The final whistle blew.
Russell stood up from the bench and let out a slow breath. The match was over. Coaches were already gathering their clipboards. Some players exchanged handshakes. Others stretched or sat on the grass, heads tilted back to the sky.
He had not gone back in. He had stayed benched for the second half, watching, waiting, thinking. And now, that was it. No more drills, no more analysis, no more passes or runs or clipped crosses.
Just waiting.
He started to walk toward the main building where the changing rooms were. His legs were sore but still steady. Sweat clung to the back of his shirt. He did not look around much. He did not feel like searching for anyone.
But a voice called from behind him.
"Yo, Russell."
He turned around. Alexis was jogging over, pulling his bib off, hair damp, his cheeks still a little red from the effort. He did not look nervous. Just tired. But not in a heavy way, more like someone who had left everything on the pitch and was fine with that.
Russell slowed down, waiting.
"You played well, man," Alexis said as he caught up. "Seriously."
Russell nodded once. "Thanks."
He did not know what else to say. He was not used to hearing that. Not from other players. Not like this. It always felt easier to deflect praise than to hold onto it.
"You made our left back look like he was guessing most of the half," Alexis added, grinning. "That ball across for the goal, clean. Real clean."
Russell exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. "Just tried to keep it simple."
"You did more than that," Alexis said. "You looked, I do not know. Comfortable. Like you were not rushed."
Russell shrugged. He had not felt rushed. Not at this level. But he had spent enough time training in silence, running drills in the dark, grinding through pressure. Maybe it showed. Maybe that is what Alexis meant.
"I felt alright," Russell said. "Still not sure why they took me off, though."
Alexis raised an eyebrow. "What, at halftime?"
Russell nodded.
"I heard one of the coaches talking during the second half," Alexis said. "They said something like, we have seen what we need to see from seventeen. That is you, yeah?"
Russell looked over at him.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That is me."
"So do not stress it," Alexis continued. "I think they liked what they saw. You stood out."
Russell did not know how to feel. That should have been reassuring. It probably was. But part of him still held back. A habit, maybe. He had spent so much time being evaluated, by his dad, by coaches, by himself, that he did not really know how to accept a compliment without checking for the catch underneath.
"You were solid too," he said instead. "Smart movement. You made our centre backs chase shadows the whole half."
Alexis laughed. "Yeah, I was just trying not to get swallowed alive in midfield. That false nine thing? First time I have actually done it."
"Could have fooled me," Russell said.
They walked in silence for a moment, heading toward the changing rooms. It was not awkward, just quiet. The kind of quiet that followed a long, exhausting day where your body was ready to shut off but your brain had not caught up yet.
"You think you made a strong case?" Russell asked after a while.
Alexis took a second before answering. "I think I did what I could. Said a lot without saying too much, if that makes sense."
Russell nodded. It made perfect sense.
"I would play with you again," Alexis added.
Russell looked over at him. He meant it. It was not flattery, just a straight up statement, simple and honest.
"Yeah," Russell said. "Same."
They reached the door. A few other trialists had already gone in. A coach stood nearby, watching them, maybe listening.
Alexis paused, then offered a hand. "Either way, that was a good game."
Russell shook it. Firm. "It was."
"And you are cold, by the way," Alexis added as he turned to leave. "In a good way. That type of cold where nothing rattles you."
Russell let out an actual laugh this time. Just a short one, but real. "I will take that."
Alexis gave him a nod and disappeared into the building.
Russell stayed outside for a second longer.
That was probably the most honest conversation he had all day. And it had not come from a coach, or a scout, or even his dad. Just another player. A guy his age. Someone who had seen him, not as a project or potential, but just as a footballer.
And for once, that felt enough.
He followed the path out toward the car park. The air had cooled a little, now that the sun had moved off centre. He spotted his dad easily, leaning against the car with his arms crossed. Still in the same jacket. Still in the same position he always took when watching.
Russell walked up, keeping his expression neutral.
His dad looked at him. "You did okay."
Russell paused. "Wait, what?"
"You did okay. Some good touches. Did not force anything. Solid decision making."
It took Russell a moment to respond. Not glowing praise, but not harsh either. It was almost, balanced. And that caught him off guard.
"I did not know you were watching," he said.
"They invited me in," his dad said casually. "Did not make sense having parents standing around for hours. Place was warm enough inside."
Russell nodded slowly. "Right."
There was a pause. He thought about asking more. Had he seen the assist? The runs? The recovery tackles? But he did not say anything. Just followed his dad to the car.
The door clicked open. They got in.
The drive home was quiet. No music. No small talk. Just the hum of the engine and the blur of streets passing by the window.
Russell sat with his head leaning slightly against the glass, thoughts cycling again.
What did okay mean?
Was that his dad's version of a compliment? Or just not wanting to talk?
He did not ask. The silence did not feel tense. Just, unfinished.
When they pulled up to the house, Russell opened the door without a word and stepped out. His dad did not follow. The front door creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, the house was quiet. Dim. The kind of quiet that usually bothered him, but right now he welcomed it.
He climbed the stairs, his body starting to feel the weight of everything.
Inside his room, he dropped his bag, peeled off his hoodie, and headed straight for the bathroom. The shower was hot and steady. He stood under it for longer than usual, letting the water rinse off the sweat, the nerves, and the noise that had built up all day.
He dried off, changed into fresh clothes, and went to bed without touching his phone.
His legs ached. His mind buzzed. But somewhere between the two, he found stillness.
And for the first time in days, he fell asleep without overthinking.