Chapter 71: 15 Laps
It was well into midnight by the time Alex and Isabella left the pool. The once-buzzing hotel had settled into a hush, with only the occasional echo of footsteps or distant door clicks to remind them that the world still moved.
They didn’t say much as they stood outside the elevator, and they didn’t need to. A shared look, a smile full of exhaustion and something gentler, something warmer, passed between them like a silent pact.
"Guess I’ll see you tomorrow," Isabella murmured, her voice quieter than before.
"You will," Alex replied.
She gave him a quick hug. Not the kind that meant nothing, but not the kind that demanded anything either. Just enough. Warm, grounding, honest.
And then she was gone, disappearing down the hallway, her footsteps light.
Alex turned in the opposite direction, walking slowly, as if stretching the last moments of the night. His footsteps padded softly on the carpeted floor, his shoes in one hand, the other combing absentmindedly through his hair.
By the time he reached his room, the high from the game had faded, but the emptiness he usually felt in these moments had not returned. No gnawing doubt, no loneliness biting at the edges. Tonight, that space inside him, normally quiet and cold after the lights dimmed and the crowd vanished, was filled with something else.
Relief. Joy. A little pride.
And something more subtle. Something tender. A warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.
He stepped inside, dropped his shoes by the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were untouched, crisp. The room had been cleaned while he was gone, but he hardly noticed. His thoughts weren’t in the room.
Usually, after nights like this, the silence felt loud. The walls seemed closer. The echo of celebration from hours earlier would start to fade, and in its place came that inevitable crash, the come-down.
But not tonight.
He leaned back on the bed, arms spread wide, staring up at the ceiling like a man who had just survived a storm and found blue skies waiting on the other side. His lips curled into a grin. Small, but stubborn.
Because they had done it.
They had won.
And more than that, they, not just the players, not just the coaches, they as a whole had come together. Something had clicked tonight. On the pitch. In the locker room. Even by the pool.
They weren’t just a squad anymore.
They were a team.
His phone buzzed beside him on the bed, the screen lighting up in the dim room. Then it buzzed again. Then again. A third time, longer than the others.
Alex frowned and reached for it, squinting at the screen.
You’ve been added to: THE REAL GC
He blinked.
Wait... no.
It couldn’t be...
But it was.
He opened the chat and scrolled quickly. A flood of messages was already pouring in. He scanned the names, recognized them all immediately. Banda. Gallo. Krstović. Dorgu. Pongracic. A few of the younger lads too.
This wasn’t the official group chat. Not the stiff, formal one where everything was double-checked and the sporting director could see every emoji. This wasn’t the ’players only’ chat either, the one that mostly consisted of memes and Spotify links.
No.
This was sacred ground.
The Real GC.
The unfiltered, chaotic, slightly dangerous realm of footballer banter. Only a select few ever made it in. And as a manager? Getting added was unheard of.
Alex had to laugh. He had to.
He watched the messages scroll in real-time.
Dorgu: Never knew the gaffer’s got game
Krstović: He’s cheating on the press officer
Dorgu: Nah, it’s her. I saw them by the pool
Gallo: I did too. I wanted to splash some water on them but I didn’t want to get binned
Banda: You can’t get binned over something so trivial
Krstović: Who’s gonna tell him?
Banda (replying to himself): right?
Banda: right?!?!?
Pongracic: We can’t tell. The search for coochie tends to blind a lot of good men
Dorgu: Hahaha
Gallo: Hahaha
Krstović: Hahaha
Alex stared at the screen, stunned for half a second.
Then he burst out laughing.
Full-on, body-shaking laughter that he had to muffle with the sleeve of his hoodie so he wouldn’t wake half the hotel floor. He couldn’t stop. He could barely breathe.
He wasn’t even mad. Honestly, he was impressed. The energy, the madness, the outright disrespect, it was exactly what he would’ve done at their age.
He grinned at the screen.
Then started typing.
Alex: You guys know I’m here right?
The chat froze.
Just for a second.
Then the unread count started ticking again.
Alex: Back when I was a player we wouldn’t even dare to say words like this
Alex: I’m very disappointed in you all
Alex: 15 laps everybody
There was a beat of silence.
And then chaos.
Banda: noooooooo
Gallo: delete the chat delete the chat
Dorgu: I’m gonna cry
Krstović: Coach please I was hacked
Banda: I was also hacked
Gallo: We were all hacked. This was AI generated
Pongracic: Deepfakes are crazy these days
Alex laughed even harder, letting his phone fall onto his chest for a moment. He stared up at the ceiling, breathless.
For the first time in a long time, he felt younger than he was. Not in a desperate way, not in a chasing-past-glory kind of way. But in the way that only belonging can make you feel.
This-this stupid chat, these dumb messages, these players who made jokes about him one minute and played their hearts out for him the next, this was everything he’d missed about football when he left it. The camaraderie. The community. The banter that made the grind bearable.
He picked the phone back up, the screen still glowing with notifications.
A final message popped in.
Dorgu: Sooo... no laps right?
Alex: Laps and early gym session. Enjoy :)
Banda: Coach you’re evil
Krstović: I respect it but I also fear it
Gallo: I am going to bed before I get benched for vibes
Pongracic: Too late. You’re already benched
Banda: Coach please, I didn’t say anything
Dorgu: It was all that old man
Ferretti: Tch, the uncs got me in trouble when I didn’t do anything
Pongracic: Who are you calling an uncle?
Gallo: You just made us run laps and that’s your biggest concern?
Ferretti: Unc has priorities
Pongracic: We’ll see tomorrow at training
Ferretti: Hehe, I was just joking big bro
Alex: Lights out boys. Sleep well. Dream of passing drills
He locked the screen, still smiling, and set the phone gently on the nightstand. The hallway outside had quieted now, but he could hear the echoes of laughter, muffled by walls and doors. A few groans too. Someone probably pacing and whisper-yelling about how they were "just kidding" and "he’s not actually serious, right?"
He lay back fully on the bed, finally pulling the covers over his legs. The sheets were cool, and the air conditioner hummed softly in the corner.
He let out a long breath.
That part of him, the one that had worried this job would make him an outsider to his own players, was quiet tonight.
They respected him. They joked about him. They made fun of him, yes, but they included him.
And that mattered more than he realized.
He wasn’t just the boss barking orders from the sidelines.
He was in this. With them.
Not above them. Not separate.
He was part of the group.
He was one of them.
And for Alex Walker, that meant more than any headline or press conference ever could.