Chapter 28: Between the Years
Chapter 28: Between the Years
Sunday, 28 December
The days between Christmas and New Year felt like a strange, suspended moment, a quiet limbo where time seemed to blur. The streets of Crawley still sparkled with string lights, their glow softened by the fading cheer of the holidays.
The magic of Christmas had slipped away, leaving behind something gentler, more introspective, like the town was holding its breath, waiting for the new year to exhale.
At the Crawley training ground, the air hung heavy and damp, not quite freezing but the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, sticking to you no matter how many layers you piled on. The crunch of boots on the pitch echoed from fifty yards away, sharp in the stillness. Most of the players arrived early, not because they were told to, but because being there, moving, working, felt better than sitting at home with the weight of the season pressing down.
The dressing room was quiet, not heavy, but subdued. No banter today, just tired smiles and the occasional pat on the shoulder. The players were running on fumes, digging deep into whatever reserves they had left. No one complained, they just got on with it. Max moved through the corridor with a slight limp, his ankle still stiff from a knock he'd taken on Boxing Day. Luka sat on a bench, socks rolled low, wrapping tape around both ankles with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of routine. Reece was already outside, gloved hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, staring into the fog curling over the far end of the training pitch like it might tell him something.
Niels stood in the meeting room, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a black pen tucked between his fingers. The projector was off no video clips today, just a whiteboard scrawled with notes and the soft hum of a space heater in the corner.
His voice stayed low, steady, but it carried the weight of expectation. "This one's a trap if you let it be. The space between holidays makes it easy to drift. You think you've got time. You think they're just as tired as you. Maybe they are. But that doesn't matter if they start sharper than us." He paused, letting the words settle. "There's no room for cruise control. Not now. Not after the work we've done."
The players nodded, not in unison but enough to show they felt it. Out on the grass, the warm-up was deliberate, no music, just the rhythm of cleats and breath. Korey, still riding the high from his Boxing Day goal, threw himself into every drill, a grin breaking through when his touches came off clean. Nate moved with a quiet intensity, like something was weighing on him, but his feet stayed sharp. Dev and Qazi ran patterns with a precision that felt almost choreographed.