Save Me, Sinners: A Dark MFM Menage Romance

by Jess Bentley

  “Scott, this cannot get fucked up now. David is the top player in the league. He has a great chance of winning MVP in his first season. We can’t let this happen to him.”

  “What can we do, Shauna? Those two have a history from long before you and I even came into the picture. I'm out of ideas. If you’ve got any then please let me know.” His voice takes on an irritating tone.

  “You’re his manager, goddammit, do something!” Shauna yells, agitated. Scott’s just about to say something when Willie speaks up.

  “Hey, guys. Take it easy. We don’t need this right now,” For once he’s as serious as a stone.

  “I’m sorry,” Shauna says, turning away. Scott just looks the other way, still reeling from anger.

  “Guys, shouldn’t someone go and check up on David?” I finally find the courage to speak up.

  “Yeah, right! When he is in this kind of mood? If you're so brave, why don’t you go speak to him!” Shauna snorts.

  Sure thing. I will! Without another word to any of them, I stride off back into the house, looking for David. I find him sitting by the bar at the far end of the living room, a tumbler of whiskey in front of him, untouched. For a moment I wonder if I should even say anything, if I should even be here. I’m afraid of invading his space, as it seems that David wants to be alone. But I feel the pain of his misery and don’t have it in me to leave him like that.

  “That drink won’t solve all your problems,” I say as I slide onto the bar stool next to him.

  “I know that!” David sneers as he turns around, but his eyes soften once he sees that it’s me.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on or why everyone is so upset. But I also didn’t like you being all alone like this,” I say gently.

  “What’s new in that? I go through all my troubles alone. I've had enough practice.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “It doesn’t matter why. But I do,” I know I have to tread carefully. David turns around and looks at me.

  “I'm not even sure whether I myself care anymore.” The man is in a pensive state of mind. “I thought I’d left my past behind when I left Europe. My reputation, my rivalries…I thought they were all a forgone conclusion. Clearly, I was wrong. No matter where I go, those things will always follow me.” He twirls the glass of whiskey in his hand, as if still trying to make up his mind whether he should drink it.

  I know a thing or two about strong, focused men like David. My father was one and he always kept everything in, never revealing his inner turmoil to anyone. I need to help him let it out.

  “David.” I put my hand on his knee gently. “Talk to me, what is this about?”

  Chapter 89

  My plan had been to go away from everyone and wallow in my own misery but Carrie’s dared to invade my space. But looking into her eyes, I can see she wants to comfort me… That she’s pained to see me in such a state. When was the last time someone cared for me like that? And will I turn her away like I've everyone before?

  I get up, push the glass of whiskey away and turn to Carrie. “Let’s take a walk.”

  We end up on the other side of the house, where there’s another patio garden overlooking Bel Air. I lay myself down on the grass. It’s my favorite thing to do in moments of contemplation. With a smile on her face, Carrie goes ahead and lays down next to me. Both of us are staring at the sky, like kids.

  “Playing for England is a lot of pressure,” I muse aloud. “The media and the fans always want you to win. I was the captain of England and the highest paid player in the league. The pressure on me was enormous. Last summer we managed to reach the World Cup final. There is no trophy bigger than that in football. England hasn’t won it in over 50 years.” I pause. The pain of that memory is still fresh in my heart and since that doomed day, I have never spoken to anyone about it.

  “England were to play Argentina in the final. In case you don’t know, both the countries are fierce rivals, especially after the Falklands War of 1982, which the British army won. Imagine USA playing Russia at a sport,” I turn my head toward her, “Something like that.” Carrie nods.

  “All of England’s hopes were on my shoulders. And we were leading 1-0 at half time, I’d scored that goal. Then in the second half, I was sent off for misconduct. Down one player, England lost the match and the World Cup.” My voice almost cracks, full of the raw emotion and disappointment that still hasn’t gone away.

  “I'm so sorry to hear that, David.” She reaches out and holds my hand.

  “Once back home, they were burning me in effigy, calling me names. Insults were sprayed on my house, they send death threats and I couldn’t even go out at all. It was hell! That is when I decided to come over to America. There was no way I would’ve been able to live in England in peace.”

  I like living in the US but England was home. I miss my buddies, my favorite pub around the corner and most of all, my mother. The grind of daily life keeps such sad thoughts away on the whole, but today, they’ve come rushing back to me. I’ve never given myself a chance to get over this.

  “But what has this guy Javier got to dow with any of it?” Carrie asks.

  “Javier was playing for Argentina that day. We both have been sort of rivals throughout our careers. At least, the media hyped us like that and every time we would play against each other, they would promote it as a big game. It was always David vs Javier. We were like Ali and Frazier. Fierce rivals, no holds barred.

  “During the final, Javier kept kicking me and insulting me continuously. I ignored most of it, as that’s what rivals usually do. But during a heated moment, he said something against my mother. Something terrible and filthy. Something snapped inside of me and I grabbed his neck and pushed him back. He fell like he had been shot, and the ref came over and threw me out of the game.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The moment has played in my mind a million times by now. If only I had shown restraint. I would be the captain of the first England team to win the World Cup in fifty years.

