Red Card

by Liz Crowe

  Sighing, he got up and paced, soothing Ayden with nonsense Turkish words until he fell asleep, a heavy weight in his arms. In the VIP lounge, he sat down next to Alicia, who still moped and brooded.

  “If it’s any consolation, the Amsterdam version of OK magazine snapped me slumped against the wall, and hanging onto him while he screamed.”

  Her gaze was one of shut up if you know what’s good for you. So he did, settling Ayden on the couch, covering him with a light blanket emblazoned with Real Madrid emblems. She stared at her laptop screen so hard he thought it must have holes in it.

  “What is it?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

  “Oh, just this.” She whipped the screen around and flopped back into her seat.

  He squinted at the thing, unwilling to pull his reading glasses out from the pile of crap they lugged everywhere they went. Gritting his teeth in the face of her stubborn silence, he focused on the USA Today article with the title, The Future of Women’s Soccer? The photo was one of his wife, his lovely Alicia, in full uniform for Portland the few weeks she’d played there, right next to another one, snapped in the early days of Ayden’s life. The tired, flustered, and full-on pissed-off glare of a young mother was clear as day as she stood keeping a hand on the big black pram containing his son.

  His ears burned as he called upon his finely honed Alicia-radar to formulate his response. One wrong word would set the tone for the rest of this trip. Anger could go both ways, he knew, refusing to read the bullshit words that must go with the stupid photos.

  Finally, he decided to go with his gut, second-guessing be damned. He blew out a breath. “Wow. Nice pictures.”

  “Fuck. You.” She started pacing.

  “Why you? I mean, not that you aren’t photogenic or anything….” Only time would bring her down off this ledge. Interjecting himself physically, or verbally, would get him cursed out. Or worse. He had sustained more than one bruise when he’d failed to duck a flying plate or heavy vase.

  He left her alone. Against his better judgment, he read the article. It really only used her as a focus feature, framing the “dilemma” women faced in any pro sport—and the brutally gaping wage difference between men and women. Nothing that was not true. But the timing… and that photo.

  “Fucking shit hell.” He ran a hand down his face, winced, and got up, remembering how much like a kindergarten he must smell right then.

  His love, his life, his very heart, walked around, mumbling under her breath, her face bright red, her carefully-smoothed hair frizzing out around her face as if in response to the heat rising from her body. God, he adored the woman, temper and all. He raised a finger, beckoning the hovering attendant over.

  “Scotch. Double. Thanks. And a huge glass of water for the really angry lady over there.”

  “Sure thing.” The girl gave him a lingering gaze. He raised an eyebrow, flashed his ring and nodded to his sleeping son, sending the flirty and very attractive attendant on her way. Alicia flopped down into a seat.

  “Relax,” he said, patting her leg and picking up a magazine, determined to deflect the whole thing by ignoring her for a while, giving her time to calm down before he ventured his unwelcome opinion.

  They’d weathered a few close-run, public fights, thanks to photos constantly snapped of him. The press loved nothing more than to make up reasons why their “soccer royalty marriage” would crumble in on the weight of itself. As if marriage wasn’t hard enough, he had an entire industry built on dragging his down, based on nothing but conjecture.

  “Seriously.” She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, huffed, puffed, glared at the girl who set down her water, then fixed her gaze on Metin. He continued to ignore her.

  Ayden cried out so she went over and re-adjusted his blanket, touched his forehead. The expression on her face whenever she was with their son melted Metin’s heart every single time. He took in the line of her jaw, the curve of her hip, and got an entirely inappropriate rush of lust.

  Full with his child again, her body already appeared lush to him. And he loved her like that. Settling his face into neutral lines when she glared at him, daring him to speak, he kept his eyes on the magazine in front of him. Content to let her stew until she calmed down, he sipped his scotch and prepared for the longer trip over the ocean to her home.

  By the time they boarded, got Ayden settled in his seat, and had a moment to breathe before takeoff, she clutched his hand. He looked at their joined fingers. The heavy platinum band that matched his, along with her engagement diamond felt good between his fingers. He put her knuckles to his lips.

