Sophia’s POV

The whistle is blown for halftime. And the scores:

Chelsea 0 - 0 Wolves.

Frowning terribly, Alexander swears beside me for the hundredth time, his shoulders slumping as he folds his arms, shakes his head, and taps a foot restlessly against the ground. I should be focused on and worried about the fact that Chelsea hasn’t scored any goals, but I can’t. I lean against Barbara, seated to my left, my shoulders shaking as I chuckle hard, almost in tears.

The stadium echoes with ...