I’d messaged Bryce a few times and one night we’d traded texts back and forth, but our lives were busy. Busy and so very separate. When I was available, he wasn’t. And when he had time, I was knee-deep in mud. It wasn’t ideal but there wasn’t much we could do about it. I’d committed to this until the end of September and he was playing football anyway.
By the time I was driving home on Friday afternoon, I realised how much I was missing talking to him. But I couldn’t call. He was in Melbourne tonight about to take the field. The last thing he needed was to hear me whinging and whining about missing him. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell him anyway.
When I got stopped on the freeway, forty minutes from home because of an accident, my frustrations grew. Before this I was barely going to make it in time to watch the start of the game, but now I was definitely going to miss it. Fiddling with the radio, I found the channel and listened to all the lead up drama the commentary team babbled on about.
It was five minutes into the second quarter when traffic began to crawl past the offending accident. A caravan was up-ended, and another car was facing in the wrong direction. It looked nasty. While I’d been busy rubbernecking, something had happened in the game and by the time I caught up, all I heard was Bryce was being helped from the ground.
“What the hell?” I screamed at the radio.
Turning it up, I waited for more details. Prayed for them. Surely they did replays and shit on the radio? They did on TV. Usually over and over again. But nothing. Absolutely nothing for twelve whole minutes.
“Any update on Masters?” one of the boneheaded commentators asked.
“He’s done for the day. They’re keeping quiet but they’ve put him on ice. He’s sitting on the bench, but he’s dressed and leaning heavily on crutches.”
“It looked pretty bad.”
“I’d say he’s out for three to four.”
I rolled my eyes. Like they had a damn clue. They were probably sitting up in their warm, dry little commentary box a hundred metres from where it happened, not a medical degree between them. They had no idea what he’d done or how long he’d be out. How could they?
Resisting the urge to pick up my phone, I pressed down a little harder on the accelerator. I needed to be home and I needed to be there now. By the time I finally fell through the front door, it was all over. Standing in the dark in the living room, I’d run straight for the TV remote, not even bothering with the lights. I watched the game highlights and waited. I needed to know what happened and I needed an update.
When it was too slow coming, I text Bryce.
Emma: Are you ok?
Emma: What happened?
He didn’t reply straight away. I didn’t expect him to.
Then the replay came on. Fuck it looked nasty. And super painful. I wondered if he was okay. But there was nothing I could do from here. Not a damn thing. Shutting off the TV, I threw the remote on the couch, watching it bounce to the floor. It was my attempt at a tantrum right now and even that was half-arsed.
Clutching my phone, I crawled into bed. Between a full-on week at work, a very long, very boring drive home and then the adrenaline spike of Bryce’s injury, I was done. When I woke to a ringing phone, I sat bolt upright.
“Hello?” I rushed.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
It wasn’t Bryce. It was Sienna. I instantly deflated. Pulling my phone away from my ear I checked for messages, but my screen was sadly blank.
“Hello? Emma? Are you there?”
“Yep, I’m here.”
“Sorry I’m not lover boy,” she teased. “Still wanna catch up this morning?”
“Absolutely,” I agreed before convincing her that I needed help shopping and she was just the girl to save me. With only an hour before I had to meet her, I jumped out of bed and got ready. I was only twenty minutes late by the time I caught up with her.
“How is he?” Sienna asked, handing me an extra-large coffee and a paper bag filled with warm pastries.
“Don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” She sounded stunned and to be honest, I was too. Stunned and more than a little pissed.
“Haven’t heard from him.” I shrugged, trying to keep it casual.
“Seriously! You try calling him?”
“Yep.”
“He’s an arsehole,” she said plainly.
“Yep.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BRYCE
I was on week five of rehab and I was becoming one of those bitches I hated. I whined about everything. Nothing was ever good enough and I was bored as bat shit. The ankle sprain which I was blaming Jake for, not to his face just in those moments of pure frustration, was healing but too slowly for my liking.
I felt like I was getting better day by day but the coaches, the doctors, physios and everyone else who was conspiring against me weren’t convinced. They kept dangling the carrot in front of me but soon I was going to shove it fair up someone’s arse. If I didn’t hear the words, ‘give it one more week’ again in my lifetime, I’d be a very happy guy.
“Here’s your sandwich,” Mum said, handing me a plate.
She’d flown over a couple of days ago to check on me. She said she needed a break from Dad and Seth, but I wasn’t an idiot. She didn’t trust her twice-daily calls anymore, so she’d jumped on a flight to come see for herself. Not that having her here was necessarily a bad thing. Two days she’d been in town and already my washing and ironing were up to date and the fridge was presently being stocked with all my favourite foods.
“How’s the ankle?” she asked for the forty-seventh time today. At least it felt like it was that many.
“It’s fine.”
“Bryce, I’m your mother.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Don’t lie to your mother. Now, let’s try that again. How’s your ankle?”
I took one look at her and knew there was no point bullshitting her. She’d see right through me. She’d always been able to. It was like she had some inbuilt bullshit radar. Must be a mum thing. “Stiff,” I admitted as I rolled it side to side.
