by Annie O'Neil
“It’s not—aaarghhh! It’s not the same.”
“Right.”
Ali squared herself up to him, arms crossed firmly over her chest. He had to give it to her: she wasn’t one to give up ground lightly.
“What’s so different about your dad that makes having him alive and wanting to visit his son with his new wife so awful?”
“Long story.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got until the next groin injury or bleeding beak comes stumbling in that door. Could be minutes. Could be hours.” She pointed at the bench. “Sit. Speak. If you’re going to rob me of my final days of the best booty calls I’ve ever had, I deserve an explanation.”
Aidan couldn’t help himself. He had to laugh. This woman had mettle. It was going to eat him alive that their final few days together would be relegated to pitch-side.
“Spill it, Tate.” She sat down on the bench beside him, giving him a poke in the arm for good measure.
And he did. He told her about his mother leaving when he was a teen. How his father had been absolutely destroyed by her departure. He told her how he’d had to take over making meals, cleaning the house, making sure his father—a successful sportswriter—got to work, went to games, took showers, turned in his stories on time so he would get paid. How his teenaged girlfriend had become his helpmeet. Had risen to the occasion. How she’d been there for him and his father—particularly his father—when they had needed it, and—
“And...?” Ali asked quietly.
“And when I went to med school, she took over for me. You know—checking in on him, making sure he didn’t get scurvy or anything. She just looked after him up until he moved to the West Indies for work.”
Ali shot him a questioning look.
“He needed to move on. And he did. Successfully. I thought it was time for me to take the next step with my girlfriend, so we went away to the Pacific Islands—”
Ali’s breath froze in her chest. The tropical storm. The charity work. Everything fell into place with a riotous clash in her heart. Aidan was caught. Caught in the thick nets of the past. And he couldn’t see his way to break free.
She tipped her head so she could see what was happening in Aidan’s eyes. They normally sparked with life. She’d never seen him this down.
Her stomach sank. Aidan’s words were really beginning to sink in now. It was over. His father was too close a link to the past he had never recovered from. No wonder he compartmentalized everything so much. It made his life bearable.
Aidan stared straight ahead and continued to speak. “I was busy being pragmatic. Sensible. Life with my dad had taught me to hold every card I had tight to my chest. He’d already had a series of girlfriends by that point, and I’d learned better than to expect to see any of them for more than a few weeks or months before a new one would turn up.”
The words began pouring out of him. Ali pressed her fingers to her lips, eyes widening as he spoke. She knew what was coming.
“I thought it would be prudent to wait a few days into our holiday before I proposed. You know—make sure we could relax together as well as we worked together.”
“And did you?”
Ali knew she shouldn’t be jealous, but a teensy bit of her was envious of the woman who had known a younger Aidan. An Aidan who would’ve looked at the world through less jaded eyes. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted. And now he was spelling it out in triplicate why it was all over between them.
She scuffed at the locker room floor with the toe of her shoe. Aidan wasn’t the only one who thought life was harsh.
“We were one of those steady couples. It had always been...” His eyes wandered around the locker room as if hunting for the best word “Easy. It had always just been easy with her. I liked her. She liked me. No wild fireworks like—” He tipped his head in her direction with a wry smile playing along his lips.
His face was wreathed in such unbearable sadness it nearly broke Ali’s heart. She wanted to touch him. Hold him. She knew how awful it was to lose someone. And she also knew there was nothing she could say to make it better. She wished for her mother to be back every day of her life, and only just managed to fill the void with medicine. It seemed as though Aidan had done the same thing for different reasons.
She watched as his dark eyes locked on the wall across from him. His voice took on a wrenchingly hollow tone.
“The tropical storm hit in the morning. I was up on the balcony of our room, reading, and she’d gone out snorkeling with a couple we had met the night before. I had this paper I wanted to write and some reading to finish up—I thought I’d save the proposal for the evening. You know—the romance of moonlight and all that claptrap.”
Ali clapped her fingers to her mouth. How awful. Her heart ached for him.
“Did you ever see her again?”
Ali didn’t know why, but if she’d been in the same situation she would have wanted to see the body, to say goodbye properly. She’d been able to say farewell to her mother before she’d passed. The painful heartbreak of those moments haunted her to this day, but at least she had had them. She had no doubt of the love her mother had for her—and she knew her mother had died with the knowledge that her daughter would honor her forever.
“No. I stayed on for a few months, helping with the volunteer medical corps, but after a while it was obvious it was a futile search. They’d been snorkeling out on a boat beyond the cluster of islands where we’d been staying. The whole thing was a nightmare. An absolute living nightmare.”
She couldn’t even begin to imagine. And for the first time in a long time felt at an utter loss for words. What did you say to someone who had experienced something like that? How did you pick the words that could even begin to explain how deeply you felt for their loss? You tried your best...
“And yet you still watch zombie films?”
Aidan turned to her as her face snapped into a horrified oops expression.
