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“Everything okay? You just tripped over…” Ella glanced at the floor. “Nothing?” She studied Sloane’s face. “Plus, you look a little flushed.”

Sloane took in Ella’s perfectly oval mouth, as if she was seeing it for the first time. Her impossibly smooth skin. She leaned in to inhale the scent of her floral perfume.

That was not normal behaviour.

She straightened up, then shook her head. “Just in a rush to get to my massage with the physio and thought I’d throw coffee and beans everywhere.”

Ella wore tailored royal-blue pants and a sky-blue shirt. Her pink belt provided a pop of colour, and highlighted her slim waist and defined hips.

Sloane couldn’t stop staring. “You look nice today. Very professional.”

She smiled, and her face lit up. “Doing a talk later to the staff, so thought I’d make the effort.” Ella paused. “You sure you’re okay? You seem out of sorts.”

“I’m fine.” Sloane skulled what was left of her coffee, glanced at her abandoned plate, then back to Ella. “In fact, I’ve gotta dash. I’ll grab a croissant, just don’t tell Lucy I had no protein, okay?”

Ella mimed zipping up her lips and throwing away the key.

* * *

“How’s yourankle holding up? Feeling okay?”

Sloane winced as Dan the physio put pressure exactly where she didn’t want it. But that’s what physios did. It was their job. She nodded, trying to keep her face neutral. It wasn’t easy.

“It’s still a bit sore, but I do my maintenance exercises and it’s manageable. I can still play soccer, that’s the main thing.”

“Football now you’re in the UK,” he joked.

Sloane forced a smile. “It’ll always be soccer to me.”

Her ankle hadn’t been the same since the only big injury of her career two years ago, and she had to take particular care of it. She told everyone it wasn’t an issue. But it was. That was even after all the physio and performance work she’d done. Maybe Ella could help her overcome any niggling injury doubts.

But she wasn’t sure seeing Ella right now was the best thing for her health, mental or physical.

That thought made her frown.

“Why the sad face?” Dan looked like a guy Sloane’s brother used to play basketball with. She hadn’t liked him, but Dan showed none of his traits, thankfully.

Sloane shook her head and smiled. She wasn’t about to confess her inner woes to her physio. That wasn’t his job, even though she was sure he’d heard his fair share. Today’s session was about her body and nothing else.

“I was just thinking about my breakfast this morning, and how I spilled it down my top.”

He laughed. “You’re good with your feet, you can’t be good with your hands all the time, too. That would just be greedy.” He worked his way up her leg and massaged her thigh.

Sloane closed her eyes and tried to shut down the thoughts buzzing around her head. But her mind was like a flickering movie, serving up images of Jess, her and Jess in happier times, Jess and Britney, and finally, Ella.

Ella had made it onto this movie of her life?

“Great match yesterday. You and Nat seem to have built up a good rapport already, which bodes well for the season.”

Soccer chat. Thank goodness for soccer chat. “It does,” she replied. “She’s got skills, and I think we could really do some damage to other teams this season.”

Dan nodded. “Your penalty, though.” He shook his head in admiration. “You’re not afraid to be brave and vulnerable, which is what penalty-takers need to be. Same with your amazing personal sharing session this week, too. But that penalty was the key point in the game. They were coming back into it. You miss that penalty, the momentum swings. At 2-1, anything can happen. But you scored it, it’s 3-1, it’s a different vibe.”

Sloane nodded. “There’s a reason I practice as much as I do.”

“I know,” Dan replied. “There’s a reason we work your muscles every day so you can do just that.” He grinned at her. “Teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

If only everything was as simple as soccer. She and Jess used to be a team. No longer. Now, she was flying solo.