"I'll call you," he said. "When I'm panicking at two in the morning before a big match. When I don't know what to do."
"Anytime," I said. "Always. But you won't need me as much as you think. You're ready for this, Scott. I wouldn't have left if I didn't believe that."
"Good luck at Palace," he said, pulling me into a fierce hug. "Make us proud. Show them what a Moss Side manager can do."
"I'll try," I said, my voice breaking. "But this place... this will always be home."
As Emma and I walked away from the clubhouse, the evening sun casting long shadows across the pitch, I stopped and looked back. Emma was quiet beside me, letting me process, letting me say goodbye in my own way.
The memories came flooding back, vivid and overwhelming.
I remembered the first day. Walking into that cramped, damp changing room at The Railway Arms, a nobody with a notebook and crazy ideas.