“Sorry—that was about the least sensitive thing I could’ve said.”
“No.” He patted her leg as he rose from the bench with a sad smile. “The one thing I can always count on when I spend time with you is to be cheered up.” He added, “Truly,” when she raised a dubious eyebrow. “Thanks, Ali. I mean it. Having you around makes the world a nicer place.”
Ali felt cemented to the bench as she watched Aidan push through the swinging doors of the locker room toward the corridor where his office lay.
The world hadn’t really given him much of a break, had it? No wonder he preferred to keep her at arm’s length. A heartbroken father? A young love that never had a chance to see itself through? It couldn’t have been that long ago... Maybe five...six years? If time had done to him what it had done to her after her mum died, he would hardly have noticed it flashing by.
She pressed herself up from the bench, wondering what had broken his heart more—the loss of his girlfriend or never knowing what would have happened if he had proposed. Maybe the two were so interwoven it was impossible to tell.
She pushed out of the locker room and headed toward her own office. She could always count on work to be there for her. But this time she should learn from the past—make progress, as Aidan had said his father eventually had. She would work hard—but be realistic. Not push life to the wayside as she had before.
Losing her booty calls with Aidan was definitely going to be a tough ask, but she knew in her heart she would do anything to see that bright spark of life in his eyes again—even if it meant backing off. For good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“CAN YOU SEE who it is?” Ali went onto her tiptoes, as if that would help her see through the thick wall of uniforms surrounding a player on the ground.
The referee looked to their side of the pitch and made a signal.
“
One of ours. Head injury. I’ll take it,” Aidan replied grimly as he grabbed his bag and began to jog toward the huddle of players.
Grim was the only tone he’d been using lately, and work was the only thing that was helping him get through the day. Not that he wished his players ill—but focusing on them was a damn sight easier than thinking about his father’s impending arrival. It had churned up just about every bit of history he’d worked so hard to tamp down into the past.
And being away from Ali hadn’t brought the balm of Alone Time he’d thought it would. The only thing he’d achieved was a first-class foul mood.
A couple of nights on his own had seemed sensible—pragmatic. Time to rebuild the protective barrier around his heart. If his father fell to pieces again he wasn’t so sure how strong a support system he would be. Not now. No one to lean on. No one to just—be there.
The emptiness of the past forty-eight hours had only drilled into him how much a part of his life Ali had become. Instead of feeling empowered by the absence of their entanglement all he felt was an overwhelming desire to tell Ali more. Hash out his past and untangle the weave of his history to create something new. Something that made him feel ridiculously alive—as he had ever since he’d met her. This whole “nipping it in the bud” idea was beginning to look like a contender for Stupidest Idea Ever.
“Doc, it’s Chris.” One of the players opened a gap in the huddle around the North Stars player to let him in.
“That’s a nice egg you’re growing on your pate, Chris.”
“Thanks, Doc. Anything for some sympathy.” He remained flat on the ground despite his stab at humor.
“That’d be about right. Do you know what half we’re in?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not playing in a match. This is a practice.”
“Can you take your hands away from your head for a minute? I need you to focus on my finger.” He held his index finger up and began a slow arc across Chris’s eyeline.
“Don’t take the mick, Doc. You’ve got two fingers up there. I know a trick question when I see one. I mean two...”
“Right!” Aidan pushed himself up decisively. “Nice and easy, boys. Can you help Chris up?”
“I’m perfectly fine to— Whoooooahhh!” Chris lurched up and then clonked back down to the ground. “I. Want. To. Play.” He spoke progressively more and more slowly.
“Lads?” Aidan signaled to two of the players to lift him up.
It was definitely a concussion. How severe it was remained to be seen. For now he just needed to get Chris off of the field and into the stadium’s clinic. The stretcher team was right behind him if he needed more help, and there was an ambulance standing by if he was concerned about internal bleeding.
He tucked his shoulder underneath one of Chris’s lumberjack-sized arms and began a slow walk off the field, to the supportive cheers of the fans.
“Easy, there, Chris. I’ve gotcha.”
“Do you need a hand bringing him down the tunnel?” Ali rushed to help as they reached the edge of the field.
“No. You need to stay here!” Aidan snapped.
“No need to bite Harty’s head off, Doc. It’s obvious the woman just wanted a chance to put her arms around me,” Chris joked through his very obvious pain.
“Dr. Tate’s right.” Ali gave the player’s arm a pat. “You just look after yourself and do as you’re told.”
“Yes, miss.” Chris threw her a grin as a stony-faced Aidan led him down the tunnel toward the medical room.
Ali didn’t think Aidan had smiled once since he’d told her the news of his father’s arrival, and her heart ached for him. She was trying her best to give him room to breathe, but being at this away game had meant an enforced coach ride together because the coach had wanted to talk through some of their players’ injuries, and the hotel had put their rooms adjacent to the others. She had actually laughed out loud when she’d gone to her room to drop her tote and had seen it had one of those connecting doors that would’ve allowed her to slip into his room unnoticed. If it weren’t locked tight.
