by Ally Adams
Suzie: The Leopards’ chemistry seems tighter to me than the Suns’, especially as the Suns have a few players out injured and are trialing some of their reserve team. Would you agree?
Carla: I think given the reserves train with the A-team, that there’s little room for error in reading teammates’ play.
Then, we were off air and the cameras panned to the teams running out onto the field. I did it, my first commentary cross was done and Suzie gave me a quick pat on the back on our way back to the commentary box. I breathed a sigh of relief. I heard the vibration of an incoming message on my phone and checked it quickly – The Russian must have been watching the game live from his hotel room.
You’re a natural. xx
I texted him back. First one under the belt. Thanks for the support. Cx
The referee blew the whistle and the match began. The few hours flew by, and it was over before I had time to get my breath. I had survived my first game as a commentator, and not only survived it, nailed it! The relief was palatable ... I would be able to sleep and eat again now.
*****
Sigh ... you know when you think everything is going so perfectly, that absolutely nothing could upset you? Wrong. The Russian and I had our first fight ... and I hadn’t seen it coming, and he wasn’t even home, he was in Colorado at his away match.
The Suns won their game against the Leopards—woo hoo—and when I stopped trying to be professional and unbiased, namely after the game, I went out with the girls and their partners (those who had them) and we partied. It’s funny because the whole time you are training, eating well and being competitive, you can’t wait for the day you can pig out, drink as much as you like, and not worry about injuries. And then that day comes and you find yourself clawing to stay involved.
The girls and I drank a little, danced a lot, went over the game again and just had a great night. Earlier I had sent a message to The Russian to tell him I missed him and wished him goodnight. I promised I’d be watching the game the next day and cheering for him. Later that night, or morning as the case may have been when I got home, I looked at my phone and I had three missed calls from him. The last one had only been thirty minutes before and it was nearing one a.m. I didn’t know whether to call back or not. He hadn’t left messages and I didn’t want to risk waking him or Captain Fantastic, whom he was sharing a hotel room with. I felt sick now ... had he been injured, had something bad happened, did he just need to talk because he was psyching out about the game or something?
I took my uneasy feelings with me into the shower. Josh was out, so I didn’t have to tiptoe around while I showered, washed my make-up off and prepared for bed. I just got under the covers when my phone rang ... it was The Russian.
Relief coursed through me that he rang, but my stomach was still churning with anxiety about why he was calling.
“Russian, what’s wrong? I didn’t know whether to call you back this late or not,” I said.
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” he growled.
“I was out with the team celebrating their win. I couldn’t hear my phone in the club. What’s wrong? Where are you?” I asked, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and striding out to the living area to pace while we talked.
“I’m on the balcony of our hotel room. Lucas is asleep in the room.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you calling?”
“You tell me,” he said. “I’m surprised you even answered.”
I stopped, confused. “I don’t know what you’re saying Russian. What’s happened?”
“Really? You’re all over social media with some guy, several guys actually,” he said, his voice was dangerously low.
“What guys?”
“The guys you were tarting around with,” he snapped.
“Hold on,” I said, still confused. “I was out with the girls, I didn’t have a guy with me ... I grabbed my iPad, tapped in my password and checked out the feeds. Some of the girls had already posted images from our night out and there I was with Steffi, both of us planting a kiss on the cheek of our team manager who stood between us and was old enough to be our father; then there was shot of me with Aimee, her cousin Roy, the coach and the coach’s husband. Roy had his arm around Aimee and me; there was another shot with Steffi, me, Latoya and her fiancé ... they were nothing shots.
“They’re not guys, well technically they are, but they’re the team guys ... our team manager, the coach’s husband, Latoya’s fiancé ...” my voice trailed off as I heard the sound of overwhelming silence on the other end of the line. Was he seriously freaking out about this?
“Russian,” I started again, “this is nothing more than if you were out with the Saints and had some random group shots taken with the club’s extended family.” All clubs had extended families of partners, kids, relatives and friends.
I heard him inhale. “I told you Brooker, I wasn’t playing this game; I’m not putting up with that shit again ... I’ve had years of it. If you want to fuck around, fine, but not while you’re with me,” he said, and hung up.
I stared at the phone. What the fuck had just happened? In a matter of minutes I had gone from a huge high to the lowest of lows.
I looked at all the shots to see what he was seeing, but they really were innocent – especially when you knew the people in the shots as well as I did. Then I got angry. I didn’t want to wake Lucas, but I guessed The Russian had his phone on silent, so I rang. He must have stayed out on the balcony because he answered after a few rings and I could hear the noise of the city behind him – I had been bracing myself for the message bank.
“Russian, we need to talk,” I said, in my most pacifying voice.
He made this grunting sound.
I felt scared and angry, they were competing with each other. I kept going. “I know you’re in pain and I know you’ve been hurt before, but you can’t deflect that on me,” I said. Again, dead silence. “I don’t fuck around. I’ve never fucked around, I’ve never cheated on anyone and I won’t do that, do you understand?” I asked. He didn’t answer.
