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"Reece?"
"Ben." That horrible tone of voice, the one Ben had hoped he'd never hear again.
"Mate..."
"Tell me what to do."
"What?"
"Tell me what to do, Ben. I need...I need you to tell me."
"Get the surgery, Reece."
"Fuck."
Ben's heart clenched. Reece never swore. He shouldn't have to be in this position again, when he'd been so high on the love of playing, finally, and then had the pitch disappear under his feet, falling with no one to catch him. Again.
"Reece, I'm so sorry."
No response but a small, hitching breath.
"I'm proud of you for asking to come off, for not hurting yourself more."
"I can't -- why am I like this?"
"Reece, this isn't your fault."
Faster breaths, this time.
"This just happens, Reecey. When we get rehabbed, we have to try it out eventually and see if the rehab worked, right? Then either it does or it doesn't, and we figure out the next thing. I'll see if mine worked in a couple of weeks, but it might not, and then I'll know. Yours just needs a little extra help, which is what the surgery is. You have so much potential, you're so, so talented and incredible on the pitch, you're strong and smart and a Champs league winner, you've got everything you need except for a working hamstring and there are people who can fix that for you."
"What if it doesn't work?"
Ben felt like he'd been punched. There it was. It wasn't often that Reece let himself down that path.
"Why wouldn't it work?"
"I don't have good luck like that, Ben. And then I've got my leg cut up, and more recovery time, and I just want to play, Ben, why is that too much to ask?"
"Reece..."
"And Southgate was there, I just want to be called up again, but that's the game he saw? What if I get the surgery and then I'm still out? What if I'm never back, if it keeps happening, if something goes wrong again?"
"You'll get another call up, mate, of course you will. But also the surgery will work, there's no reason it wouldn't. It has to, you deserve that more than anyone." Ben kept his voice calm, tried to control his own emotions as he heard rock-solid, level-headed Reece start to lose touch with reality. "Any one of us would give you a good hamstring if we could, you're meant to play football, you're an incredible right back, your body's just changing like everyone's does as we get older and play more, and maybe that means you need a surgery to get back on track but I promise you, you will."
It had been years they'd known each other. Ben knew everything there was to know about Reece, had been with him through injuries and relegation worries, through seasons when they'd been invincible and felt like kings, through changing teams and coaches. He knew Reece's emotional process better than Reece did, probably, and he knew this was the most delicate time, when Reece felt hopeless and like his own injuries were responsible for the bad luck of the team, when he couldn't understand that what was happening to him wasn't his fault, thought he was personally responsible for his injuries and had to make decisions about his life while he felt guilty and breakable.
"Get the surgery, Reecey," Ben gentled his voice as much as possible, "I promise you, it's the right thing to do."
"Okay." That horrible, raspy tone that meant Reece was crying. Ben hated it.
"I know we both hate it when people say this but, you'll be back stronger. That's just the truth."
"Okay."
Ben hummed while Reece sniffled and let out a shaky sigh.
"I just wish it didn't keep happening." He sounded calmer. Ben had always been jealous of how Reece managed to let go of his frustration, accept when his world was falling apart and come to peace with his anger and sadness.
"I know. Me too."
"I'm a mess." A soft, self-depracating laugh.
"We both are, mate." Ben choked out. "Want to get a coffee in the morning?"
"Yeah." Hesitation. Ben frowned, waited for him to continue. "Do you...can we get dinner tonight too? I don't really want to be alone any more."
"Course we can." Ben had never answered an easier question. "Pick you up at 7?"
"Okay. Ben -- thank you."
"You've done the same for me." He had, many times, and they both knew it. "Call the physio now, and tell them you want the surgery. I'll see you in a few. Love you, Reecey."
"Love you too, Benny." They both laughed before signing off. He'd at least hung up with less of a sad, defeated voice than he'd called with. Ben pressed his hands to his eyes and willed the tightness in his throat to go down.