Ha-bloody-ha! Wasn’t life sweet?
She went back to the bench as play recommenced and joined Rory, who insisted on watching all of the games from the sidelines in full uniform despite still being on the mend.
“You don’t leave your teammates in the lurch just because you’re hurtin’, Harty,” he’d quipped.
She’d nearly burst into tears at the words. It was physically painful not to be there for Aidan when he was so obviously hurting. But she knew well enough when someone needed to go through something on their own. She’d gone through her own dark tunnel and... Was she out of it? At the very least she knew she could see the light.
She pressed her fingernails into her palms and threw a forlorn look in the direction of the medical room. No sign of Aidan. Probably just as well. What had seemed a short two weeks when they had been “together” had suddenly turned into an endless stretch of seconds, minutes and hours that would never end. They were down to eight days now. One hundred and ninety-two more hours. Fewer if she could escape to the train station right after the final match. She thought steering clear of airports would be a wise move.
“So, Harty. You think I’ll be ready for the final?” Rory gave her a good-natured elbow in the ribs.
“Let’s see what Mr. X-ray Machine has to say when we get back tomorrow, okay? How much training have you been doing?”
“Same as the other lads, minus any weights. Well, heavy weights. I’ve even been back to that hot yoga you made us all do a few weeks back. It’s good, that.”
Ali smiled at the memory and just as quickly felt it fade. That had been the night she and Aidan had been honest with one another and set the world alight. Well, her world, anyway. So much for honesty being the best policy...
“Sounds good, Rory. As long as you’re listening to your body and playing it safe I don’t see any reason why we won’t see you out there.”
“Ace. Thanks, Doc.”
“Don’t take that as a sure thing!” she warned, knowing she was the one who needed to be taking her own advice.
If only her heart—not to mention her body—would stop telling her how much she wanted Aidan, life would be a whole lot easier.
* * *
“Hey, Harty!”
One of the players called her from the entrance to the hotel bar—the only quiet spot she’d been able to find where the internet worked.
“You joining us for dinner? We’ve found a ripper of a steakhouse—coach approves!”
“Ooh, you risk-takers! Skinfold tests tomorrow! Beware the banoffee pie!” she teased, then waved away his invitation. “I’m going to have a quiet one, I think. See you in the morning.”
“You bet.”
He disappeared around the corner and she stared at her laptop, willing it to offer her some guidance. Who could she email for some advice? The cursor blinked at her, as if daring her to type in someone’s name. She really needed a friend, and the one she really needed—wanted—right now was a closed book.
That telltale stinging began in her nose and it took real effort to swallow down the threat of tears. She wasn’t much of a crier, but the past few days had seen her teetering on the brink of weeping more than once.
It didn’t take a brain surgeon—or in this case a highly trained doctor—to figure out what the problem was. One six-foot-something, black-haired, chestnut-eyed problem was her problem. She was in love with Aidan, and he couldn’t be making it clearer that a future together was about as likely as Ali getting up in her toe shoes again.
She closed down the email program. She’d dealt with that part of her life. Not dancing again. She loved medicine and, whilst dancing with the best would’ve been amazing, she wouldn’t change her life one bit.
Or would sh
e? Would she reel back the past few months? The hours of scorching passion she’d spent with Aidan? The days of working with him, growing and learning together?
The part of her that could look at the situation with clinical accuracy was beyond reach. Then again, the truth boiled down to something very simple: she wanted Aidan in her life and that wasn’t an option—so she was just going to have to get a grip.
“For the lady.” The bartender appeared in front of her with a cocktail.
A Cosmopolitan.
Her heart rate instantly accelerated and she looked to the other end of the bar. There he was, as gorgeous as the first day she’d laid eyes on him—Aidan Tate.
“May I join you?”
“Aren’t you eating with the team?”
“Doesn’t look like it, does it?” He walked over minus an invitation.
“No need to raise your hackles—it was only a question.”
Ali pressed her lips together tightly. Maybe she should just call Cole at En Pointe and say she needed her old life back. The cold-blooded one. Immediately.
Eight days suddenly seemed like an eternity.
“I wasn’t—” Aidan began sharply, then stopped himself with an equally abrupt change of demeanor. “When I saw you in here it just reminded me...” He didn’t bother finishing.
“I know,” Ali replied softly, not trusting herself to touch him despite the fact that his hand was resting just within temptation’s reach. Three days ago she would have. But now wasn’t then. “It reminded me, too.”
She let her finger trace up the slender stem of the cocktail glass, already beading with condensation. She’d never believed it was possible to actually feel your heart breaking until this very moment.
“Well, aren’t we the happy couple?” Aidan lifted his glass with a sad smile. “Cheers.”
Ali raised her cocktail and clinked glasses with him. As she brought the glass to her lips the scent of the alcohol in the drink went straight to her gut. It was all she could do to keep her tummy in check as intense waves of nausea began to build within her.
