by Leesa Bow
I tore my gaze from the ground when I heard a familiar giggle. Maddy and a handful of players sat under a huge fig tree. A quick assessment saw no Hunter and my chest relaxed. Still, I didn’t know any of the players and a knot formed in my tummy at the idea of waltzing up and introducing myself.
‘What are you doing here?’ His voice came from behind me. I spun around to Hunter dressed in chinos and a white Blackbirds polo shirt. His eyes widened and before I could say anything his shocked expression changed. His brows fell like a verandah over his eyes. ‘You don’t like football.’
‘Yes I do. Maddy’s been teaching me . . . stuff.’ I glanced sideways, and thankfully, no fan stood close enough to hear him say ‘I didn’t like football’. God, I’d be escorted out of the gardens by security. ‘What would you know?’
He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Who do we play this week?’
‘What, so it’s an interrogation now?’
He stepped closer. ‘No, I’m just surprised to see you here.’
I shrugged. ‘I came with Maddy. If it makes you happy I don’t intend to stay long.’
‘Aubree,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘I’m glad you came.’ I held back a smile and my mood brightened, especially when I noticed that his eyes matched the sky. ‘I want to apologise for the other day.’
‘It’s fine.’ I waved my hand at him and turned my head, hoping he wouldn’t see me blush. But I refused to forgive him for implying I was immature.
A suited man, standing with a group of fans, called out to Hunter and waved him over. ‘Well, good luck for your next game,’ I said, straight-faced.
He smiled that smile of his that jump-started my heart. ‘Are you going to watch?’
‘Um, maybe,’ I stammered. I only said this out of politeness, not a promise to watch. He smirked and I assumed he figured I had no clue.
‘Next time I see you I’ll interrogate you about the game.’ He winked, and with long legs strode over to the group.
My body warmed and my mood sweetened as though he’d injected me with honey. I turned to face Maddy and the other footballers. After talking with Hunter, any awkwardness I’d felt about joining them had melted away.
On Friday night I’d agreed to another cinema date with Connor. Even though I came home happy after the last time, something didn’t feel right.
When Connor selected a horror film and not a romantic one, my insides uncoiled, realising he wasn’t trying to woo me. By the end of the movie I held more popcorn in my lap than in the box.
‘Going to the movies with you has a double benefit: I get gory and comedy all in one,’ he said. I scooped a handful of popcorn and threw it at him.
‘I’ll shout coffees tonight since you paid for the tickets,’ I insisted. We walked out of the cinema to the adjoining cafe. We chatted about incredibly poor acting and then discussed my travel adventures in Greece. At the end of the evening, just like the other night, Connor accompanied me to my car, which was parked on the lower level. He took my hand and I assumed he’d kiss my knuckles and thank me for the evening. Instead, Connor held my hand in his and, rather than lifting it to his lips dropped his arm to his side, causing me to step closer. Too close. He leaned over and I turned my head just in time so his lips brushed my cheek.
My stomach nose-dived, and every muscle in my neck stiffened. I stepped back and forced a smile. ‘Thank you for your company, Connor. I’ll catch you next time.’ I unlocked my car and quickly got in. When the motor started at the first try I breathed a sigh of relief before driving away faster than usual. I kept seeing his face close to mine and I cringed when I thought about what may have happened if I hadn’t turned my head. ‘Goddamn him.’ I hit the steering wheel. Why did he have to go and spoil our friendship with more? Guys always wanted more.
A bitter taste rose in the back of my throat. Stop being a prude.
‘I’m not a prude,’ I said out loud. ‘I just want to be on the same page as the guy.’ I sighed at myself. ‘I’m going crazy.’ Could no sex send you crazy? I groaned again at the way my mind worked. Then it hit me. I wanted to have sex, only I wanted it to happen with Hunter. I always had, but he scared me. My self-esteem wallowed whenever I thought about his usual model-like partners. Sex is sex, nothing more. ‘Sex is just sex,’ I repeated.
