She hadn’t looked like Amber. I hadn’t associated her with anything apart from pain and discomfort before, and I didn’t think I’d ever actually seen her outside of the physio rooms. She looked like someone I’d never met, and I knew I’d spent about five minutes continually glancing at her and making it obvious enough that Jude, who was young enough to be a club mascot even though he was a first team player, dug me in the ribs with his sharp-as-broken-glass elbow and managed to use his inside voice to tell me to stop staring.
It had been one of the few times since Chan had died that I’d gotten drunk. Having two small people pretty much completely reliant on me meant that even having one drink in the evening was a no go, not that I’d ever been someone who drank a lot. Chan’s mum had helped out with the girls until her own health had declined, but now, after her death, I was reliant on paid help and friends.
Drinking and seeing Amber not looking like Amber had spun my head enough to make me avoid her when I could because one thing I hadn’t learned was how to keep my big face unreadable. I was a shit poker player, which made me too damn easy for everyone else to read what I was thinking all of the time. I just hoped that Amber hadn’t worked me out yet, or put two and two together about why The Count had become my favourite physio.
Her fingers pressed into the muscles around my shoulder blade, working the tendons or whatever it was that made up my back. It hurt, but that wasn’t the main source of my pain right now. That was further south, straining in my shorts.
Her scent was one of jasmine and sunny days, reminding me of beaches and meals outside at rickety tables, a complete contrast to the gale that was blowing outside. The match had been played in conditions that weren’t ideal to say the least, a slippery pitch due to the hail that had pelted down before kick-off, meaning a wet ball that was harder than usual to keep a grip. Ryan, one of our strikers, had managed to pull his hamstring when he overstretched, and it was a miracle that we hadn’t picked up more injuries than that.
I closed my eyes and inhaled, for a few minutes letting myself be free from needing to feel guilty about finding another woman attractive, forgetting that when I got home I’d be the sole parent for my daughters, forgetting that Amber was staff and she’d said more than once that she thought most footballers were wankers – which we were.
I hadn’t had a woman’s hands on me in more than two years, other than the team at the club, and only her hands elicited any form of reaction that wasn’t professional, even when she was hurting like a devil. She pressed and manipulated, moving my arm and bending the elbow.
“You’d really benefit from getting massages more regularly.” Her voice was smooth, and there was a quietness to it that I hadn’t picked up on before, as if she was trying not to disturb me. “Your shoulders are too tight, Nate. You’ll get injured more easily. Have you been stretching?”
“Yes, but not enough. I’ve upped my weights, so I probably need to up my yoga.” I used to get to hot yoga classes a couple of times a week, which made me pretty damn flexible for a big guy who could lift, but without Chan’s mum being around to babysit the girls, and me not wanting to leave them with anyone who was free, I’d been limited with time. I was on the verge of appointing a full-time nanny, one applicant having stood out so far, but he wasn’t available to start until May. My current nanny was having to reduce her hours due to her parents needing more care, so without her being around as much, and the absence of Chan’s mum, I was reliant on favours and friends. The nanny I’d appointed first had to withdraw when her mother became unwell and needed care. Recruiting someone had become more stressful than I’d anticipated.
“That would help. I’m running a class tomorrow before training. Why don’t you come?” She paused her movements, and I heard the click of a bottle opening, before some form of cream was rubbed onto my skin.
“What time?” I sounded sleepy.
“Eight. Ask Megs Butler if your girls can join her crew. She’s got two spaces since Jimmy transferred to Everton.” Her fingers were moving rapidly, the pressure perfect. “Jesse mentioned you were looking for a nanny.”
“I am. I’ve found someone but they can’t start for a few months. I’d forgotten about Megs.” She’d been mentioned before, but she didn’t have space at the time. Megs Butler was employed by the club to support players who had children with childcare, especially emergency childcare. She was cute, a trained primary teacher, and took no messing from players who tried to take the piss, or from children who could easily be spoiled. Footballers often had far too much money and nowhere near enough sense.
Amber’s touch was gentle now, almost soothing. “Text Megs and see what she can do. The girls know her, don’t they?”
I wasn’t sure how Amber knew so much about my daughters, but then people talked. They’d talked a lot when Chan was sick, mainly words that were sympathetic, words which I’d hated. I didn’t want people’s sympathy; I wanted a cure, only that was never going to happen.
They’d found the cancer too late. It was already Stage Four, too advanced. An operation was done in vain, chemo turned down as all it would’ve done was prolonged her suffering. She’d spend her final months trying to make memories with the girls, although Zara was too young then to have been able to remember much of her mum now. I could never make my mind up whether that was a blessing or a curse.
“They do. She’s been there at parties.” They liked Megs. I made a mental note to text her as soon as Amber was done. “She helped out when Chan’s mum died.”
My daughters had suffered more grief in the last two years than any child should know.
“Then I’ll see you at yoga in the morning.”
Her hands left my skin and I heard running water.
“In the studio here?” I turned my head and opened my eyes to watch her. She wasn’t wearing sweats today. Instead, she had on tight yoga pants that showed off toned legs, and a fitted hoodie. “You’re teaching it?”
“I am.” She smiled, looking all sorts of proud. “I did my teacher training in the summer, and we finally got the studio here to be heated to the right temperature, so I’m now officially the club’s hot yoga instructor. I get to tell you all what to do.” She looked way too excited at that.
My cock twitched, maybe at the sight of her in those pants, or maybe at the thought of her taking the lead in that class, but I wasn’t going to be moving off that table yet.
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.” She looked genuinely pleased. “Now bath – hot bath – and stretch. No weights for the next couple of days.” Her hand reached out and patted my shoulder gently. “And I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Daddy! I can’t find Stuffy!”
I was pretty sure that Libbie was louder than most coaches in the league.
“Where did you last have him?” Standard question. Stuffy was Libbie’s favourite thing, a plush toy elephant she’d had since being a toddler. Since Chan’s mum had died, she’d gone back to needing it with her every day, which was fine, except she was really good at forgetting she needed him and forgetting how to look for him.
“In the playroom.” She smiled at me, making me forget she’d refused to go to sleep until ten last night.
“Go and look in the playroom then.” I finished brushing Zara’s hair, something I was now an expert at, and put the brush down on the coffee table. “You have two minutes until Megs gets here.”
