left on the bench
RIVER BY JONI MITCHELL
It’s been a few weeks of whatever this arrangement is. A few weeks of stolen glances, secret touches, and hiding like we’re running from the law. It’s dangerous. It’s reckless. It’s so far past the line I can barely see it anymore.
And the worst part? I love it.
Not the secrecy, exactly. Not the lying-by-omission or the constant awareness that we could get caught.
But the feeling of it. The anticipation. The thrill of knowing something no one else does. The way my pulse kicks every time his eyes find mine across a crowded room. The way a simple text message from him can turn an ordinary Tuesday into something I spend the rest of the day smiling about.
Maybe I should feel guilty.
Maybe I should be more worried.
Instead, I feel alive.
For years, my life felt like something I was managing. Organizing. Containing. Every decision carefully weighed and measured until all the sharp edges were sanded down.
Then Oliver crashed into it like a wrecking ball.
Now my days feel brighter. Louder. Funnier.
I laugh more.
I sleep better.
I find myself looking forward to things.
And if that's terrifying, it's also the most exhilarating thing I've ever experienced.
“Hey you,” Luke says, tapping my open office door. “Brought you coffee.”
“Oh, bless you.”
“What are you working on?” he asks, sinking down into the chair across from my desk.
“Finalizing the holiday hospital visit tomorrow,” I say, looking down at the logistics document on my desk. A spreadsheet full of names, times, and a thousand tiny things I need to make sure go exactly according to plan.
“Keep Carlos away from the nurses,” Luke warns me.
“Oh, good call.” I laugh, already picturing it. “Thanks.”
“What are you doing for Christmas, Ads?”
“Same thing I do every year. Sweatpants, takeout, and movies,” I say, without looking up.
“But it’s Christmas.”
“It’s how it’s always been.” I shrug. “Even when I was with Matt, he was always off covering something. I don’t think we ever spent a Christmas together.
And growing up, my parents traveled a lot for work.
I had more Christmases in hotels than I did at home.
My friends used to think that was so cool, like Home Alone 2, you know?
They had this big city, fancy hotel room vision.
But it wasn’t like that at all.” I shake my head.
“It was just being alone in a different zip code.”
“That’s just depressing, Ads.”
“Yup.” I laugh, but my chest aches. “It’s tradition.”
“Come over,” he says. “We’re staying in London since we’ve got the match on Boxing Day. The whole family will be there.”
I smile. “That’s really nice, Luke. I’m not going to third-wheel your Christmas.”
“Ads, come on. You’re our family.”
“I know, Luke,” I say, and I mean it. “But I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Alright, but if you change your mind…”
“I know where you live.”
He doesn’t push. He just gives me a nod and that steady, reassuring Luke look before heading out.
And I sit there in my office, wondering how it’s possible to be so full of someone one second and so hollow the next.
I follow Alan down to the lobby of the training grounds, running through last-minute details like a soldier going over battle plans before a commander heads to the front.
Except in this case, Alan’s “front” is a luxury resort in the Maldives, and his battlefield will be deciding whether to have a pina colada or a mojito before lunch.
“You’re a wonder, Addison,” Alan says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not sure how I ever got on without you. I can actually leave the country knowing the club won’t go down in flames in my absence.”
I laugh. “You put a lot of faith in me, Alan.”
Matt appears beside us, because of course he does. It’s like he’s got a homing signal attached to me or something. He just shows up everywhere, grinning like he owns the place.
“Just don’t forget to send photos from the beach, Alan,” he says.
Alan laughs. “Oh, I’ll think of you all while I sit in the sand sipping some coconut-flavored cocktail."
“You better not,” I quip. If I were on the beach with a cocktail, I wouldn’t think about work for a single second.
“What are you both doing for the holiday?” Alan asks, checking his watch.
I open my mouth to answer, but Matt cuts in.
“I’ll be around,” he says. “Not sure what I’ll do, but I’ll find something.” Then he turns toward me. “Maybe you and I could get together, Addison. For old time’s sake?”
My spine straightens. He says it so casually, but I know the look in his eyes. It’s possessive.
