By the time Demien left Old Trafford that evening, both legs stretched slightly forward in the back of the car because bending his knees only made the fatigue worse.
His phone carried match messages, England reporting details, and clips of both assists already circulating.
He opened Sophia's voice note first.
"Do you and United plan to make every home match unbearable until the last minute?"
He laughed despite himself and called rather than typing anything back.
"What did it feel like when the winner went in?" she asked.
He didn't reach for a tactical answer first. "I stopped thinking completely the second his header crossed the line. I just remember running toward the pile."
"Proud of the assists?"
"Yes," he said, no hedging in it. "The first half still annoys me, though — we trained specifically against the turnover that caused their goal."
"Both things can be true," she said, echoing him back to himself.
