someone is saying my name. I crack one eye open, then the other, blinking against the light. Johnson is standing near the foot of the bed, already showered and dressed, his hair still damp.
“It’s time to get breakfast,” he says.
“Wow.” I groan and push myself up on my elbows. “Thanks.”
I sit up, rubbing my face as an ache settles back into my bones. When I glance up, I catch him watching me for a half a second before he turns away quickly.
I stand up from the bed, still half stuck in sleep, my brain lagging behind my body.
The floor feels cold when my feet touch it, and I stand for a second to gather myself.
I shuffle into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I check my face in the mirror; my eyes are puffy and my hair is flattened on one side.
I turn on the sink and splash cold water on my face, which wakes me a little.
The toothpaste burns pleasantly minty as I brush, the taste finally clearing the fog in my head.
I shower quickly, the steam from the hot water filling the small bathroom.
My muscles protest when the water hits them, soreness blooming in my legs and shoulders.
I stand there longer than I’d planned, letting the heat do its thing until I remember we’re on a schedule and I don’t want to miss breakfast.
After wearing my training gear and looking slightly more human, I head downstairs.
The team has taken over a long table, most of their plates already half empty as they all talk at once, laughing and arguing about something.
My stomach growls so loud that I hope no one hears it as I grab a little bit of everything: eggs, bacon, bread, and coffee.
“You didn’t come out with us yesterday,” Akintola says when he spots me. He waves me over, already scooting his chair back. The table is full of midfielders, two defenders, and as luck would have it (or not), Johnson.
I sigh internally and head over. “Man,” I reply, dropping onto the seat beside Bayero. “I don’t even know what made me sleep like that.”
Bayero laughs and steals a bacon from my plate. “Could be the jet lag.”
Before I can respond, Johnson snorts from across the table. “You were so out of it, you didn’t know how your shoes came off.”
I freeze for a few seconds, fork hovering over my plate.
I think I had my shoes on when I passed out, but they weren’t when I woke up.
I glance up at Johnson, but he’s focused on his food.
So, he took my shoes off. My chest warms in a slow, confusing way, and I stab a piece of bacon on my plate, pretending my heart didn’t just do something stupid.
After breakfast, we pile into the bus for training ahead of our match against Denmark tomorrow.
Alimi starts playing music from a Bluetooth speaker, making sure the trip isn’t a dull one as the bass rattles through the seats.
I take a window seat and watch the city pass by, trying not to look for Johnson even though I know he’ll be in his usual spot.
Training lasts until mid-afternoon. Drills bleed into drills, sweat soaking through my shirt.
When we get back to the hotel, I notice that Johnson is conveniently missing.
At first, I tell myself he’s probably doing captain things.
But as the minutes stretch on and the rest of the team drifts off after having lunch, it becomes painfully obvious that he’s avoiding me.
I can’t really blame him. If I had to share a room with someone my wife supposedly slept with, I’d lose my shit and crash out even if it turns out not to be true. So yeah, I get it.
Back in the room, I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the traffic outside and the faint sounds of my teammates moving around the hall.
I expected exhaustion to knock me out the way it did yesterday, but it doesn’t.
I roll onto my side, then my back, then my stomach.
Time stretches and minutes crawl. I drift off in short bursts, only to jolt awake again, heart racing for a reason I can’t name.
At some point, the door opens and his perfume hits my nose—something masculine, warm and woody, like an Oud.
I keep my eyes closed and slow my breathing, pretending I’m already asleep.
His footsteps are quiet as he sets a bag down.
The bathroom door opens and shuts, followed by the sound of running water.
Eventually, I must have fallen asleep. I feel like I had just closed my eyes when my alarm goes off. I drag myself out of bed and shower. I grab a small sandwich for breakfast and wash it down with coffee.
Soon, we’re back on the bus, heading to Parken Stadium in the bus rented just for us by the Nigeria Football Federation.
The seats are worn but comfortable. I’m at least happy they didn’t make us trek, the Federation can behave funnily sometimes.
I remember Bayero said they had to contribute for fuel from their pockets during AFCON.
Everything after arriving at the stadium is a blur.
We change into our game jerseys in the locker room and Johnson gathers us, voice steady as he speaks.
I catch pieces of his speech, something about focus and to trust each other.
Then we line up, shoulders squared, hands at our sides as we walk out onto the field.