No. For me, with Hunter it would never be just sex.
Think of Sabrina. Think of all the girls he has slept with. Do they mean anything to him now? If I were to give myself, like, really give all of myself, I’d damn well want it to mean something.
After arriving home, I opened the door to see Mum on the lounge. She looked away from the television and smiled at me. ‘You’re home early.’
‘We decided to catch an earlier movie.’ I heard cheering. I glanced at the television screen. ‘Who’s playing?’ I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about Connor.
‘The Blackbirds are playing in Melbourne. Maddy’s cousin is playing well.’
‘Hunter?’ I sat on the lounge. ‘Has he kicked any goals?’
‘Four. I didn’t know you were interested.’
‘Maddy is making me take an interest,’ I lied.
After a few minutes I started to get involved and cheered loudly with my mother every time the Blackbirds scored a goal. Halfway through the last quarter, Hunter started limping about the field after kicking another goal and I started biting my fingernail as I watched the trainers assist him from the ground.
‘What did he do?’
‘I think he pulled a hamstring. It’s common for footballers.’ Wow, my mum knew more about the game than I realised.
When the final siren sounded Mum clapped her hands just as though she’d attended the game. I picked up my phone and scrolled through Facebook, the newsfeed already busy with posts about the Blackbirds’ win. Then I opened my Twitter account and touched the icon to tweet.
@AubsTaylor: Great game of football tonight #goblackbirds
Mum and I watched highlights of the game and I waited patiently, hoping to hear the update on Hunter’s injury. My phone vibrated with a notification. A smile crept over my lips when I saw that it was from Hunter.
@Hunterstone8: @AubsTaylor Thanks for your support.
I bit my lip. My finger hovered over the arrow to reply. Don’t encourage him, the voice in my head warned. I typed a reply.
@AubsTaylor: @HunterStone8 Good win. Hope you’re okay.
I wasn’t encouraging. I was being polite.
My phone vibrated again, this time with a text from Hunter.
So you watched a game of football. I’m impressed.
I hit reply.
Sat with Mum and cheered. More importantly, are you okay?
‘Who are you texting this late?’ Mum asked.
I looked at her gentle face. We’d drifted apart over the past couple of years and hardly talked since I’d arrived home from overseas. I guess she knew I needed the space, but before I injured my knee we’d chat about everything.
‘Would you believe me if I told you it was Hunter?’ I half smiled at her.
Mum looked at the television then to me. ‘He’s hardly had time to shower after the game.’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Maybe he checks his phone before he showers?’
Mum pushed a strand of red hair behind her ear and released the leg support of the chair. She sat forward and turned her whole body towards me. ‘Are you telling me he’s texting you back and forth straight after a game? How long has this been going on?’
‘Nothing’s going on. It’s the first time he’s texted after a game. I didn’t know it was a big deal.’ My voice sounded high, almost defensive.
Her green eyes rounded and her lips parted. She pushed up off the lounge, walked over and sat next to me. I rubbed my hands up and down my thighs and blinked quickly, waiting for her to speak, because why else would she sit so close?
‘After the game the players gather in the change room. The coach talks to them about the game and the media are allowed in for
interviews. The players then shower and talk amongst themselves. Sometimes sponsors want to talk to certain players. Hunter has sent you messages while all this is going on. I think it’s a big deal.’
‘He doesn’t always act like he likes me. He did at first . . . kind of, but then I told him I wasn’t interested. I pushed him away because . . .’ How do I explain the fact that because he plays football he thinks he’s a bloody god, he’s arrogant, and his morals stink? ‘I don’t like footballers. They’re egotistical womanisers.’ As soon as the words spilled out of my mouth I realised how judgemental I sounded. But it was all I could do to stop myself from liking him.
‘That’s harsh, Aubree. Not all footballers are like that. Some basketballers are the same and I’ve found guys who don’t even play sport to be arrogant. You can’t stereotype footballers like that.’
I shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t trust him, and I don’t believe in one-night stands.’ Geez what’s wrong with me?
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Fine. But he’s a good man, too.’
‘What?’ I gasped. ‘How do you know that?’
Mum sighed. ‘Us mothers talk, dear. While you were away, Cait invited me over for coffee and I got to see Maddy. Mary, Hunter’s mum, also popped in for a cuppa. The two sisters are close, especially with both of their husbands walking out on them with young families.’
Why hadn’t she mentioned this before?
‘She told me how Hunter was there for her when her husband walked out, and how good he is to her now. When Hunter was young he had a bond with his father, considering he, too, was a great footballer, but he hated his father’s womanising ways. When the right girl comes along I think he’d be the type of guy that would do the right thing by her.’
I shrugged. ‘I’m not so sure. He’s not your average guy, and anyways, I’m not his type,’ I said quickly, not wanting to think about Hunter’s type.
My phone vibrated on my lap. I opened another message from Hunter.
Strained hamstring. It just needs a good rub . . .
‘Is it from Hunter?’ Mum asked.
I read her the message and it surprised me when she laughed.
‘He’s teasing you. At least he has a sense of humour. Does he know how you feel now?’
‘No. Besides there’s been another girl hanging off him.’
‘I’d imagine there’d be plenty of girls hanging off him. Tell him how you feel. Give him a chance. Explain your feelings about a one-night stand. If he says no then accept it and move on. Don’t give in and take one night because it’s offered. There’s a good chance you won’t feel happy with yourself after. It’s not who you are.’
‘I know. That’s why I’ve pushed him away. I’m not like that.’ Although it was weird to be talking to Mum about relationships, I wanted her to know I didn’t sleep around.
‘You can’t buy class, sweetheart, so stick to your guns and keep your pride. But you need to give him a chance.’
I leaned across and hugged Mum. ‘It’s just that I’m afraid.’
‘I know.’ She paused and gave me an understanding look. ‘You’ve been like this since your injury. Be brave and honest with yourself and you’ll be fine.’
‘Unlike you, I don’t always know what to say.’
Mum tilted her head. ‘My heart got ripped out, like yours, when you ruptured your knee. I was there for you, but I didn’t have the words to heal the pain.’ Her hands trailed up and down my arms. ‘You had it all happening: a member of the Australian team at fifteen, a sport scholarship and you were about to move to Canberra. Colleges in the US were calling, asking about you. My heart broke for you. But I want to remind you of something: things happen in this world for a reason.’ Her hand brushed my face, moving a strand of hair from my eyes. ‘Whether it makes you a better person or if God has a different plan for you, I don’t know. But whatever happens, it’s meant to be, and you have to use all your strength and courage to cope with whatever hand is dealt to you. Be a better person for it. That way you grow and experience more out of life than you would’ve if you’d travelled down the other path.’
A tear escaped my eye and trickled down my cheek. Mum caught it with her finger. Ice pushed its way through my chest, my response to blocking out pain. ‘So why do other people get to keep going the way they are, find the happiness and success that I was denied?’
‘Maybe God realised they weren’t strong enough to follow the other path. In our lives, we’re continually challenged. There are highs and lows. If we’re not challenged then we’re not living. We’re merely existing.’
I assumed Mum was also talking about her own experience with my father’s death and the pain of living without him. Perhaps that’s why she’d poured all her energy into my basketball. It had given her an interest, too. It dawned on me that basketball was taken from her as well as me. So when I ran away to cope, I left her with no one, nothing to help her get through it.
‘You’re the strongest person I know.’
Mum shook her head. ‘No, you are, Aubree. You’re amazing. Now text that young man back and tell him you’ll rub his injured leg.’
‘What?’ My mouth fell open.
‘Oh, Aubree. It doesn’t have to be sexual.’
