“I’m going to head out,” he says, his deep voice softer than usual. He looks up and forces a smile. “Thank you for having me over and I’m really excited. And honoured.”
Before any of us can say anything, he walks out of the apartment. Vikram follows minutes later, still grumbling and grunting under his breath. The rest of our family leaves soon after and I shift to the couch. Patrick sits down and lifts my feet into his lap, massaging them slowly. There were days when I was worried Kabir would share nudes he had of me from early on in our relationship. I realised pretty quickly he didn’t want revenge. He wanted to do his own thing without being beholden to anyone. I hate this happened to Kaia—no woman should ever have her body and privacy exploited by someone else. Especially someone they once trusted.
“I only know of Kaia, do you know her?”
I nod. “She and Vik played cricket together for years. She’s quite amazing.”
“Fuck her ex.”
“She’s already been through so much. This makes it worse.”
He sighs, but continues kneading my tired feet. I lean against the back of the couch and watch him, glad he’s mine. Patrick turns to me and smiles when he notices my expression.
“You okay, Lo?”
“I love you, Trick. So much,” I whisper and his expression softens. “Still have to stop and remind myself this is real.”
“The realest thing, sweetheart.”
“Good.”
He squeezes my ankle. “I’m looking forward to doing this with you forever.”
“Me too, honey.”
Thirty-Nine. The wrong reason to be sweaty
Patrick
For days after the Kaia Philip news came out, the sports world was on edge. The media took sides and painted her as a harlot. The headlines of the sports section only focused on her and kept finding ways to question her athletic skills. Since some asshole thought revenge porn was the right move. Clearly people still think women should be meek and mild mannered, that their only purpose in life is to pleasure their male partners. For a country that’s supposed to be developing and progressing, we seem to be regressing when it comes to women. Not surprising, just disturbing.
When I’m not reading the newspaper, I’m doing a million things at once.
Some days, I’m at Sunrise Niketan. Now that Nihal and I’ve signed the papers at the school, work has been progressing. Not fast enough, but at least it’s happening. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll have a cricket pitch, football field and hockey turf ready for students in the new academic year. Thanks to donations from our baby shower and all of Millie and Jonathan’s friends wanting to help, we have enough to make Sunrise Niketan a place to help more than enough kids.
I also spend a few hours every day at the Thunder training centre, whipping the boys into shape. With the first match only a month away, getting them into the right frame of mind and physical condition is important. Surprisingly, I’m having a good time. Especially since it reinforces the idea that coaching might not be such a bad gig after all.
Now that I’ve voiced my feelings about retiring, I feel the pressure to make a decision. If I continue to play the way I have, my body will quit on me eventually. By then, it might be too late to be there for my baby or my girl. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life healing from injuries and surgeries. I want to be present at all times. I want to play with my kid and teach them the simple things in life. I want to show them just how awesome the world can be if they let it.
Walking away also means leaving one of the things I love behind. While it’s not the end of the world, it’s a big decision. I spent my entire life working towards this and I’ve achieved it. Many times over. I’ve got the medals and trophies to prove it and yet, it feels like it’s not enough. If I don’t, there’s the other, maybe more painful, side of the coin.
I haven’t brought it up with Dominic again. He’ll play devil’s advocate, and I’m not ready for that either. Not ready to face the reality that this might be the end. So I train the team, I play with them when I can and focus on making sure they do everything in their power to win their first tournament.
Heaving a sigh, I slow the treadmill to a walk instead of the running I’ve been doing for twenty minutes. My heart’s racing from the adrenaline and my muscles ache from what I’ve put them through. But I feel good. I hear doors opening and closing, the sounds of chatter slowly working their way past my earphones and I turn my music off. I wipe down the exercise machine, then my face and arms before I head to the locker rooms. Everyone cheers when I step inside and I roll my eyes as I make my way to the office. The other coaches are already there, feet up on the table, coffee in hand.
“We ready for a scrimmage?”
The coaches grin, finish their beverages and head out onto the field.
“That was a dirty fucking foul!”
I cackle as a player yells at my back, but I don’t stop. I keep going, dribbling the ball and passing it to a member of my team. He works his way around a defender skilfully and passes the ball back. I swerve and almost lose my grip before dragging it back over and taking a swing. The goalie is prepared for my shot, so I switch tactics and pass it to another player and in the short second it takes the goalie to realise what we’re doing, my teammate scores a goal. We all hoot and howl, like the Thunder mascot—a wolf. Not sure what one has to do with the other, but we don’t ask questions. We play, practise and knock out our opponents.
“You’re not playing fair, Coach.”
I turn to face them. “You’re all professionals and you’re telling me you’ve never tried the move before?”
I must admit while it’s common in the sport, it’s not something everyone’s taught. I wasn’t either, but I watched enough hockey growing up to learn it. It has different names, but the first time I did it, a former coach told me the jink steal?1 could get me fouled if I wasn’t careful. It’s a quick manoeuvre that can sometimes be done wrong and get sticks locked. But I’ve done it enough times to get it right.