  She sighed. “Is it so bad that I want a family? Why do I suddenly feel like a loser for wanting that, and not to play? To fucking kill myself for a sport that won’t even pay me a sixteenth of what you make?”

  “You are not a loser. You are the mother of our children. My wife. And an amazing soccer player. You’re lucky, really. You get to be all of those things. I’m merely a soccer player, sperm donor, and calmer of the odd toddler tantrum. Not even close to as important, in the scheme of things. Listen, once we have this one, let’s be serious about getting you back in the game. I will commit all I have to it. I want you to play. I insist on it, actually.” Metin slapped himself a mental high-five for coming up with the right words for a change.

  She shook her head, held on tight as the jet rose into the clouds. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “No, you don’t. Just ask my mother.” He smiled, held her close until she fell asleep against him. Ayden napped, woke, and ate, then colored quietly, charming the flight attendants nearly the entire trip.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Well, here’s to new beginnings!” Mel raised her glass, slurring her words a little. The handsome, quiet man sitting to her left touched her arm. She yanked it away, glaring at him. “What? I’m thrilled to know the international breeding program continues.”

  Metin took a deep breath, calmed his pounding heart. When he put a hand on Alicia’s leg, he sensed her quivering with fury.

  “You’re famous, you know. You do read the American newspapers?” Mel demanded.

  “We saw it, yes.” He looked around the table full of tense people.

  God, he hated it there. He glanced up, studying the woman causing all the stress. She had slimmed down, which made her angular face even more striking. She wore dark jeans and a huge, cream-colored sweater. Her color high, eyes shining, she looked… devastating, gorgeous, and drunk off her ass.

  “Melanie, let’s…,” the man at her side began.

  Metin studied him as well. Tall, gray-haired, and distinguished, he could probably use a lesson in Matthews woman management. If he was inclined to care after today.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Jerry,” she spit out.

  Zach pushed away from the table and stomped out of the room. Trevor Matthews kept eating, ignoring everything but Ayden, who’d latched onto his American grandpa like a leech. He sat in the man’s lap, fascinated by his huge watch, his rough jaw, and had not stopped talking since hitting the door the day before.

  Last night had been promising, actually, with Mel on her best behavior, showing off her new man, who’d beamed at everyone and charmed Ayden enough without seeming to suck up. But today, Christmas day had been shite from the moment they woke. Ayden had been up for at least an hour, snooping around the presents. But Mel had corralled him into a marathon Lego session with Tanner after feeding them breakfast.

  By the time Metin wandered down in his jeans and sweatshirt, accepted a cup of coffee, and noted the snow falling in a picture perfect way, everything shifted slightly off kilter. Ayden had his first temper tantrum of the day, kicking over the carefully constructed castle, making Tanner howl and push the little boy down on his butt. Exactly what he should have done, in Metin’s opinion. The kid needed a brother to set him straight. But Mel went ballistic, yanking Tanner by the ear into his room, screaming about knowing his own size, and weight, and place in the univer
se. The kid looked at her, bewildered, then shut down in a way Metin recognized from Zach’s face.

  He’d rushed in, plucked his son from the floor, stuffed him into a coat, boots, and gloves and led him out into the snow as a distraction measure, nothing more. They ran around the yard, tossed snow in each other’s faces, laughed, tried their hand at snowmen, to no avail. And ended by flopping down on their backs and making snow angels, something Ayden had seen in a book.

  Metin lay, gasping, as the boy climbed all over him, squealing in delight. He wished he could stay out there the rest of the day. The looming Grosse Pointe mansion felt like a death trap, the place where family bonds went to die.

  “Papa! Pee pee!” Ayden yelped and ran off, legs spread, walking as if he’d been riding a horse for a few hours.

  He smiled, already anticipating the potty training, the homework, the soccer games, the girls, dates, the whole thing… he couldn’t wait. Taking a breath, he picked him up and tucked him under one arm, heading for the door. He opened it slowly, listening for blow-ups and arguments. All was silent.

  By the time they were shedding their outer layers, the snowfall had turned into a veritable blizzard. Ayden put a hand on Metin’s shoulder as he crouched down to tug off his boots.