I woke to rain pounding the tin roof of my bedroom. The resonating rain relaxed me, and it didn’t sound like it would cease anytime soon. I turned over and snuggled into the bed, pulling up the covers under my chin. It reminded me of Sundays—although today was Saturday—when I was young. The pleasant feeling of not having to get up on a winter’s day, listening to the drum of rain while drifting in and out of sleep.
I groaned when my phone vibrated on the old wooden table beside my bed. At least back then there were no mobile phones to disturb me.
I sat up. It was a message from Hunter.
???
I didn’t know what he meant by the question marks. I’d forgotten that I’d sent him a text last night—on my mother’s advice. I must have fallen asleep without reading his reply. I sat up and scrolled through previous messages. I remember saying—teasing—that I’d take him up on his offer to rub his leg, only his leg.
We fly out of Melbourne at nine in the morning. I can be at your place before lunch. Text me your address.
‘Shit.’ No way did I think he’d take me up on the offer. I glanced at the time. Ten-thirty. His plane would have landed in Adelaide. I quickly typed a reply.
Couldn’t expect you to come out in this weather. Talk to you tomorrow.
Hunter couldn’t come here! Considering our whole house seemed hardly bigger than his bedroom. And I still slept in a single bed for crying out loud. I exhaled loudly and climbed out of bed to head to the shower, wanting to stomp my foot in protest to being awake.
The drizzly weather prompted me to wear track pants, or trackie dacks, as Mum would say. My oversized grey ones were my favourite and probably the least appealing to the eye. At the back of my cupboard I found an old blue South Australian basketball sweater with bold red writing. I pulled my wet hair into a bobble on top of my head. When I opened the door, the smell of bacon wafting down the hallway drew me to the kitchen like a moth to the light.
‘Morning,’ I said to Mum.
She turned and smiled at me. ‘I haven’t seen that top in a while. It looks good. Your hair up like that reminds me of you playing.’ She served up a plate of bacon, eggs and baked beans. ‘I thought you’d be hungry.’
‘Starving. Thanks.’ I poured orange juice into a glass. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I ran into Rachel Bond at basketball the other night and she asked me to coach juniors with her next season.’ Mum stopped cooking and turned to me, goggle-eyed. ‘I said yes.’
‘Oh, that’s great news.’ She placed her hand below her neck in relief. ‘I think you’ll make an excellent coach.’
‘We’ll have to see how my patience wears with children.’
Mum laughed and continued to cook herself breakfast. Our compact kitc
hen allowed enough room for a round wooden table to seat four. One of the best features of the house was the large bay window, which had a view of the front garden, abundant with flowers. Daffodils, hyacinths, bluebells, freesias and calla lilies lined the pathway from the street to the front door. Despite the dreary day, just looking at the flowers created a happy feeling within me.
I put my plate in the sink and filled the kettle with water. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Oh my Lord,’ Mum said slowly.
‘What?’ I turned to see her staring out the window, lips parted. Her gaze was fixed on a silver sports car parked in the drive.’Oh my Lord,’ I repeated, on seeing Hunter walking along the garden path towards the front door.
‘Shit.’
My phone vibrated with an incoming message. Maddy:
Hunter called and asked for your address. He acted all weird when I questioned him. WTF is going on?
‘Maddy gave him our address,’ I said in a low voice.
‘Aha. I think you’d better get the door.’ Mum blinked slowly, and then she wiped her hands on a tea towel before her gaze moved down to her jeans and yellow V-neck jumper, as if assessing her choice of clothes.
My skin tingled as nervous energy pumped through me. I opened the door. ‘Doorbell doesn’t work.’
Hunter stood behind the wire-screen door in tight jeans with his hands in the pockets of a black leather jacket. He reminded me of a bikie with the oversized leather collar and buckles. Although the way his fringe swooped his brow made male model come to mind. His gaze lowered and then lifted. When our eyes met he looked amused. ‘Should I have called first?’
I shrugged. ‘I would’ve made some excuse.’
He grinned. ‘You made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’ He pulled out a tube of Voltaren gel from his pocket and held it in the air.
