‘Neve?’ he said, quickening his pace towards her. ‘Hi. I didn’t expect you.’
She smiled sadly. ‘Yeah, I probably should have texted first.’
He threw his arms around her. ‘I’m so sorry about your mum.’
‘Thanks,’ she whispered against his neck, but too soon she pulled out of his embrace. ‘Um, Anders, can we have a talk?’
The muscles in his back and shoulders tightened. Those words, said in that way, never foretold a good outcome. ‘Sure. Come in.’
When inside, he offered her a drink, but she declined. Another bad sign—this was going to be short and in no way sweet.
They shared a seat beside each other on the lounge. ‘How is Jager? How are you?’ he asked.
‘Truthfully, not great.’ She rubbed her lip nervously. Her eyes were red and watery. ‘I thought I owed it to you to speak with you face-to-face. You know, after everything.’
He nodded, but trepidation was creeping under his skin.
She stared at her hands as they rested on her lap. ‘Um, Anders … I think we should end it here between us. Not that it was serious or anything, but it’s best if we’re on the same page.’
His exhale was a groan. ‘Did you want to give it some time first, you know, let you get through this difficult—?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
He flinched.
‘I’ve made up my mind. It’s not going to change. I just don’t think you’re … right for me.’
All the air gusted from his lungs like she had booted him fair in the stomach. ‘Right? What does that mean?’
‘We’re two very different people.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I understand because I thought we were pretty damn compatible.’ He was conscious of pushing her at a time like this when emotions were frayed, but he needed to understand why. ‘Did Jager convince you otherwise?’
‘No. He’s barely spoken about it. But I can see where he was coming from. This was never going to work.’
‘But it was working.’
‘It was always meant to be a no-strings-attached arrangement, Anders. Okay? I’m sorry if I made you think it was more. But I’d had a few drinks that night, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.’
Her words sliced him like scalpels, sharp and neat but effective. ‘Right. The wine.’
‘I’m sorry. I really am.’
His limbs were so heavy. His heart was a dead weight in his chest. ‘No. That’s fine. I get it. Completely. I was never going to be good enough for you or Jager. That was made real clear up front.’
He silently willed her to tell him he was wrong, that he was good enough. He needed that so much right now, his body ached.
Her eyes welled with more tears, but she blinked them back and stood. ‘Right, well, sounds like we both know where we stand.’
His heart broke a little more.
‘I better head home,’ she said.
He got to his feet, marched to the door and opened it for her.
‘The funeral will be held next Wednesday at 10am,’ she said on her way out.
He closed the door behind her and leant back against it, eyes closed, breathing through the pain. It gutted him to have had his deepest fears confirmed—too much of him was unlovable.
As much as it hurt, Neve had made the right decision. She deserved someone who wasn’t a liar, who wasn’t selfish, and who didn’t lose control. After everything she had been through, she deserved the best type of man. And he wasn’t that person.
His dad had set him up to fail early on and then Jonathon came along and stole every last scrap of worth he had managed to claw back.
He slumped forward, face in his hands, and yelled a long anguished groan. Tight coils of pain wound around his veins, making every limb throb.
He had been right to be scared because, in the end, he had wanted Neve so much more than she had ever, could ever, want him.
Chapter 29
Saturday morning, Neve hauled herself into the shower and spent long moments with the warm water streaming over her, allowing some semblance of functionality to be reinstalled.
Afterwards, cooking breakfast for Jager and herself was a distraction, but hunger was evading her lately, so she couldn’t handle much from her own plate. Jager was playing football today. How he could possibly drag himself around a field for four quarters when she could barely drag herself out of bed was mind-boggling.
‘I need the distraction,’ he said at the kitchen sink as he rinsed off his empty plate. ‘I need to think about something else. I know that probably doesn’t sound right, but it’s me trying to cope with all this. Roughing up the other team will be a good release. Besides, it’s the semi-final, and I can’t let the team down.’
Perhaps it was a testosterone thing—needing a different outlet.
By midday, after Jager raced out the door with his sports bag slung over his shoulder, thoughts of Mum swam back to the surface. The silence and solitude made them louder. But she couldn’t bear to look into that pit of emotion. She’d visited that desolate place too much these past few days and she had shed too many tears. So she called Emily and asked if she would like to meet her at the only local café in Wattle Valley.
Emily was waiting for her on one of the outside tables when Neve arrived. Main Street on Saturday was going through rush hour, which, for Wattle Valley, meant one of two cars every now and then. Most with cattle dogs tied to the trays, farming equipment, or loads of feed in the back.
As soon as Neve spotted Emily’s deep sympathetic frown, it was enough to set the tears off. She had done away with trying to hide them.
Emily’s eyes were glossing by the time they drew each other in for a hug. ‘Darling girl, I’m so very sorry. Heartbreaking, I’m sure, to lose your mother.’
Neve offered a watery smile. ‘Thanks.’
They took a seat across from each other and Neve wiped the tears from her cheeks. No make-up today—another pointless feat if she was inevitably going to cry it off. Maybe that’s what her next video could be about—a make-up look that could withstand grief.