I continued: “I’m not your ex-girlfriend, Russian, and you need to find a way to unload all that baggage you are carrying about her and these jealousy issues.”
I waited, neither of us spoke for about a minute.
“So let me get this straight ... you often go around kissing guys and letting them put their arms around you?” he snarled.
“Yeah, I do when they’re friends. And when your female friends—Saints’ partners, the office girls, old friends—do the same to you, I’ll hide my jealousy and trust that you don’t have feelings for them, and that your intentions to me are pure.”
He ignored what I said. “That cousin of Aimee’s was keen to get to know you last time we met, now you’re all over him. Why don’t you just follow him up and we’ll call it quits?”
I knew he was baiting me and I knew he wanted an avalanche of assurances but that hit like a punch to the stomach. Now I was hurt and fucking angry. I snapped.
“I’ve got a better idea, Russian, when you grow up, give me a call ... if I haven’t fucked off with the entire male basketball team by then,” I shot back at him, and then I hung up. I breathed out, put my phone down and burst into tears.
It rang straight away and I didn’t answer. The Russian’s name lit the screen and this time he left a message.
“Don’t fucking hang up on me Brooker,” he growled, “call me back.”
Fuck you, Russian. I put the phone on silence so he wouldn’t stalk me for the rest of the night, what sleep hours remained, and I went to bed. But I didn’t sleep, I cried, and stressed and went through all my actions in my head to see if I had been ‘tarty’ or led anyone on, or disrespected The Russian.
Then I decided to drive home in the morning ... it would take me a few hours but I could get there in time to hear Dad give mass and then see what he thought about the situation. Dad’
s perspective would help – he was a qualified counselor as well as a reverend.
I glanced at the clock – it was nearly two a.m.; I would leave at seven to get home by nine and to attend Dad’s nine-thirty service. My phone buzzed beside me a few more times and then, somehow, with pure exhaustion riding me, I must have slept a few hours. I woke and washed my face, my eyes were swollen, and I put on something conservative for church. I drove with the sun rising around me and headed home.
Chapter 20
I felt sick as I drove home and I knew The Russian would be feeling like shit too. I didn’t want to ruin his game today but I didn’t want to talk to him either before I had my head in order – there was no point in both of us getting angry again and hanging up on each other. We had to find a way to manage it because we wouldn’t survive it, and I was hoping Dad would give me perspective.
I drove into the churchyard, which was also my parents’ home, while Dad served the parish he was assigned to; I was about fifteen minutes early. I entered the front of the church to catch Mom in the vestibule; I knew she would be there handing out the hymn books while Dad was preparing in the small room beside the altar. Her first reaction was as expected.
“Carla! What’s wrong? What’s happened?” she asked, pulling me into her to kiss each cheek.
“Hi Mom, sorry to drop in unannounced ...”
“Don’t be silly, this is your home. Are you okay?” she said, cutting me off.
“I just needed a male perspective, no offense, and I thought I’d see you and enjoy Dad’s mass as well,” I said with a shrug, trying to keep it all super casual while my head thumped, my stomach churned, and I looked like death on legs.
We greeted a couple of parishioners and she handed them a hymn book. Mom turned back to me and shook her head, reading the situation immediately.
“Men,” she sighed. “Nevertheless, your father will be delighted to see you, it will make his day.” She softened and squeezed my hand, “makes my day too.”
“Thanks Mom,” I said, smiling at her. Mom didn’t easily give affection, she was very stoic, so it took a lot for her to say that. Then Dad came out towards the altar area and saw me. He did a double take, like he’d been caught in a time warp, and headed down the aisle, smiling and adjusting his church robes.
“My prayers have been answered,” he said, looking towards heaven. I smiled and shook my head at him while giving him a hello hug and kiss.
“Tell me you’re staying for mass and lunch after?” he said.
“I am staying for mass and lunch after, if that’s okay?” I offered, with a glance to Mom.
“Always,” Mom said.
“Wonderful, well today has just gotten better – a beautiful day, parishioners filling the seats and my two girls,” he grinned. It didn’t take much to make Dad happy.
“I’m going to go get a seat,” I said, leaving them both to their work, and slipped away. I was hoping I wouldn’t see any of my childhood male church or school friends and get my photo snapped with them ... heaven forbid!
I selected a seat and slipped into a pew, knelt and thanked God for good health, family, my new job, friends and for The Russian, and then Dad entered the altar to start mass. I joined in the hymns and prayers and enjoyed his sermon, which seemed to have been written for me that day – keeping the faith in each other and the world in modern times. I had full faith in The Russian, but he wasn’t having any in me. I didn’t know how to make him secure, I didn’t know if I had to change who I was to make that happen or if I should change. I returned to Dad’s sermon and then participated as best I could in the rest of the mass when I wasn’t drifting off going over the previous night’s argument in my head, again and again.
After Dad had seen off the last of the parishioners he joined Mom and me at home.
“You two have shrunk,” I observed.
“We’re getting older ... that’s what happens when you don’t see us often enough. Next time you come home, we’ll be a foot tall,” Dad joked.
