The Own Goal ✔️

Part 65

A week later and I'm back in the stands at Wembley. I'm huddled with Jack's family with tears running down our faces. As I look around me there isn't a dry eye, or a face that isn't smiling.

The noise from the crowd is spine tingling.
Our players are dancing on the pitch, celebrating hard that they just beat Germany and have made it through to the quarter finals.

I can just see Jack on the pitch, being interviewed. His face keeps coming up on fhe big screen and he looks lost, he can't hear the interviewer over the crowd noise, which gets only louder every time his face flashes up.

I see him look around in awe, his hand goes to the back of his neck, in that way it does when he's feeling nervous.

He just played a full 90 minutes and he played fantastic. Gareth felt it was important to get Jack on the pitch to show the crowd he was fine after the firework incident, but also to bolster Jacks confidence back up.

After I shared with the girls that I thought Craig was behind the firework attack we hadn't known what to do next, so I had called Kevin, who within minutes was speaking to one of the England back room staff before Jack had even stood up again.

Unfortunately, the text provided no solid evidence. There was no evidence that Craig had even been to the game, his name wasn't on any ticket lists, but obviously it wouldn't be if someone else had bought his ticket.
But the police had also found no evidence that he'd even travelled to the game.
Frustratingly the message also wasn't enough to warrant the police talking to Craig, and of course the number that sent the message was out of service shortly after the attack.

Jack had reassured me and his family that he was fine, it had just shocked him and he just had a small graze at the top of his back.

I hadn't spoken to him about my argument with Layla. It didn't feel important.

Finally the crowds start dispersing and I notice Jack talking to one of the coaches, he points up to where I'm sitting with his family.

He's pouting, then flashing his grin and the coach nods, Jack gives him a wink and he's jumping over the barrier walking up the steps to us......
It takes him ages to get to where I am halfway up the block. Everyone else's mum and partner wants to hug him, check he's ok.
Everyone knows last week could have caused serious injury and the security breach has obviously raised concerns with everyone.
Jack smiles and hugs and tells people he's fine, but his eyes barely leave mine.

At last I'm in his dirty, muddy, sweaty embrace and I can't tell which of us needs the other most right now.

After reassuring us he's ok, saying he just couldn't bare to wait until after he'd got changed to see us he retreats back to the changing room. I watch the faint blood stain between his shoulder blades as he walks down the steps.

-

Finally we are back in his room at St George's Park.

We lay on the bed facing each other. Lazily stroking each other, gazing at each other.
Jack's eyes keep closing.

"So your adrenaline in and energy out ratio matches up today?" I joke.

A smile spreads over his lips. He looks like Mia when she's settling for a nap.

I run my hand over his soft hair, fluffy from the showers at Wembley.
I bring my fingers down the back of his head.
I caress at his hairline.
Stroke the nape of his neck.
Lightly brush down to his neckline.
I edge my fingers lower.

He stills, eyes dart open.

I knew it.

"Show me"