  “In a matter of minutes I went from hero to villain. From being an all-time great to someone fans hated. Now I’ll only be remembered as the guy who punched a rival player and threw away the World Cup.”

  “Oh David. I'm so, so sorry to hear this. This is not fair. That guy provoked you. What else could you have done?” Carrie sits back up, her eyes fixated on my face.

  “Nothing is fair, Carrie. Now this guy is back in the league and the media, the sponsors and everyone else will once again build up our rivalry. And I know that this guy will leave no stone unturned in fueling old flames. This is going to get much uglier by the time the season ends,” I say ruefully.

  I hate feeling like this but I’ve been in this game for far too long. I know how things work behind the scenes. Turning to look at Carrie, I wonder why I’m telling her all of this. Especially when I haven’t talked about all of this to anyone before, not even my own family. I’m surprised by what she says.

  “David. I don’t know much about soccer but I can tell that you were not in the wrong. To beat yourself up over this guy seems the easy choice but what purpose does it serve? You gave me a speech on not giving up the other day and I say the same thing back to you today. Why give up? Why not let your performance on the field do the talking? Forget everyone else, you don’t have anything to prove. Heck, you played in a World cup final. How many people can even claim that? You're going to be the MVP of the league David. Please don’t throw it away because of some jerk!”

  I’m not sure if it’s the genuine concern in her voice or the common sense in her words, but it really gets me thinking. I have a choice to make here. Either keep worrying about what Javier or the media will do to provoke me or just ignore everything and put in great performances on the pitch. In that moment, the choice seemed so simple that I wonder what I’m fretting about at all.

  For the first time in an hour a smile spreads on my fa
ce.

  “Thank you Carrie. Once again, for giving it straight to me.”

  “I really should be charging you these straight talks y’know,” I giggle.

  An hour later, as I go out to see Carrie off, I realize that Scott and Shauna are still waiting out in the living room. Willie, however, already left.

  “David, are you okay?” Shauna asks.

  “Why? Why shouldn’t I be okay?” My answer confuses them and they both look at each other. Maybe they think I've gone mad.

  “David, we can file a complaint against Miami if you want. I double checked, and there is no rule that specifically…” Scott trails off as I raise my hand.

  “We don’t need any of this, guys. The task is really simple. I'm here to play football and that is what I'm going to do. Everyone else can do whatever they please, my focus is only on my job. Understand?” They both nod. From the corner of my eyes I can see a proud smile on Carrie’s face.

  “Oh my God! That is awesome. I was worried you had a breakdown or something.” Shauna clasps her hands.

  “Not possible. I've a guardian angel looking over me.” I wink at Carrie, as Shauna and Scott stare at me with confused looks on their faces.

  Chapter 90

  “Honestly, if I could avoid it, I wouldn’t even go,” I say, tilting my head to balance the phone as I dress up.

  “Just like how I didn’t want to go to that damn bachelor auction,” Carrie replies.

  “Well but then I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to play the white knight and save you from falling, would I?” I smile.

  “You're never going to let me forget that embarrassment will you?” she says.

  “I'm just joking, love,” Damn David. It just slipped out of my mouth. An old habit. Calling a woman ‘love’, is a common practice in England but here in America they take it literally. I quickly change the topic. “Well, I hope Javier won’t behave like an arse this time around.”

  “What is this event anyways?” she asks.

  “Well, as fate would have it, we both have the same shoe sponsor and this is some sort of a promotional event... I told you, the sponsors and the media will try to capitalize on our past rivalry. There’s already a lot of excitement as this is the first time we both are going to be in the same room since the World Cup incident.”

  “Meh. I'm not worried,” she says confidently.

  “Neither am I. I'm more worried that I can’t choose which suit to wear and it’s already getting late.”

  “Then, silly, what are you doing talking to me on the phone for?” Carrie laughs.

  “Well, you know. Pre-game motivational talk.”

  “Right! Anyway. Pick the first suit to your left.”

  “Funny. That’s exactly the one I was going to choose. Great minds think alike.”

  “And the great mind I'm speaking to will be very late if he doesn’t get off the phone now. Have fun, David, and text me later,” I say softly. Shit. Why am I telling him to text me later? What am I, his girlfriend?

  I toss the keys of the Ferrari to the valet and am about to enter the venue, a massive theater, when Scott catches up with me.

  “Hey, David. How’s it hanging?”

  “It’s hanging,” I reply, something I learned from Willie.

  “Let’s head in then and see what the scene is like,” Scott winks.

  The good mood that I was in disappeared as I enter the main area. All the banners and posters decorating the venue feature Javier Romero up front. My name is not even mentioned anywhere.

  “What the hell is this, Scott?” I ask, annoyed.

  “It seems like a…” Scott leans in to read the text on a poster. “Javier Romero, welcome to the American League. What the hell?”

  “So, you're telling me that I'm at an event, welcoming my fiercest, most hated rival to America?” I wince.

  “David. I swear. When I spoke to the representatives of the shoe company, they didn’t mention anything about this. Let me see what’s going on,” Scott turns away and starts punching numbers on his cellphone.

