Chapter 65: Chapter 65: The Right Side Opens II
The keeper was up and shouting before Jamie had even finished his clearance.
"Step to him! You’re letting eight turn every time!"
The centre-back was pointing, dragging the midfield line higher. On the touchline Mercer was demanding quicker pressure on the ball, both arms going.
Jamie heard all of it as he jogged back into his slot, sweat stinging one eye, and it steadied him more than any praise could have.
His good moments meant nothing on their own. Tranmere were still level, still one turned pass away from going behind, and the whole back line knew it.
He wiped his eye on his sleeve and got his head back up.
The goal, when it came, was a full-team thing.
It started with a tackle on the left, Tranmere winning it clean off a loose home touch, and then they moved it fast before the second-place side could reset their block.
The striker checked hard toward the ball, and one centre-back followed him out, which opened a hole where the centre-back had been.
Finn stayed wide and pinned the full-back, exactly as told.
Jamie read the whole picture a beat before it happened. The space was going to open outside, and this time the timing was clean.
He went.
The pass came into his stride, and he took one touch to steady the angle instead of rushing it, the way Rafi had drilled into him until his legs ached.
Then he fired the cutback low into the six-yard channel.
The striker went for the first ball and missed it, his boot skidding over the top.
But Liam was arriving behind him, running onto exactly the space the striker had cleared.
THWACK.
Liam smashed it in.
1–0.
The away side erupted. Finn ran in from the wing with his arms up, the midfielder who had switched it came sprinting across, the striker who had dragged the centre-back turned and pointed back at the move.
Liam wheeled away, then pointed once at Jamie, sharp, the way he had after that first goal weeks ago.
"Same ball," he shouted. "Same ball again."
Jamie did not run to the crowd.
He took one breath, turned back toward his own half, and let himself glance once at the barrier.
Alan had both fists up, not shouting Jamie’s name, just holding them there like he could not help it.
Beside him, Garcia had not moved much at all. A small nod, nothing more, his eyes already going back to the pitch.
Jamie understood that too. Garcia knew what Jamie was only starting to learn.
The next ten minutes, right after you score against a good team, were when they came for you hardest.
He forced his eyes off the two of them and back to the restart.
The home side pushed properly now.
They moved the ball quicker, sent their opposite full-back flying high up the other flank, and started slinging earlier balls into the channels to turn Tranmere’s defenders around.
Mercer’s voice cut across it. "Compact! Pick your runs! We don’t need two goals, we need this one kept!"
Jamie felt the pull of it. Part of him wanted to keep flying forward, to chase the second, to feel that overlap again.
But the job had changed the second the ball hit the net.
Now his side of the pitch was not a weapon to use. It was a door to keep shut.
It nearly cost him once, late, when his legs were already burning.
Tranmere lost the ball cheaply, and Jamie was caught high up the pitch from supporting the attack. The home side switched it fast, out to their winger on Jamie’s side, and for half a second the space behind him gaped open.
The winger took it and drove for the byline.
Jamie turned and ran.
This was the thing that had put him in the shirt in the first place. His lungs screamed and his calves were dead, but his recovery pace ate the gap the way it always had.
He got back level. He got back past.
The winger reached the byline and tried to cut it low across the face of goal.
Jamie threw his body in front of it.
THUD.
The ball smacked off his shin and spun away behind for a corner.
He landed on the wet grass, chest heaving, grass stains up his side, and dragged himself upright before the corner could be taken.
It was not a superhero moment. It was one tired sprint and one honest block, and it was enough.
The last minutes belonged to everyone.
Tranmere defended the corner in a pack. The centre-backs won their headers, the keeper came and claimed one dangerous cross clean out of the crowd, and the midfielders chased down every second ball that dropped.
Up the other end, the striker took the ball into the corner flag and just held it there, shielding, wasting the seconds, until the home defenders gave up trying to win it back.
Jamie stayed switched on the whole time.
He did not need to touch every ball. He just needed to be in the right place, and he was, and the shape held.
TWEET. TWEET. TWEET.
Full time. 1–0.
Jamie stood with his hands on his knees, breathing like he had run through a wall, while his teammates thumped each other on the back around him.
Mercer came down the line and did not give him a speech.
"Good discipline second half," he said, already moving past. "You picked your moments. Keep doing that."
That was it. From Mercer, that was a lot.
Near the barrier, Alan was grinning openly, saying something to the people around him. Garcia stood a step back from him, quieter, watching Jamie with a look that was more thoughtful than pleased, like a man already working out what came next.
The real thing did not come from the crowd. It came from the staff.
Jamie was catching his breath by the touchline when he saw one of the academy men, not Mercer, walk over to the coaches. Someone from the development side. He had watched from higher up all game.
Jamie could not hear it properly. He only caught the shape of it.
The staff member said something low. Mercer’s voice dropped to match it. Both of them glanced over toward Jamie, once, then looked away.
Off to the side, Garcia had gone very still, and Jamie realised Garcia was watching the same conversation he was.
Something had shifted, and Jamie could feel it before he understood it.
He had helped win the match. He had put the goal on a plate and thrown his body across the line to protect it. He should have felt only relief.
Instead the new attention sat on his chest like more weight, because he already knew what it meant. He was no longer just the late signing who had started one U18 game.
He had given Tranmere a reason to move him up their list.
As Jamie bent to untie his boots, he heard the development coach speak behind him.
"Pull his numbers from today. I want him with the older group next week."
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