I laughed. “It’s good to be home.”
“It’s good to have you home. Now come on, let’s get some of your Mom’s prize winning lemonade and chat.”
“Yes, get out of my kitchen while I work,” she said, bossing us. Mom got to fixing lunch while Dad and I moved into the lounge room to talk.
“We’ve heard and read a bit about your new boy, online of course,” Dad said.
I nodded. “I will be bringing him home to meet you as soon as the season’s over and he can get away.” Then I told Dad all about it; he listened attentively, sipping the cool homemade lemonade that Mom had made while I talked, finishing by reminding him he only had my perspective.
He sat back and thought about my situation for a short while.
“I’ve had a few people in your situation; a number of couples that I’ve had to give counsel to,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief, I knew he’d be able to help me see the light in the relationship; I dreaded the day I wouldn’t have my father’s counsel. I relaxed back in my chair, tired of talking, tired in general and listened to my Dad, trying to remember everything he was telling me.
“You have to remember, darling, that Alex has been very, very hurt,” my father explained. “He started off with a full trust bank and it has been completely diminished. Now he’s coming into this relationship, but you don’t have the benefit of a full trust account. You’ve got nothing in your trust account and you have to build it for him to trust you. The reverse of what most normal couples start with,” Dad said. “He’s asking you to prove you’re worthy when you’ve done nothing to prove you are not.”
I nodded, totally getting the big picture.
“But,” Dad said, continuing, “he’s not doing it to punish you, he’s protecting himself. Men and women are both victims of cheating, but their reactions can be quite different.”
“Do you think my actions were inappropriate?” I asked, “please tell me the brutal truth Dad, I won’t be offended.”
He shook his head. “Your actions weren’t flirtatious or meant to hurt Alex. You socialized with friends as you normally would, feeling secure in your new relationship with Alex. But you do need to help him rebuild his trust if you want to be with him.”
“How? I told him I am a one-man woman, that he was the only one, and he’s already met my friends,” I said. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket again, but Dad and Mom were very anti-phones when in company. I knew it probably was The Russian – his game was on at one o’clock and it was now nearing eleven-thirty.
“Alex is probably very confident in areas he can control ... you’re not one of them,” Dad said. “So now that he is falling in love with you, it’s opened his wounds, he’s feeling very vulnerable.”
“We both are,” I said, agreeing.
“Before we discuss steps to help the situation, there’s a few things, darling, you need to be aware of for your personal wellbeing,” Dad said. “You can give him the ‘I won’t cheat on you like your ex did’ speech, and probably have already?”
“I have,” I said.
“Yes, well, it will take actions not words to convince him, and seeing those photos of you with other guys, as innocent as they were, has just triggered all his concerns. He’s not only been cheated on, but cheated on very publicly, and had to try and look stoic. Each time she’s returned to him, he’s forgiven her or accepted her excuses, and meanwhile his own self-worth has suffered.” Dad stopped to sip his lemonade.
“He’s such a dynamic and confident guy though in every other aspect of his life. It’s completely out of character, he doesn’t act like he’s affected,” I said. “I guess she’s really worked him over.”
Dad listened and thought some more. He continued. “Be careful then, Carla ... you can’t be explaining your actions – you shouldn’t have to explain why you didn’t text him back immediately or why you didn’t answer his call straight away, or who that man was you smiled at; that’s not healthy either. Yo
u’ve said that you’ve fallen for each other very quickly; well, that speed isn’t helping, because he’s got nothing to hold on to ... no build up, no history with you. Suddenly he’s in deep and you might cheat on him or leave him.”
“Will we survive this?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Will he seek counseling?”
“I doubt it very much,” I said, thinking of my lion. “He’s very alpha.”
“Hmm,” Dad said. “You may have to show more transparency than you normally would in a relationship, just until you are secure together – you know, tell him where you went and who was there, and make sure he knows those people. Give him a sign ... something that’s uniquely his.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, putting my glass down and leaning back into my parents’ old leather couch.
“Tell him that when you put your hand on your heart, you are thinking of him. So in those photos he saw, or if you are doing an interview, a quick placing of your hand on your heart will be a signal you are thinking of him in that situation. He’ll be looking for it, it will make him feel more secure and safe.”
“That’s cute,” I said, smiling.
“I’m full of cute ideas,” Dad agreed, and grinned.
“Tell Alex you deserve to start with a full bank account of trust and that it can overflow, it can be added to. So every time he feels safe or loved he tops it up. When he’s feeling insecure, he has to think of how much is in the account already. Is there enough there for him to draw on?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s good too. Makes him stop and think of his actions.”
“Exactly.”
“But most importantly, and I’ve learned this lesson the hard way, and so have many of my counseling clients ... the time he invests worrying about losing you and whether you are cheating on him is driving you away, and he will lose you. So he must try and be in the now. Every time you or Alex get worked up, stop and breathe. Invite him to talk about it, remind him regularly of all the great things he is to you. We must all remember to do that,” he said, with a glance to Mom in the kitchen.