  And so the games begin. I take a deep breath and tell myself to be calm. Carrie’s words run through my head and a sense of calm rushes through me. I wish she was here. Shit, why didn’t I invite her along?

  “These bastards!” Scott comes back. “They won’t admit it. They keep saying it’s a sponsor event where a lot of players are invited. But I know that this is a setup. they're just trying to gain maximum media leverage out of the rivalry between you two.”

  “Technically this is an official sponsor event,” I look around at the numerous logos of the shoe company that enrich my wallet by tens of millions every year.

  “But they know what they're doing man. they're hoping that you and Javier would get into some sort of a fight so they can capitalize on that. You know how brands are all about viral content nowadays.”

  “Yeah, I get that Scott, I'm not stupid.” I give Scott a firm look.

  “We can leave, David. You don’t have to be here. There’s nothing in your contract with them that says that you've got to attend such random events.” Scott turns, ready to exit the premises.

  “Think about it, Scott.” I lean in to put some sense in my manager’s head. “Leaving the venue now would make for a much bigger story. David Adams refuses to attend the event where his rival is being presented. That would make me look like a wanker and I can’t have that.”

  “But…” I can see the concern on Scott’s face and it irks me. What do Scott and Shauna think I am?

  “Scott. We are going in. I can handle all this rubbish. If I can’t face him at a party then how the hell will I play against him?” Straightening my coat jacket, I take confident steps into the main hall.

  I’m happy the first person who greets me is Willie. We joke around for a bit then head to the bar where I once again refrain from alcohol.

  “Man, how come you're such a good boy nowadays?”

  “Well, we’ve got the playoffs coming up soon, so it’s time to get serious, innit?” I reply.

  “Man, I never thought I’d see this side of you. What happened to the man who proclaimed training was for boys?”

  “Training is for boys and winning is for men and I want to win that bloody trophy and that bloody MVP award.” There is resolution in my heart as I speak and I even surprise myself by how serious I am.

  “Damn, bro, you’re not kidding about this, ain’t you? Shit, I'm so pumped. We’re gonna win that damn cup, man. I can already see it.” He punches his palm in excitement.

  “Ease up, mate. We still have a few matches to play before that. Let’s take it one game at a time.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, man. Look, there he is,” Willie nods to his right and then I see him. Surprisingly, I don’t feel a thing. No resentment, no nervousness, nothing.

  “Look at that knob, still looks ugly as a bucket.”

  “Say what man? You know, man, when you start speaking all that British I don’t understand you at all,” Willie complains and I grin.

  “So, David,” Scott slides up next to us from somewhere. “There is not much to do here. Javier is going to go on stage first, and then they want you on for a few words and that’s about it. They wanted to do an interview with you first but I said no.”

  “Good job, Scott!” I pat him on the back. “This is easy peasy.”

  Everyone’s attention is on Javier ‘El Matador’ Romero. Usually when I go to such events, people bend over backward to please me. The media constantly hover around me and every camera in the room would be pointed at my mug. I was after all the biggest player in the league, but apparently not anymore. Now the media has found a new darling, a darling who’s a World Cup winner. They’re generously showering all of their attention on Javier and barely a few eyes have turned around to gaze at me today, where there used to be hundreds at any time.

  It irks me a little bit but I don’t let that affect me. My job is to play football, not to promote shoe brands. That’s just a o
ccupational hazard that leaves me richer than half the population of Los Angeles.

  Cheers and applause rise up in the hall as Javier Romero makes his way to the stage along with a few executives from the shoe company. They start by giving their usual boring introductory speeches during which time, I stay glued to my phone, messaging Carrie.

  I’d give you a million dollars if you could fly in here and help me escape, I type.

  You still owe me for the motivational talks, so you need to pay that up first.

  I laugh at her cheeky reply. It’s refreshing to be with a woman who can make good conversation. The bimbos and the models I’m used to, aren’t really good for much. Be with a woman? I pause mid thought. I'm not with her. She is just a... friend.

  Javier’s voice on the PA distracts my thoughts. The man is going on and on about his accomplishments and how it was his dream to play in the U.S.

  “All right, David. Time to go up,” Shauna walks in.

  “Hey, Shauna. You don’t come say hello now?” I say.

  “I've been working, giving a piece of my mind to your damn shoe company. I don’t have time for hellos.” Shauna’s in work mode. When she’s like that, nothing can distract her. One of the reasons why she is the best in the business.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. I present to you. The star striker of the Anaheim Knights, Mr. David Adams,” the MC announces and I ascend the stairs. I’m handed a mic instantly and quickly assume the public persona I’m so used to.

  “Hello, everyone! Such a joy to be here tonight. And I’d like to welcome Javier to the league,” I turn sideways and pat my rival on the back. Javier just winks. “Wish you luck for the remaining matches, except against us,” Polite laughter comes from the audience. “Looking forward to having a great rest of the season. Thank you, everyone.”

  I applaud the audience and get ready to step down. Done like a pro. Just as I’m turning around to walk off the stage, Javier’s voice echoes.