  “Papa,” he said in his lowest tone that bounced and echoed all around the room.

  “Shh, son, keep it down a minute. Let me check on Mama.”

  “Okay,” he stage-whispered. “Let’s find Mama.”

  Alicia sat at the large dining room table with a cup of coffee talking with Zach. Mel, Tanner, and Trevor were nowhere in sight.

  “There they are.” She smiled and held out her arms. Ayden rushed into them, giving Metin that heart stutter again. He drank some of her coffee. Zach sat still, his face, while not friendly, at least not harboring its usual, furious-at-the-world expression.

  “Zach made ODP again.” She kissed Ayden’s hair, warming his red face with her hands.

  Metin sat, hoping to engage the older boy in some kind of civil exchange. “That is fantastic, Zach. Fourth year in a row, right?”

  “Yeah, hopefully I’ll actually make pool play this year.”

  Ayden seemed to study his cousin, his dark eyes intense. He struggled out of his mother’s arms, walked over, and poked Zach’s leg. “Pick me up.”

  “Ayden,” Alicia warned, “bossy doesn’t work.”

  “Sorry, Mama.” He kept his eyes on Zach, his small face deadly serious. “Pick me up. Please.”

  Zach grinned, the first time Metin could ever remember his doing that, reached down, and pulled the kid onto his lap. Ayden sat, hands on the tablecloth and then turned to stare at Zach as he relayed his last near-miss at the Olympic Development Program camp, just shy of making the national team.

  “Take me outside.” He put his small, dark-skinned hands on Zach’s face. “I want to make snowmen.”

  Zach raised an eyebrow at him then at Metin, who nodded.

  “All right, but we’ll have to come inside soon. We have to open presents. And I can’t wait for you to see what we got you.”

  “Presents!” Ayden’s face brightened, but he glanced at his mother for confirmation of the amazing concept. She nodded, then winced, and stood. “Outside first,” he said to Zach. Rising, Zach flipped the boy around to his shoulders and ambled over to the mudroom to re-arm him for another trip outside.

  Metin followed Alicia upstairs. She was retching in the bathroom by the time he hit the top of the steps.

  “Ugh,” she gasped. “I hate you.” He handed her a toothbrush. She used it, then wandered out to the bedroom and flopped into a chair. “What was all the ruckus earlier?”

  “Nothing.” He pulled her up, then sat, tugging her into his lap. “Who cares? I love you.” He buried his nose in her hair, loving the familiar, ripe scent of her. “I hope we have a girl, a beautiful daughter, who looks like you, but has my temperament as opposed to the other way around, like we have now.”

  “Alicia!” her sister called up the steps. “Can you help me with dinner?”

  Alicia sighed, kissed him, and got to her feet, trailing her fingers along his torso and lower. He grinned, letting go of the earlier stress. “Duty calls, stud.” She wiggled her hips on the way out the door.

  Metin parted the blinds and saw Ayden building his beloved snowman with Zach. Hoping to avoid Mel as much as possible, he hit the shower, lingered over his laptop a while, studying the upcoming season, a normal one devoid of World Cup drama.

  After an hour, Ayden’s voice echoed up the back staircase. Metin stood and stretched, prepping himself for re-entering the fray, then walked down into the kitchen.

  His son’s face was ruddy from the cold, his eyes sparkled with the sort of intensity that could go bad on them. He pointed towards the living room. “Presents! Papa! Now!”

  Keeping his voice low and calm, he picked the boy up. “Let’s have a bath first. Mama and Auntie Mel are working on our meal. We’ll have presents soon enough.”

  Filling the tub, he set him in the middle, telling him tall tales in Turkish and loving when Ayden responded in the same language. After they were both fairly water-logged, he pulled him out, diapered, and dressed him, and they headed downstairs together.

  And now the dinner, the drunken Mel, the unhappy son, and the embarrassed boyfriend, all capped off by his own nerves, stretched to their limit by the last few days. He gave in to it, opened his mouth, and regretted the words before he said them.

  “Melanie, you have to stop being so goddamned judgmental of your sister.”

