The article hit the internet like a match to dry brush—bold headline, grainy photos, and enough misleading quotes to send the press office into chaos. A fabricated fling between Sam and some attention-hungry celebrity.

You were barely through your first coffee when Rebecca called your name across the hallway, voice sharp. The club needed damage control, and fast.

Through the morning you were glued to your laptop—drafting statements, fielding calls, dodging journalists outside the gates. But as the adrenaline wore off, one thing stuck in your mind: Sam hadn’t said a word.

When you spotted him on the pitch during training, slower than usual, less smiley, you knew.

You walked over casually, nodding at Will as you passed. Sam was at the sidelines tying his boots, eyes distant.

“Hey,” you said gently, “got a minute?”

He looked up, managing a small smile. “Of course.”

You led him a bit farther off, away from the rest of the team. “You’ve barely said a word today.”

He shrugged, gaze dropping again. “Just hate that it hurts people I care about. My mum saw it. My sister. I know it’s nonsense, but… it’s exhausting.”

You exhaled, offering him a small, reassuring squeeze to the shoulder.

“They don’t know you like we do,” you said. “They don’t get your heart, or your values. But I do. And I can help fix this.”

He looked at you then—really looked—and something in his face softened.

“You always know what to say,” he murmured.