“You want a baby?”
She put her book down and whipped her head up to look at me. I knew she’d noticed me walking over but had pretended to be too buried in whatever she was reading.
“You weren’t meant to hear that.” Her book went down on the lounger. “Please don’t say anything - ”
“But it’s true? You want a baby?” My hands went on my knees, gripping down on them.
She didn’t say anything, looking a like a rabbit caught in very bright lights.
“You never told me why you wanted us to stop seeing each other. Just that I was too young - ”
“You were. You are. I’m so much older than you and it wasn’t right.” She sounded nervous. “I needed to meet someone who was ready to settle down and be a family and you were twenty-fucking-three, Jude. Can you imagine what people would think of me if they found out?”
I shook my head. “Would it matter?”
Her shoulders dropped. “Not to you, but to me, it would. I’d have been judged. People would’ve thought I’d taken advantage of you.”
“You didn’t. I know everyone thought I was stupid and just a bit of a kid, but I wasn’t. You knew that.” At least I hoped she had.
“You weren’t what I thought you were. But you were still too young.” She looked away, but she didn’t pick up her book.
“Am I still too young now?”
I wasn’t. I was in my mid-twenties. I had a career that meant I’d had to be grown up too quickly in many ways. A massive fortune which had brought people pretending to be friends, advisors who were more interested in their own profit or standing than in actually helping me succeed. Sharks had circled when my first club hattrick was scored, and heard me make a clusterfuck of a post-game interview, and watched as they’d thought my brains were only in my feet.
They weren’t.
When I actually slowed down enough to think, I knew exactly what was going on. I’d learned to get along with everyone I’d been on a team with, working out who was good for a joke and who I was best just listening to, or pretending to listen to. I’d had my parents, who’d always offered advice, my father even once telling me that I didn’t have to be a footballer. I could do anything I wanted to – apart from play rugby. Then I’d have been disowned.
“You’re not too young, but I’m too old for you.” She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. The sky was clear blue, not a single cloud marred it.
“Says who?” I wasn’t having that.
“People. Society.” She didn’t look at me.
“Okay. And they matter because?” I could also be an argumentative shit.
Neva shrugged. “If the press had found out about us when were seeing each other, I’d have been torn to pieces. Called a cougar. There would’ve been jokes about all sorts.”
“Maybe.” I couldn’t say that there wouldn’t have been. “But the club wouldn’t have bothered. They’d have seen you as a good influence.”
She didn’t answer. Probably because she knew that was true.
“But you were twenty-three. And I wanted – I still want to find someone I can have a family with.”
I’d never seen Neva look so fucking sad, like her heart was breaking.
“But you haven’t. There hasn’t been anyone serious since we broke up?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I’d call it a break-up. We were only sleeping together.”
“Yeah, you made that clear at the time. No dates. No telling anyone. Just fucking.” And I had been too young to realise what that meant. I’d just discovered the power of my dick, and Neva was hot and mature, different from the girls who hung around, wanting to find an identity based on being a footballer’s wife or girlfriend. Neva was clever, passionate, knew my sport, knew what it took to be a pro-athlete. She had her own money and house; she didn’t need me and she made that really fucking clear.
I just scratched an itch.
“You don’t need to be so crass about it.” She looked away from me.
I glanced over at the still sleeping Nate. He was definitely out of it, which didn’t surprise me given the energy levels of his kids.
