I Coach Football With A System
Chapter 92: New Year in a Hospital

Chapter 92: New Year in a Hospital

The vending machine in the corner of the visitors’ lounge groaned as it dispensed two paper cups of cheap coffee. The sound was louder than it should have been in the quiet of the hospital, like the machine was complaining about being woken up this late at night. Alex stood there, watching the cups drop, the lukewarm liquid sloshing as they settled. He took them both, careful not to spill, and walked back over to where Isabella was sitting.

She looked up as he approached, her eyes tired but grateful, and she took the cup without saying anything. Their fingers brushed for a split second, warm against the cold air of the hospital lounge. She held the cup in both hands, letting the heat seep into her skin, grounding herself.

Alex sat down beside her on a stiff plastic chair that creaked under his weight. The chair was uncomfortable, the kind that dug into your back if you leaned too far, but he didn’t care. He settled in, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, coffee cup balanced between his palms.

The lounge was small, tucked away on the fourth floor near the orthopedic wing. There was a faint smell of disinfectant mixed with the metallic scent of hospital air, and the overhead lights flickered every few seconds like they were trying to remind everyone they were still alive. A muted television in the corner played some holiday concert with grainy visuals, the volume turned down so low you could only catch snippets of a singer’s voice when the room was completely silent.

The hospital was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something, anything, to happen. A nurse pushed a cart past them, the wheels squeaking as they rolled over a bump in the floor. Somewhere far away, the beep of a monitor rose and fell like a slow heartbeat, in rhythm with the soft hum of the vents overhead.

They sipped their coffee in silence for a few moments. It wasn’t good coffee, it tasted like burned rubber and cardboard, the kind that made you wince on the first sip but it was warm, and right now, that was enough. It was something to hold, something to focus on when the world felt too heavy.

"You know," Isabella said finally, her voice soft, her eyes watching the steam curl from her cup, "when we were kids, my sister used to crawl into bed with me every Saturday morning to watch cartoons. Didn’t matter what was on, Scooby-Doo, Pokemon, Tom and Jerry. She just liked being close."

Alex turned his head toward her, watching her quietly, giving her space to say what she needed to say. He didn’t interrupt, just took another sip of the bad coffee.

"She wore mismatched socks for like... four years straight," Isabella continued, a small laugh escaping her lips, the kind of laugh that comes with remembering something so pure it almost hurts. "Not even ironically. She said matching them was a capitalist construct. She was seven."

Alex chuckled, the sound low but warm, echoing slightly in the empty lounge. "Sounds like a rebel."

"She was," Isabella said, smiling at the memory. "She used to beg me to sneak her into press boxes when I started working in football. Thought it was the most glamorous thing in the world. Microphones, cameras, grumpy middle-aged men arguing about VAR..."

"A dream come true," Alex murmured, his lips twitching into a soft smile.

She laughed, but it faded quickly, replaced by a distant look in her eyes as she stared into her coffee. "I just... I thought we had more time, you know? I thought I’d have more time to teach her things. Watch her grow. Instead, she’s just... stuck."

Alex stared down into his cup, the coffee rippling slightly as his fingers tightened around the paper. He swallowed, thinking of what to say, searching for something that wouldn’t sound hollow.

Then he said quietly, "I had a cousin like that. Matteo. My age. Used to come visit in the summers. We’d play street football until our feet bled. One year, he broke his ankle trying to meg me. Didn’t even regret it."

"Where is he now?" Isabella asked, her voice curious but gentle, pulling herself out of her own memories for a moment to step into his.

Alex shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Owns a car dealership in Palermo. Still talks trash like he’s prime Zidane. Swears he could have made Serie A if he hadn’t busted his ankle."

Isabella smiled, and this time it held, the corners of her eyes crinkling just slightly. She leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly, letting her shoulders drop from where they had been hunched up near her ears.

Minutes passed. They sat there like two people caught in a pause between life’s heavier beats, letting the silence settle around them without feeling the need to break it. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, the second hand moving in slow, deliberate steps toward midnight. Every now and then, someone would walk past the lounge, shoes squeaking on the floor, a quiet reminder that the world was still moving even if they weren’t.

Eventually, a nurse popped her head in, her hair tied up in a messy bun, a faint smile on her lips as she looked between them. "You two know it’s New Year’s in ten minutes, right?"

Isabella blinked, looking at the nurse, then at the clock, then back down at her coffee. "Doesn’t feel like it."

Alex stretched, his arms reaching over his head, a small groan escaping as his back cracked. "Lecce group chat is full of horrible singing and blurry photos. Gallo just texted me, ’I’m not drunk but the stars are moving.’"

Isabella chuckled, the sound soft but real. "You trained that?"

"Unfortunately," Alex replied with a grin, lowering his arms and shaking his head.

They wandered toward the far end of the lounge, where a smaller TV was playing the national countdown with the volume just loud enough to hear the music and the occasional shout from the crowd in Rome. St. Peter’s was lit up on the screen, glowing against the night sky, crowds waving flags and throwing confetti as the camera panned over the square.

Alex handed Isabella another coffee from the vending machine, the cup warm against her cold fingers. "Lukewarm luxury," he said with a small smile.

"Just how I like it," she replied, her lips quirking upward as she took the cup, holding it close to her chest.

They stood there side by side, their shoulders almost touching, each holding their cheap coffee as they watched the screen. The countdown numbers flashed across the bottom, the crowd cheering louder with each passing second.

[Ten.]

[Nine.]

[Eight.]

Alex glanced at Isabella out of the corner of his eye, watching the way the light from the TV flickered across her face, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes, the small smile on her lips.

[Seven.]

[Six.]

[Five.]

Fireworks started popping on the TV, bright colors exploding against the night sky, illuminating the faces of the people in the crowd.

[Four.]

[Three.]

[Two.]

[One.]

[Happy New Year!]

The screen exploded in a flurry of light and camera flashes, Rome looking like a snow globe of fireworks and confetti, the cheers of the crowd blending with the faint sounds of fireworks popping somewhere outside the hospital. The windows rattled slightly with each distant boom, and for a moment, the world felt alive in a way it hadn’t all night.

Someone down the corridor let out a cheer, and a nurse clapped twice before continuing down the hallway.

Alex turned to Isabella. She turned to him at the same time, their eyes meeting, holding for just a second longer than usual.

"Happy New Year," they said in unison, the words overlapping, soft but clear, carrying more weight than the fireworks outside.

A moment of stillness passed between them, a breath held in the space between one year and the next.

Then, without warning, Isabella leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. There was no sweeping music, no desperate pull, no fireworks exploding behind them in slow motion. It was soft. Real. Honest. The kind of kiss you give someone not because you planned it, not because it was expected, but because it felt like the only thing left to say.

When she pulled back, she didn’t look away. She looked into his eyes, her own eyes glinting with unshed tears, but there was a softness there, a gratitude that didn’t need words.

"Thank you," she said, her voice a whisper, but it cut through the quiet of the lounge. "For being here."

Alex blinked, his lips twitching into a smile that was small but real, the kind that reached his eyes. "I couldn’t be anywhere else."

They sat back down on the bench, a little closer now, their shoulders brushing, the warmth between them enough to chase away the cold of the hospital air. The coffee cooled in their hands, but neither of them seemed to notice.

Outside, the city celebrated in noise and chaos, fireworks bursting in the sky, people shouting and laughing and singing off-key in the streets. But inside, in this tiny, quiet part of the world, two people sat together and let the silence hold them, let it wrap around them like a blanket.

They didn’t need noise to feel the moment.

Just each other.