How incredibly entitled she used to be, to not only have the time but the emotional wherewithal and patience to spend long minutes applying make-up every day. But not even make-up could hide this pain, so she didn’t even try.
‘How are you going, all things considered?’ Emily asked.
‘I’m up and down. Each and every minute is so hard. Sometimes I can be distracted for a while and then I’ll smell something or a memory will hit me and grief is never too far away.’
‘In time, your heart may not feel quite so broken. I know it’s a platitude, but one I deeply hope is true.’
She crossed her fingers and held them up. ‘Seems impossible at the moment, but I live in hope.’
‘How have you been sleeping?’
‘I had some tablets prescribed, so if I use them, my sleep isn’t too bad. But their effectiveness seems to be wearing off a little already.’
Emily nodded and sighed. ‘I wish I could shoulder some of this for you.’
‘I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’ But grief was something everyone was going to encounter at some time in their life.
The teenager employed as a waiter stopped by their table and asked if he could take their orders. He patiently waited while they quickly perused the menu and decided on their meals.
‘So,’ Emily said when he had left. ‘Has Anders been good to you? I’m sure he must be a great comfort at this time.’
Neve startled at the mention of his name because with his name came a flood of memories and conflicted emotions. She lowered her eyes to the table. ‘Um, I haven’t really seen him.’
‘Oh,’ Emily said, sitting up taller. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.’
‘I broke it off. I’m not in the right headspace for a relationship.’
Emily nodded, her lips drawn into a sympathetic line. ‘Makes sense. He caught up with Wil last night for
a beer. Wil mentioned that Anders wasn’t himself. I presumed he was upset about deciding not to take over the farm—’
Her mouth fell open. ‘The farm?’
Emily’s brow furrowed. ‘You didn’t know?’
Neve shook her head. ‘Not a thing.’
‘Mrs Adams offered the dairy to Anders. She wants to retire.’
‘And Anders said no?’
Emily nodded.
‘He didn’t mention any of that.’
Emily shrugged. ‘Maybe he didn’t want to burden you with it.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, though it didn’t stop the punch of hurt for him not confiding in her. Then again, she hadn’t given him the time of day to do so.
She recalled their last night together where she had sensed something wasn’t quite right with him. But when pressed, he didn’t give over any details. Was this decision about the farm the cause of his underlying sadness? But why wouldn’t he have said something then?
‘How long have you known about this?’ she asked.
‘I only found out when Wil arrived home from the pub last night. Mrs Adams is really upset, supposedly.’
Neve frowned. ‘I can imagine she would be.’
‘Anders is in pretty bad shape,’ Emily said with a deep frown. ‘Wil said he was really flat.’
Her pulse quickened. She cocked her head to the side. ‘How so?’
‘After a few beers, he got quite negative. About himself.’
Neve sighed, lowered her face into her hands. ‘Shit.’
‘What?’
She lifted her head and looked at Emily. ‘When I went to see him to break things off, he said something that caught me by surprise. He mentioned that he never felt like he was good enough for me or Jager. I didn’t give him the impression otherwise.’
‘Oh,’ was all Emily managed.
‘Yeah, I suck. You don’t need to say it.’
Emily reached over the table and rested her hand on Neve’s. ‘You don’t suck. You’ve got a lot to deal with at the moment.’
‘I don’t believe he’s not good enough for me at all. The opposite. I thought if I agreed with him, he’d let me go without a fuss. Then he would be able to find someone else who wasn’t so fragile when it comes to love.’
Emily’s eyes widened. ‘Love? We’re talking about the L-word already?’
Neve shook her head quickly. ‘Of course not. It was never serious.’ If she denied she felt anything for him, especially love, then she could convince herself that it was true. Tears sprung to her eyes and escaped down her cheeks before she realised she was crying. She wiped at her face and sniffled.
‘Honestly, Neve, this is such a tough time for you. Please just concentrate on working through your own battles for the time being. Anders will get through his, okay?’
She nodded, but it didn’t stop the guilt pinching her heart.
Chapter 30
Today, Anders would be captaining the biggest football game of the year so far. If the Wattle Valley Lions won, they were guaranteed a spot in the grand final.
The catch was, they were up against the number one team—the team they lost to last time they met. He was trying not to let the pressure get to him on top of everything else that had happened these past couple of weeks.
He had to keep his mind focused and positive on leading the team to a win. That meant, pushing down how much he missed Neve.
By the time he led his team onto the oval to the beeps and cheers from the local crowd, his body was buzzing with adrenaline—each muscle flickering and ticing as they ran through the warm-up.
Huddled together, he gave his team words of encouragement and reminded them that today they had Mrs Mitchell watching over them and they were playing for her as well as each other.
He touched the black armband on his upper arm, something the whole team was wearing to acknowledge Mrs Mitchell’s passing, as he ran towards the centre circle ready for the first bounce. ‘Come on,’ he said under his breath. ‘We’ve got this!’ he yelled to his team.
His body was electric, crouching low opposite his opponent. He would give everything today until there was nothing left of him. If they had to carry him off the field, so be it.
