Nate was on his phone, speaking quietly. When he saw I was awake, he moved his free hand into my hair, smoothing it down. It was a tender gesture, and not one I was expecting.
“I’ll be home in half an hour. Tell Libbie I’m on my way.” There was a pause. “No, I think I should come home. This is the first time she’s been poorly since her gran’s not been here. Don’t worry, mum.” Another pause. “It’s fine. I haven’t been drinking. See you in half an hour.” He hung up, then wrapped his arms around me. “Did you get the gist of that?”
“Libbie’s not well?”
“Sickness bug probably. She’s asking for me.”
“You need to go then.” I tried to move away, but he held on. “I get it. I have to go to my own room anyway. We’re keeping this on the low down.” I relaxed, knowing that a couple more minutes wasn’t going to make any difference.
He peppered a kiss to my head. “Thank you for understanding. Shall I text you later?”
I nodded. “Sure. I’ll see if I can find out any gossip and I’ll let you know what it is.”
“Sure.” He let me go and got out of bed, giving me another look at his body, every part of it honed into peak physical condition. I got my fill, because I didn’t know when I’d next be able to ogle it so openly.
I followed him out of the bed, nipping to the bathroom to do a quick clean up. I put my dress back on, every intention of going straight to my room and phoning Neva to see if she wanted to come up with a bottle of champagne, because I knew that by now, she’d have had enough of Jesse and the rest of them. “I’ll slip away first.”
Nate’s eyes looked me up and down, pausing on the deep cut neckline of my dress that I now had back on.
“I hope Libbie’s okay.”
He smiled. “She will be.” He paced over to me and pressed another kiss to my mouth. “I’m sorry I have to go.”
“It’s fine. I get it.” I returned the kiss, letting it grow into something a little more than just a goodbye, then left him to finish getting ready to head back home to his children.
CHAPTER8
Nate
JANUARY 1ST, NEW YEAR’S DAY FIXTURE
After Chan had died there would bedays that felt like a breeze, as if I really did have my shit together and I’d gotten to the acceptance part of grief. Then there were the days when guilt took a sledgehammer and battered me about the head with it when I least expected it.
The day after the club owner’s birthday was one of them.
Libbie had been fine. She had picked up what was probably a twenty-four hour bug that had her with a poorly tummy and a grump on her because she couldn’t eat the chocolate that her sister was allowed. She’d also given me hell for not having been at home when she was poorly.
I didn’t give in to apologising to her, something which my mother kindly backed me up with, telling Libbie that no one was psychic – in more child friendly terms - and I was allowed to go to parties just like she was. This made Libbie do that thing where she just screwed up her face and cried, which was both heart-breaking as a parent, as well as being really irritating because she was feeling sorry for herself.
Then the parent guilt started and that sledgehammer was right there. Libbie had been feeling poorly while I’d been balls deep inside a woman who was not Libbie’s mother.
I knew it was irrational. I knew I was allowed to carry on living, because I hadn’t died, but the guilt that had been my main companion in the early days after Chan’s death was back, and it seemed to have brought reinforcements.
So I acted like a tool and ignored Amber. The Count was back after a few month of being hit or miss as to whether he was in – his missus had found having a baby difficult, which was understandable because it was, so the club had allowed him leave when he needed it. Him being back meant it was easy to gravitate back to him with my shoulder that I’d strained again after a couple of worldy saves, rather than see Amber, or have anything to do with Amber, even if none of this was her fault. Then I felt guilty about doing that, which made me feel even more of a prick, and then I felt even more sorry for myself.
In other words, I wasn’t doing so well. Something even my teammates started to notice. I was growly and grumpy, wanting someone to fix everything for me, when I knew that the only person who could sort my head out was me.
I reverted to over training, lifting heavy weights that I shouldn’t have been doing on my own, just to prove who exactly was in control.
I was in the weights room a week later, chest pressing more than I should without a spotter when Ryan came in. He stood behind me, guiding the bar back to the rack and waited for me to sit up. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like this conversation. Ryan had been a transfer to the club in the summer, but we knew each other from England camps, both of us being internationals for some time. We’d also room together, if that was needed, although that was more old school nowadays, other than for the younger squad members who needed keepers, so they didn’t have parties in their rooms with half the nineteen-year-olds from wherever we were staying.
Ryan was quiet, watching me through another set, hitting five reps before reaching failure. It was too heavy, and I could’ve hurt myself, but I hadn’t, which made me feel like I’d scored at least one victory.
“You missed your appointment with Amber.”
I looked at him as I grabbed my towel, wiping off the sweat that was running across my face. “I know. I decided not to go.”
“Why?”
