I Coach Football With A System
Chapter 90: New Year’s Eve at a Hospital (2)

Chapter 90: New Year’s Eve at a Hospital (2)

She led him down a quiet corridor, away from the front desk and into one of the less busy wings of the hospital. The lights were a bit dimmer here, flickering slightly in some places, the air cooler and almost sterile against his skin, like the chill you felt before walking onto the pitch on a gray winter afternoon.

It was quiet. So quiet that even the soft hum of the air vents felt loud. No announcements rang over the speakers here. No rush of nurses with clipboards or the beep-beep-beep of heart monitors. Just the occasional low murmur from a nearby room, a doctor’s voice behind a half-closed door, the shuffle of footsteps far away.

And the soft scuff of their shoes on the linoleum floor as they walked side by side, neither of them speaking.

They reached a small alcove with a row of vending machines humming quietly, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Two metal chairs were bolted to the wall, paint chipped along the edges from years of people sitting there, waiting, tapping their shoes on the ground, waiting some more.

Isabella sat down on one of them, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, like she was hugging herself, like she was bracing for something. Her shoulders hunched inward, and she didn’t look at him.

Alex hesitated for a moment, then sat down beside her. The metal was cold, even through the fabric of his jeans, and for a moment, all he could hear was the hum of the vending machines and the buzz of the light.

He waited, the silence stretching between them like a tightrope. He didn’t rush her. He just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, careful. "Isabella... what happened?"

She didn’t look at him. Her lips trembled before she even spoke, like the words were trying to push their way out, fighting against the weight pressing down on her. She swallowed, her throat working visibly, and when she spoke, her voice cracked.

"My sister..."

She couldn’t finish. Her breath hitched, and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders starting to shake. It wasn’t the quiet, composed crying people did when they were trying to keep it together, trying to stay strong.

It was the kind of crying that broke things open. The kind that came from too many days of silence, too many nights spent awake, too many moments spent pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Alex felt something in his chest tighten, like a fist closing around his heart, but he didn’t reach out. He didn’t try to stop her or tell her it was okay. He just let her cry, let her breathe, let her feel it.

When she finally managed to pull her hands away from her face, her eyes were red, her cheeks streaked with tears, but she didn’t try to wipe them away.

"She got into a car accident," Isabella managed, her voice raw, each word sounding like it cost her something to say. "It happened the night after we got back from Milan. I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize, and when I picked up, they told me she’d been hit by a drunk driver on the outskirts of Florence."

She sucked in a breath, her hands clenching into fists on her lap, knuckles white.

"They didn’t even know if she was going to live," she said, her voice trembling again. "For two days... I didn’t know if I’d ever hear her voice again."

Alex’s jaw tightened, and he looked down, swallowing against the anger that rose in his chest, anger at the world, at the driver, at the unfairness of it all.

"Jesus..." he breathed.

"She’s stable now," Isabella said, her voice softer, like she was trying to convince herself it was good news, that it was enough. "But her leg..."

Her voice cracked again, and she wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, the tears still coming.

"They said the femur’s a mess. Completely shattered. She needs multiple orthopedic reconstructions, and even then..." Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "Even then, there’s no guarantee she’ll walk again."

Alex felt his heart drop, felt the weight of those words sink into him like cold water.

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. Her eyes flickered up to meet his for a moment before looking away again.

"She’s all I’ve got, Alex," Isabella said, her voice trembling but steady enough to keep going. "My mum died when I was in uni. My dad passed when I was still in secondary school. It’s just been the two of us since then."

She let out a small, broken laugh, shaking her head, her hair slipping from its bun to frame her face.

"I raised her, you know? I mean, not literally, but... she’s everything. She’s brilliant and annoying and stubborn as hell. And now..." Her breath caught again, and she pressed her lips together, trying to hold it in. "I don’t know what I’ll do if she can’t walk. I don’t even know what she will do."

Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed on the floor. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy, necessary, filled with everything that didn’t need to be said.

"That’s why the loan?" he asked softly, looking at her.

Isabella nodded, wiping at her face again, though the tears kept coming.

"Santa Lucia Medica is the best orthopedic hospital in Lecce," she said, her voice breaking. "Maybe even Italy. I needed her here. I couldn’t trust anyone else with her recovery."

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers twisting together in her lap.

"But the surgery alone costs more than four years of my wage," she whispered. "I thought about selling my apartment, pulling out everything I’ve saved, but... it still wasn’t enough. So I filed a request with the club."

Alex closed his eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle again, letting himself breathe, letting himself feel the weight of her words.

When he opened them, he turned to look at her, his expression soft, his eyes searching her face.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked.

She looked at him, really looked at him, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks still wet, her mouth trembling like she was trying to find the words.

"Because you’ve got enough on your plate," she said, her voice quiet, her eyes dropping to her lap. "Matches, the transfer window, the press, the board. The team. I didn’t want to burden you with this."

Alex let out a small, soft laugh, shaking his head, looking at her with something between fondness and frustration.

"Isabella," he said, his voice gentle, "we’re friends. Good friends. You talk to your friends. You don’t carry things like this alone. It’s not a burden."

She sniffed, her mouth twitching like she was trying to smile, but it didn’t quite make it. Her shoulders trembled, and she wiped at her face again.

"I didn’t know how," she whispered. "I didn’t want you to see me like this."

Alex didn’t think. He just moved.

He leaned in and wrapped his arms around her.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t calculated. It was instinct, pure and simple. The kind of instinct that made you run onto the pitch to pull a teammate back from a fight, the kind that made you throw yourself in front of a shot.

He just held her.

She stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but then her shoulders shook against his chest, and she crumpled into him, her arms wrapping around his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

He could feel the way she was trying to stay composed, the way her breath caught and broke, the way she tried to hold back and failed.

And for once, he didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t try to tell her it was going to be okay, because he didn’t know if it would be. He didn’t offer her promises he couldn’t keep.

He just held her, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles on her back as she cried.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice low, meant only for her. "I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you."

She didn’t reply, but her arms tightened around him, her face buried in his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck.

They stayed like that for a while, tucked into the quietest part of the hospital, surrounded by the hum of vending machines and the buzz of overhead lights, while the world outside kept spinning.

As matches were played, as deals were brokered, as the winter winds rushed through the streets of Lecce, as fans argued about formations and substitutions.

Inside that little corner of steel chairs and vending machines, it was just the two of them.

And for now, that was enough.