And for old time’s sake? What the fuck is that? We never spent the holidays together. Every single thing he does and says is intentional and pointed, and it’s so fucking exhausting.
I force a polite smile and direct my gaze at Alan. “No set plans.”
Alan pats both our shoulders. “Well, Happy Christmas.” He sets off out the door, waving as he goes.
“You too, Alan,” I call after him.
The moment he’s gone, Matt leans in close to me. “Spending Christmas alone? That’s bleak. I mean it, Addison. You can always call me.”
He walks off like he hasn’t just soured the air around him, and I’m left standing in the lobby, stomach twisting.
I hate that he can still make me feel cornered, make me question my power, even when I know I have it.
I keep telling everyone I’m fine with spending Christmas alone, and I say it convincingly enough that they might even believe me. Hell, sometimes I almost believe me. A quiet night of sweatpants, takeout, and movies sounds charming if I package it right.
But what I don’t say is how lonely it can be. I don’t tell anyone there’s always a moment, late at night, after the credits roll and the room is quiet, where the emptiness settles over me. It sucks the air out of my lungs, and I can think of nothing except how alone I am.
I glance down the hallway and wonder what Oliver’s doing right now. He’s probably finishing up training. Probably unaware that just thinking of him calms the storm Matt leaves behind.
THIS CHRISTMAS BY PICTURE THIS
The hospital ward is strung with tinsel and paper snowflakes. There’s a tree in the corner covered in candy canes and homemade ornaments. It’s festive, chaotic, and beautiful.
All the lads are here. I’m admittedly not one for public events, but anything involving children I’m adamant we all turn up for it.
This is bigger than my insecurities. What I go through day to day on the pitch is nothing compared to what these children do.
I’m fighting for promotion, but they’re fighting just to stay alive.
Coming here reshapes your perspective and makes you realize how small your problems really are.
Carlos is strolling through the ward pretending to be Santa, complete with a fake beard that keeps sliding down and a red hat that's too big for his head.
Sebastian is admiring all the drawings the kids made, especially the ones of him scoring goals.
Brennan is in his element, coming at every adult in the room with the kind of empathy only a parent can.
Even Harry, odd as he is, has put his juggling talents to an entertainment use.
I work the room, sitting with one kid who wants to show me his drawings, another who wants me to add stickers to my Rockford Christmas jumper.
Between every moment, every shared smile, I catch Addison watching. She's got her phone in one hand, the other lightly on Carlos’ back as she steers him away from the Christmas tree he almost knocked over. He grins at her like a little kid and says something that makes her laugh.
She’s busy, but she still finds time to joke with Carlos, laugh at Sebastian while he leads Christmas carols, and keep Harry from eating too many of the cookies meant for the children.
Addison's not just managing this whole circus—she’s in the trenches with us.
She talks to the hospital staff with ease, makes sure every parent gets the photos they want, and kneels down to eye level whenever she talks to a child.
She even smiles and gives the film crew a shot if they need it, but never lets Matt get too close.
I can see the way she maneuvers around him, keeping him at a professional distance while pretending not to.
She makes it look easy, but I know it’s taking every ounce of her energy to avoid him and keep a smile on her face.
I lower myself onto the edge of a hospital bed beside a little boy, maybe eight years old, with a Rockford cap on and a matching scarf around his neck.
“Alright, mate,” I say, flashing a smile as I notice the football sitting in the corner of the room. “What position do you play?”
“Midfield,” he says shyly, pointing to the captain's armband around my jumper. “I wanna be you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I reach up, unstrap the band, and offer it to him. “Here. It’s yours. Keep watch over the lads for me, alright?”
“Okay!" He grins, slipping it on like a crown.
“What’s your name, mate?” I ask, signing one of the photos laid out in front of him.
“Liam.”
“Hi, Liam.” I grin. “So, you any good?” I tip my head over toward the ball.
He shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “My brother says I’m better than him, but I think he lets me win sometimes.”
I laugh. “Older brother?”
"Yeah." Liam nods proudly. “Henry. We watch every Rockford match together. You’re our favorite.”
My heart stops.
Henry.
Just for a second, everything goes still.
It’s not an uncommon name. I’ve heard it a thousand times. But this one hits like a punch to the chest—the kind that knocks the wind out of you.