“What are they saying will help?”
“Time and treatment.”
“Well then, stop pouting. Eat your sandwich and get it sorted. Otherwise, you’re going to be sitting here watching this…this crap for the next couple of months.”
She was right.
And sitting on my couch bitching about it while my teammates got their arses handed to them wasn’t going to help anyone. I hated that I was powerless to help them.
Biting into my sandwich, I moaned appreciatively. It was nothing fancy. White bread, butter, vegemite and cheese but there was just something about it that made me feel better already. While I scoffed down my lunch, Mum sipped her tea.
“Will you come for a walk with me after?” I asked, feeling more than a bit like a loser.
“I’ll get my shoes.”
We’d driven across town to the beach. I wanted to walk in the water. I knew it was going to be cold as hell and I’d risk freezing my toes off but between the resistance of the water and the soft sand, I was hoping it’d loosen my ankle a bit. Not to mention walking along the beach was a million times less depressing than pacing on a treadmill.
For an hour we walked along. Sometimes talking, sometimes silently watching the seagulls dive bombing the people sitting in the sand trying to enjoy their lunch. We were halfway back, and I was in pain. I’d pushed it too far and as much as I wasn’t ready to admit it, maybe the doctors had a point. Maybe I wasn’t ready to take the field again. If a slow stroll on the beach was enough to leave me in agony, running and turning and jumping for two hours probably wasn’t the best idea.
“How’s Emma?” Mum asked out of the blue.
“She’s okay…I think,” I added regretfully.
The truth was I didn’t really know. It wasn’t that we’d completely fallen apart, it was just life had spun us in comple
tely different directions. Between her new job and my injury we just got on with it. We still talked, although it’d mainly been reduced to the odd text here and there and embarrassingly, she initiated most of them. Mainly she asked how I was doing, and I fed her the same bullshit answers I was giving reporters that came within five metres of me. I was fine and I’d be back in no time.
“What do you mean, you think? Don’t you know?”
“Mum, it’s fine. We just got busy.”
“Busy? You’re spending most of your time sulking in your apartment either playing that damn video game or watching football. How the hell are you busy?” Mum had stopped walking and was staring straight at me. She seemed completely oblivious to the waves crashing into her legs, soaking the bottom of her pants.
“It’s fine. Just leave it.”.
“No, I will not ‘just leave it’. I don’t really care if Emma is the girl for you or she isn’t. I don’t care if you stay single your whole life or end up married to two guys one of whom has a bright yellow mullet and thinks he’s a cowboy. I’ll love you regardless. But I will not stand here and watch as you bitch and moan about your life when you’re not doing anything to fix it. And yes, I understand your ankle isn’t ready for you to play again, but last time I checked, you didn’t need your foot to make a phone call.”
“Mum…”
“No, Bryce, let me finish. And as for the whole Maddy thing, I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
“But I do. I pushed Madeline on you. I didn’t know the sort of person she’d become. And if she’s the reason…”
“She’s not.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
I don’t know which was harder to swallow. The apology she was offering or the tough love she’d dished out. While I digested her words, she stomped down the beach leaving me standing there, staring at the waves rolling in like a chump.
“You know, son, she’s got a point,” an old guy offered with a tip of his hat.
Fuck!
I knew she was right. I didn’t need someone to tell me that. But maybe what I did need was the kick up the arse she just gave me. As much as it pained me to admit it, she was right. Emma was a great girl and we had a shit tonne of fun together, but the moment she got on the plane and went home, I stopped trying. Stopped putting any effort in at all. It was just so easy to find an excuse. At first, I was busy. Then her texts or calls got further and further apart, and I knew it was my fault. Reaching out to someone who didn’t want to be reached must feel like shit, and I owed her one hell of an apology. But there was another woman I owed one to first.
Trying to catch up to Mum wasn’t easy. When a woman was pissed off, they could really move. With the promise of home-made lasagne and a hug, we headed home.
Three days had passed since Mum had verbally bitch-slapped me, and I was standing at the departures gate ready to put her on the plane back to Melbourne. My freezer was stocked, my house was spotless, and my ego had been knocked down a peg or two.
Leaning down, I hugged her tight. “It was good to see you. Thank you for coming,” I said earnestly.
“Any time, sweetie. All you need to do is call, you know that.”
“I do,” I confirmed, hugging her again as the boarding call echoed through the speakers.
“That’s me. Take care of yourself and listen to the doctors,” she reminded me. Again.
“Will do. Let me know when you get home,” I told her, sounding like the parent.
“Yep. And go and call Emma. You’re miserable, Bryce. Maybe she can change that.” Mum hitched her bag on her shoulder, scanned her ticket and headed down the jet bridge and out of view, leaving me standing there chuckling to myself. She just couldn’t help herself. She had to have the last word. Typical.