  Her dark eyes glistened. “Oh, really, well. Tell me, hot shot soccer boy. When do you plan to let her play again?”

  “It’s not up to me, Mel. It’s up to her.” He clenched his fists so tight they hurt. “Plus, it’s none of your business.”

  She rose slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. Jerry tried to tug her out of the room, but she pushed him away.

  Metin sat still, trying to be calm, to not make it worse.

  “It is my business. She’s my sister. My responsibility. I assure you that our mother would never have approved of her leaving her career to….” She stopped, shooting a glance at Ayden, who babbled to his grandfather, oblivious to the adult trauma. “Fuck it.” She tossed Jerry’s hand off and stomped into the kitchen. The room remained silent for several minutes.

  “Papa?” Ayden broke the quiet, gripping his grandfather’s neck. “Can I go watch my movie now? Why is Auntie Melanie angry?”

  “Yes, son, you can.” He ignored the second question.

  Trevor held onto Ayden as he rose. The detritus of Christmas lay around them. Paper, bows, ribbons, empty boxes were all over the place. Ayden had received way too many presents, in Metin’s opinion. Then he’d fixated on a movie Zach and Tanner had given him, Finding Nemo, carrying it from tree to table gripping it as he sat on his grandfather’s lap. Metin started to clear the table, leaving Alicia to sit, spinning her water glass around. He could hear Jerry attempting to soothe the still raging Melanie in the kitchen.

  He shrugged and walked into the study, deciding that a heartwarming father and son fish story beat trying to smooth out a long-running conflict that he didn’t even understand. At one point, Alicia passed by the study, stopped to look in on them, then kept going upstairs. Metin let her have her space. They had two more days here. And knowing Mel, she’d be fine by the next morning, after a hard workout or whatever it was she did to calm herself.

  They’d eaten dinner late, so by the time the movie ended, it was nearly ten o’clock. Ayden lay fast asleep on his grandfather’s lap. Metin picked him up, loving the warm familiar heft of his weight.

  Trevor smiled at him. “He’s a great kid, Metin. Congratulations. And good luck if it’s a girl.”

  That required no response, so he shifted Ayden to his other shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Trevor.” He held out a hand. The man shook it.

  “Same to you, son. Same to you.”

  Ups
tairs, Metin settled Ayden into the lower bunk in Tanner’s room. Alicia lay in bed with the room dark. He knew these early weeks of pregnancy were tough. So, he brushed his teeth and climbed in behind her, pulling her close. She stiffened.

  “Don’t defend me to her,” she whispered.

  He rolled to his back, and propped his hands behind his head.

  “Did you hear me?” She sat up and clutched the blanket to her chest. “I do not require your help with Mel. She’s my sister. I can handle it.”

  “Alicia, you don’t handle it. You ignore it. And then we leave and pretend it never happened. That is no way to….”

  “You know what?” She jumped up, her blue eyes blazing, “I don’t want or need your lectures on family dynamics, okay?” Clutching her elbows, she was so lovely to him at that moment he had to sit on his hands to keep from leaping up and grabbing her, kissing her quiet.

  “Okay,” he said instead. “Shh… let’s not wake….”

  “Don’t just sit there,” she interrupted him. “I know you have an opinion. Let me have it.”

  “You don’t want to know my opinion, Alicia.” He skated on thin ice right then. Deep into that shut up! Now tell me what you think limbo land that no man ever emerged from with his balls intact. But the stress had hold of him, and he would have his say, once and for all, balls be damned.

  “I do.” She perched on the edge of a chair.

  He sat up, putting his feet on the floor. “I think your lovely sister would do well to shut her smart mouth and latch onto the perfectly nice guy she was a total bitch to tonight, in front of her entire family.” He rose. Fury blinded him. “I think that she is setting a shitty example for her sons, living in her father’s house for all these years, not even trying to move out, letting him support her.”

  Alicia’s mouth dropped open. He stood over her, unable to think. So he let the words tumble out, regretting them even as his lips formed them. “I think that you let her bully you, boss you, and pretend she loves you, when she’s just a bitter cunt. One who nearly cost me my goddamned son. That,” he spat out, “is what I fucking think.”