I blink. I haven’t heard that name said like this in a long time. Not just as a brother, but with the same kind of reverence I say it with.
I look up, glancing around the room to steady myself, and I see her.
Addison stands in the doorway, eyebrows lifted just the tiniest bit, like she felt the second something shifted in me.
I swallow hard and turn back to Liam.
“Henry sounds like a good brother,” I say quietly.
“He is.” Liam nods. “He gets mad when people are mean to me. He takes care of me. He always makes me laugh when I’m sick.”
My throat tightens, but I force a smile.
“You know,” I say, voice steadier than I feel, “you’re very lucky.”
“How come?”
“Having a brother like that—someone who’s your best mate? It doesn’t get better than that. It’s special. That’s something you can carry with you forever.”
Liam smiles. “He says we’ll both play for Rockford one day.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I say, extending my hand to shake his. “Promise me one thing, mate?”
“What?”
“Never let him forget you’re better at football.”
He giggles and nods. I stand, giving him a wink before I step back. When I look toward Addison, she’s still there, grounding me with just her presence.
And something about the way she does that—the way she sees the cracks in me and doesn’t flinch—makes me want to show her more. It makes me want to walk over to her right now and tell every person in this hospital that I like her.
Instead, I just smile. I’ll play by her rules until I can show her the game isn’t rigged.
And for now, that’s enough.
Matt follows behind her wearing an ugly Christmas jumper he thinks is festive, but he really just looks like a tool as always, just with some added tinsel and enough jingle bells to wake the dead. Like I said, proper Berkeley Hunt.
The event begins wrapping up, and I don’t know what to do—except stand here like an idiot, watching her be everything I’ve ever wanted before I even realized I wanted anything at all.
“How was the event?” Luke asks as he finishes stretching out my knee after training.
“It was good,” I say as I sit up on the table.
“How’s your holiday shaping up?” He grabs some candy from his desk and pops them into his mouth like medicine.
“Same as always. Quiet.”
“You and Addison, mate. Same thing.”
I blink at him. “What do you mean?”
“She’s not doing anything either.” He stares at me like he’s trying to prod me along. “Tried to get her to spend it with Pippa and me, but she doesn’t want to be a third wheel. Said she’s gonna get takeaway and watch movies.”
My brain glitches for a second. The idea of Addison alone on Christmas? No. Absolutely not.
“Why are you telling me?” I ask, trying to sound casual and nonchalant.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Luke says, grinning as he leaves his own office.
I don’t know if I thought this through or not, but here I am, standing on the edge of something.
I’m inviting her for Christmas. It doesn’t have to be anything big. It doesn’t have to be anything she doesn’t want it to be. Just dinner. A movie. No pressure. I know we’ve got this whole “just until the end of the season” thing going, but that doesn’t mean she has to spend Christmas alone.
I shower and head up to her office.
“Hey,” I say, tapping on the doorframe.
“Hi.” She looks swamped, elbows deep in papers, eyebrows pinched.
“What are you doing?”
“Just some last-minute things before I log off for the holiday. I’ll still have to manage some correspondence, but all the large-scale bases are covered.” She gestures vaguely at the stacks of paper. “It’s boring admin stuff, but necessary.”
“Got it.” I sink down into the chair across from her. “So,” I say, trying to sound casual, like I haven’t been rehearsing this in my head for over an hour. “This whole alone-on-Christmas thing you’re doing? It doesn’t work for me.”
She blinks. “What?”
Brilliant. I’m fumbling this already.
“I just mean… I’m on my own too. With us playing on Boxing Day this year, Mum took a shift at the hospital. I’ve got no plans.”
“Okay?”
“I just thought… maybe you’d want to come over? Nothing wild. Just a decent meal. Watch a film. You can judge my decorating.”
“Spend Christmas with you?”
“There’s no catch, Addison,” I say, softer now. “Just you and me, doing what we always do, just on Christmas.”
Finally, a small, almost shy smile breaks across her face. “Can I still wear sweatpants?”
I laugh. “You can wear whatever you want.”
Her smile widens, and she nods. “Alright, Captain. You’ve got yourself a date.”