Standing in my empty apartment, I looked around and there was absolutely nothing to do. Everything was done. Flopping on the couch, I reached for the remote but stopped myself before I turned it on. I knew if I turned it on, I’d spend the next handful of hours binge watching some crap I didn’t care about, trying to block out real life. I’d grown really good at doing it, but like Mum said, it wasn’t making me happy.
Instead, I grabbed my phone and dialled the one person who’d get it. He’d absolutely kick my arse for being such a pussy, but he’d get it. At least I hoped he would.
“Shit for brains!”
“Butt muncher!” I threw back easily.
“Smurfsticles.”
“What the fuck are smurfsticles?” I asked, never having heard that one before.
“It was one of Tash’s dumb words. She threatened me with it.”
“Ah I see. So, the romance hasn’t died yet then?” I teased.
“She may have overhead me referring to her as Bridezilla and…well you know.”
“Dumbarse. How long ago was that?”
“Four days,” Logan grumbled, and I could picture him looking completely miserable. Since Tash had snuck up and stolen his balls and his heart, the guy had never been better. Everything about his life got better the moment she came into it. His football got better. He nailed his exams. And he had someone in his life that understood him and stood by him. That didn’t mean she cut him any slack, though.
“How long you reckon she can hold out?”
“I don’t know, dude. She was pretty annoyed.”
“Can’t you just buy her some flowers or chocolates or some shit and say sorry?” I tossed out the half-baked idea.
“You’ve met Tash. You really think chocolates and flowers will work?”
“Good point. And good luck. I’ll send you some lube.”
“Yeah, well you’d buy bulk these days, so I’d hope you had a bottle or two to spare.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped harshly.
“Whoa! Geez! Maybe you need all the stock you have if you’re that shitty. Why don’t you just fly to Sydney and see her?”
“See who?”
“Emma. You two are still friends, aren’t you?” Logan asked.
“Yeah. Nah. I don’t know.”
“What sort of bullshit answer is that?”
“A truthful one,” I confessed.
“What did you do?” Logan asked, instantly assuming I was the one who ruined it. Not that he was wrong.
Half an hour later and our conversation was cut short when Tash arrived home unexpectedly. It was fine, though. Between Mum and Logan, they’d given me a hell of a lot to think about. Needing to digest my thoughts, I turned on the music, pumped up the volume and rolled onto the floor. Two hundred and fifty crunches and fifteen one-minute planks and I wanted to vomit, but my decision was made.
Grabbing my phone, I called my agent and set up a meeting before I changed my mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EMMA
Thank god for my winter wardrobe. Stupid Sienna and her stupid ideas. It was the last weekend in August. An Arctic blast was covering most of Australia, but apparently that was unimportant compared to the fact it was the last weekend of the AFL season before finals. For people who didn’t really like sports twelve months ago, the fact that we were sitting here, huddled together wearing tights under our jeans, coats, beanies and scarves wrapped around our heads so only our eyes were visible, things had certainly changed.
And it was a shit game. I don’t think I would’ve minded the freezing winds and unrelenting sleet coming down if the game had been interesting, but it wasn’t. The home team, Hunter’s team, were already up by fifty-two points and it wasn’t even half time. It was like their opponents, the warm climate team from Queensland, just couldn’t adjust and had already conceded. I think if they could’ve gotten away with forfeiting at half time, they probably would’ve headed for the showers.
“Wanna go watch the second half at my place?” I asked Sienna hopefully as my teeth chattered.
“You got wine?”
“Always.”
“We’re
out of here.”
Considering she gave in so easily, I knew she was having about as much fun as a root canal.
An hour later we were curled up on my couch, buried under blankets with the heater blasting, sipping our wine and watching the rest of the game.
“So, what’s the deal with you two anyway?” I asked for the millionth time.
Sienna and Hunter had been dancing around each other for months. When they were together there was so much chemistry between them, you had to physically take a step back or you’d end up scorched. But then…nothing.
“There is no deal. We’re friends. That’s it,” she denied. Again.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why are you just friends? Don’t you want more?”
Sienna gulped down the last of her glass and reached for the bottle, emptying it. “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want anything more, so it is what it is.”
Ah shit! There it was. I knew something was bugging her, I just hadn’t considered that one. Sienna wanted more. She deserved more. Hunter didn’t. That had disaster written all over it.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Do? Nothing. Things stay exactly as they are and I’m okay with that,” Sienna confirmed, her words sounding scripted.
“Are you really?” I probed.
“Fuck no. But I can’t make him want to date me.” At least this time she was honest.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“It is what it is. What about you? Are you even still talking to Bryce? I thought for sure by now we’d be hearing wedding bells.”
“You’re crazy!” Even the thought of wedding dresses gave me hives at this point. “We’re friends. It’s not like we could be anything more. We live in different worlds. Different states.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Sienna asked, throwing my own question back in my face.
This was Sienna sitting here. Someone I knew as well as I knew myself. Someone I knew wouldn’t judge me for being pathetic. She deserved the truth just as I demanded it from her. “Fuck no. But I can’t exactly change it, can I?”
Played: A Second Chance Sports Romance (Playing Games Book 2) Page 21
