When Beth put it like that, it was hard to see why she wouldn’t follow through. “You’re very good at talking, you know.”
“Yeah, just ask my mother. Anyway, how do you want this to go down? Let’s talk smutty details. Only before we start, I think I should tell you something about Derek…”
Mara’s heart froze in her chest. “What?”
“Something Byron said. Nothing bad,” Beth added quickly. “It’s football related, and I didn’t know whether I should let you know, but since you called, I’m just gonna say it, and you can tell me how it makes you feel. Is that okay?”
Mara bit down hard on her thumbnail. “It’s okay. Please tell me?”
As Beth explained what she knew, Mara realised two things. First, Derek had lied to her—if only by omission. Second, she no longer had any doubts about her plan. She would put her husband in the passenger seat and drive them exactly whereshefelt like going.
3
“Idon’t think there’s a future in pickleball,” the guy sitting behind Derek slurred. “I just wanna get drunk and have fun. That’smyobjective.”
Derek glared into his pint. In addition to having the stupidest thoughts on earth, Behind-Him-Guy was wearing a fedora.A fedora. Like 2013 never happened. But then the idiot had probably been rocking the hat since 2009. Just pushed right through the cringe and out the other side, fedora fully intact.
“I have multiple PhDs in gaming,” Behind-Him-Guy said to no response from his table. “That’s the thing, though. You can’t work in the industry without compromising your vision.”
“Great insight, bloke,” Derek muttered. “Stellar stuff.”
He and Mara had anniversary plans tonight. Secret plans he wasn’t allowed to know about. His wife had taken the wheel on this thing and requested he leave the house for a couple of hours. So, while she was doing whatever she was doing, he was at the corner pub listening to the worst conversation of all time.
He shouldn’t have been listening. The footy was on the massive screen in front of him. Lions versus Suns. The scores were tied, and with both teams in the finals starting next week,tensions were high. But Derek could barely glance up from his beer.
He’d always judged retired players who wouldn’t watch footy after their careers ended. He’d called them whiny pussies. Now, he had twin crosses to bear; hating football and being a hypocrite.
But ‘hate’ wasn’t the right word. He missed the game like an old friend. The big things—wins and finals and the built-in social network—but also stuff he didn’t expect—the smell of a fresh-cut field at 5am and the knot winding through his gut when February rolled around and the start of the season was imminent.
It wouldn’t be so bad if other retired guys he knew felt the same way, but no one did.
He and Willow had left the league at the same time, but Willow still went to Sharks training sessions and did TV guest commentaries and panel shows. He was even talking about playing a couple of games with the seconds this year.
Derek could play for the seconds; any regional team in the country would probably be happy to have him, but that was completely unfair. Ex-pros like him ruined local comps. They dominated the game, driving away local players who had to actually work for a living.
“Besides,” he’d told Byron the last time they’d had beers. “I retired so I wouldn’t fuck up my body before my kids are old enough to ride bikes. I’m not gonna sign on for some amateur team and fuck myself anyway.”
“So, find something else,” Byron had said. “Kickboxing. MMA. You love that shit.”
“Same problem as footy. I’m either munting my body or destroying guys who don’t deserve it.”
Byron, who was the assistant coach of a seconds team in Western Australia, groaned. “You can’t?—”
“And the media’ll jump up my ass. The last thing I want is them saying I’m doing the ‘Jordan Goes Baseball’ thing.”
Byron didn’t say,‘Well, be a sulky little bitch then,’but he might as well have. He got up to get fresh pints, and Derek thought it was the end of it, but a week later, his best mate was on the phone. “Got a gig for you, bloke.”
Derek had been at his desk, dick deep in line edits and in no fucking mood. “Don’t love your odds, bloke.”
“Not taking no for an answer. There’s an under-sixteens team in Beaconsfield that’s struggling. One of the locals is stumping up to put on a clinic, and I said you’d help out.”
Derek almost dropped his phone. “What the fuck?”
“Pack it in. It’s your cousin’s team. Maggie Hardiman.”
Derek almost dropped his phone again. “Maggie’splaying footy?”
“Wants to. She won’t if they can’t keep the team going.”