The whistle blew, the umpire bounced the ball hard and it flew into the air. Anders charged towards it, stretching as high as he could and punched it hard to his team member. His body collided with his opponent, knee and torso, with a smack. The pain rejuvenated him, enlivened him, and let the other ruckman know he wasn’t here to play soft.
But even with all the team’s effort, they lost the first quarter. And the second. By halftime, they were down eighteen points, and the coach screamed at them in the change rooms to do what they could to turn the game around in the second half.
A renewed focus, a few position changes, and they took the field again. They were down six points at third-quarter time—but playing catch-up footy was exhausting. The team were red-faced and breathing hard. Anders’ limbs felt leaden.
But they kept up the momentum, the focus, the pressure, the animal drive to win and they got it back to two down in the dying minutes.
Jager took a spectacular mark right on the siren. The crowd erupted. Anticipation rocketed through Anders and the rest of his team; he could feel it in the air. A few teammates smacked Jager’s arse and gave him words of encouragement as he lined up to kick a goal. If he nailed this, they won and were into the final next week. If he didn’t—season over.
This weight was what nobody wished on any teammate, especially one whose entire week had been one big pressure cooker.
The opposition lined up in front of Jager, jumping and sledging, doing everything to put him off. Then one loud voice, a deep baritone, sounded over the rest of them as Jager set himself up to make the kick. ‘Your mum was a whore.’
Jager flinched and the ball dropped awkwardly, hitting the side of his boot. It sailed off at the wrong angle, not even going near the goals.
His team ran from all quarters of the field towards the guy who had sledged and a brawl erupted. Fists and shoves and jumper punches were flying.
By the time Anders got to the end of the field shouting for them to ‘let it go’, umpires and team members from both sides were already breaking up the melee and the huddle of angry men soon dissipated.
All that remained as the opposition jumped, laughed and cheered with each other was the realisation and impact of knowing his team had lost.
Anders dropped to his arse onto the grass below, legs bent, elbows resting on his knees and breathed deep, ragged breaths. He was exhausted beyond belief and gutted that their season ended here.
They were so close.
So close.
But as the captain, he had to lead this team in sportsmanship and grace, so he dragged himself to his feet and, along with his teammates, they shook every opposition player’s hand and uttered their congratulations, even though, deep down, they all wished it were the other way around.
The coach had his arm around Jager’s shoulder, talking to him, as they walked off the field. On any normal day, missing a goal like that would hurt, but on top of everything else, it was going to feel like jagged glass filleting him.
In the change rooms afterwards, Anders and his team sat around in a circle on the benches, shirtless, red-faced, slumped shoulders and sagging heads. Despite the harsh sprays from the coach during the game, he was more composed as he spoke to the team.
When they finally got out of there, Anders headed up to the clubhouse, inhaling deeply before he went inside. Despite knowing that they all gave it one-hundred-and-fifty per cent today, he couldn’t help but shoulder the responsibility of losing.
He stopped by the bar for a beer then joined his team at a huddle of tables that had been dragged from around the room and pushed together. ‘Good job today, boys. Regardless of us coming away with a loss, as a captain, I couldn’t ask for a greater effort. All season.’ He held his glass up. ‘To the Wattle Valley Lions.’
/> The team in a deep bass of sound all chorused, ‘To the Wattle Valley Lions.’
As the afternoon turned into evening, myriad empty glasses and coasters were scattered across the tables. The conversation had shifted from football, after hours of commiserations, and finally ventured towards life after and outside of this season.
When there was a lull in banter, he pulled Jager aside to talk to him. It was eating him up that their friendship had been non-existent, especially at a time like this. He pulled up a spare chair beside him.
‘How you going?’ he asked.
Jager shrugged. ‘I’ve been better.’
‘The coach said you took what happened pretty hard. I want to let you know the game was already lost by the time you took that mark. We played four quarters of footy before that kick, and it should never have come down to us needing a goal on the siren.’
He inhaled deeply and blew it out. ‘I know.’ He slowly got to his feet. ‘Anyway, I’m going to get another beer.’
Anders cleared his throat. ‘Right, well, okay.’
Jager left for the bar, leaving Anders sitting on his own. He hated what had happened between them. Their friendship had to be made right again, but he didn’t know how. An apology didn’t seem to cut it.
He tipped his glass to his lips and skolled the remaining beer. These last couple of weeks had been hell, and honestly, he wanted to wash his memory clear of it.
Anders followed Jager to the bar but stood a distance away, understanding well enough he wanted space. But while a fresh pot of beer was being poured, a tall, slender woman came to stand beside him. ‘Hi, remember me?’
He turned to face her. She was smiling. ‘Of course. Samantha, right? Winnie’s cousin.’
Her grin grew wider, showing perfectly straight white teeth. ‘Yeah, that’s right. So sorry about the loss today.’
He shrugged, shook his head. ‘Not the first. Won’t be the last.’
‘No. I guess not. Still sucks though, right?’
‘Brutally.’
The barman placed his pot on the countertop. Anders grabbed for it and thumbed in the direction of his team. ‘I better get back there.’
Meet Me in the Middle (Wattle Valley, #2) Page 19
