Football System: Touchline God-Chapter 62: Divorce Letter II

"What do you think of this appointment, Marcus?" the presenter asked, turning to a panel of experts.

The first reporter, a middle-aged man with graying hair, shook his head. "I’m not convinced, Sarah. Clarke’s last job was with Silvergate Youth Sailors, and we all know how that ended. Sacked after a heavy 6-5 thumping and a series of poor performances."

Maddox scoffed, brows raised in disbelief. "Pundits are such clowns. A bunch of finished players seeking attention by downplaying someone else’s achievements."

Although Maddox said that, he knew that the man wasn’t totally wrong. Silvergate had been close to a disaster, if not one. Bad signings, inconsistency, players who didn’t believe in what his predecessor was trying to do. It had been a nightmare from start to finish.

"He’s inexperienced at this level," another reporter chimed in. "Rising Stars need someone who can get results immediately. They can’t afford to give a coach time to learn on the job."

The criticism stung, but Maddox had expected it. His record spoke for itself. One failed job with no major achievements, no reason for anyone to believe in him.

But then a third reporter, an older woman with sharp eyes, leaned forward. "I disagree," she said. "Sometimes a club needs fresh ideas, a new perspective. Eric Maddox might be exactly what Rising Stars need."

"How so?" the presenter asked.

"Look at their current situation," the woman continued. "They’re two points off the qualification zone, yes, but they’ve got talented young players. What they need is someone who can develop that talent, who can build for the future while also getting results now."

She paused, looking directly at the camera. "And let’s not forget—if Rising Stars can beat Hastings Coastal Academy on Sunday, they’ll be in contention for qualification to the NextGen Ascension League. That’s huge even for a top youth club like this."

"That’s a big if," the first reporter said. "Hastings are a strong team. They’ve got experienced players, a proven coach. I can’t see Rising Stars getting a result there."

"We’ll see," the woman replied. "Sometimes football surprises you. Eric Maddox might just be the missing piece they’ve been looking for."

The segment moved on to other topics, but Maddox kept staring at the screen. The NextGen Ascension League. Qualification. The weight of it all was starting to sink in.

"Food’s ready," Elira called from the kitchen.

Maddox turned off the TV and joined her at the small dining table. She’d prepared a full breakfast—bacon, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, fresh orange juice. It looked perfect.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Elira said, setting down her fork. "What’s wrong?"

"They were talking about me on the sports news," Maddox said. "About my appointment at Northcastle Rising Stars."

"That’s good, right? Means you’re important enough to be news."

Maddox shook his head and scoffed. "Most of them think I’m going to fail. They brought up Silvergate, said I’m inexperienced. And apparently, I’m not qualified to coach a top youth team."

Elira reached across the table and squeezed Maddox’s hand. Her fingers were warm against his skin.

"Don’t listen to them," she said. "They don’t know what you can do. I’ve seen you work with the boys at Silvergate. You’re good at this." frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

Maddox looked down at their joined hands. The bacon was getting cold on his plate, but he didn’t care. Her touch made the criticism feel less sharp.

"Maybe they’re right though," he said. "Maybe I’m not ready for this level. The pressure, the expectations..."

"Stop." Elira’s voice was firm. "You wouldn’t have gotten this job if you weren’t capable. The club saw something in you. Trust that."

Maddox nodded but didn’t reply. The doubt was still there, one bad result and everyone would say they were right about him.

"Besides," Elira continued, "you’ve got a good team. The boys believe in you. That’s what matters."

She was right about that. The players had responded well to his training methods. They seemed hungry to prove themselves, just like he was.

"The match on Sunday," Maddox said. "..."

"You won’t lose." Elira’s voice was steady. "And even if you do, it’s not the end of the world. It’s one game."

But they both knew it wasn’t just one game. It was everything. His reputation, his future, his chance to prove the critics wrong.

Ding-dong!

The doorbell suddenly rang. Sharp and sudden in the quiet apartment.

Elira started to stand, but Maddox waved her back down. "Keep eating. I’ll get it."

He pushed back from the table and walked to the front door. Through the peephole, he could see a familiar silhouette. Red hair catching the morning light.

His stomach dropped.

Maddox opened the door slowly. Alina stood on the other side, her red hair cascading down her shoulders like fire. She wore a black coat that made her pale skin look even whiter. Her eyes were rimmed with red.

The silence stretched between them. Cars passed on the street below the building. Somewhere in the building, a door slammed shut.

"What are you doing here?" Maddox asked. His voice came out flat, empty of emotion.

Alina’s mouth twitched. "Is this how you welcome your wife?"

The word ’wife’ hung in the air like smoke. Maddox felt his jaw tighten.

"Stop playing games, Alina." His voice carried a edge now. "If you really considered yourself that, you wouldn’t have waited over a month before visiting. What do you want?"

Alina’s eyes filled with tears. One escaped and rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

"I never wanted this, Eric. You pushed me this far."

She reached into her bag with shaking hands. The leather was expensive. She pulled out a manila folder and held it out to him.

Maddox raised an eyebrow but took it anyway. The paper was crisp between his fingers. Official looking. He opened it and scanned the first page.

Divorce papers. Court filing. His name and hers printed in black ink.

"I filed for divorce, Eric." Alina’s voice was barely above a whisper. "I’m tired of being treated like a—"

"Babe, who’s at the door?"

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