PREVIEW
... he corner of the changing room at Apperley Bridge, one knee raised, the laces running through his fingers like thread. The sound of studs on tile echoed around him—early, quiet, clean. Outside, the pitch waited. Frosty grass. Northern wind. Yorkshire grey.
A soft first touch off the rebound wall. Then another. No coaches, no teammates yet—just the ball returning as true as he sent it. His eyes flicked up once, toward the horizon, where the morning sky hung still and silent.
Voice ...
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