“This won’t take long.” Mara fixed him with her gaze. “You need to coach the under-sixteens.”
Derek gaped at his wife, half-convinced the sexhadmelted his brain. “How do you…?”
“Beth.”
“That little?—”
“Derek,” she said sharply. “You didn’t tell me about the clinic.”
Fuck… Derek could have kicked himself. He’d been a twat, and now his pigeons had come home to roost.
“I’m sorry, baby. That was shitty of me.”
“It was,” she said. “But I know why you did it.”
“What d’you mean?”
“You knew I’d be excited that you’d be doing something football-related again and working with kids who grew up like us, and you didn’t want the pressure of letting me know.”
He blinked. Hearing her say it made it all kind of obvious. “You might have a point, but I promise I won’t do it again. It was a once?—”
“It will not be a once-off,” she interrupted. “You need a challenge; you need to take risks. That’s why you’re pushing the roleplay between us so hard, and it’s why you’re getting grumpier by the day.”
“Baby…”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me.” Mara’s mouth was a flat line. “I know you love me and the twins and writing. But I know you, Derek Hardiman, better than you do sometimes. You need to have skin in a game you care about to be happy, and you’re going to have that coaching the Beaconsfield under-sixteens.”
“I’ll find something else to do?—”
“You miss football. That’s what you’ve always loved; it’s who you are. We both know you’re going crazy without it.”
“But when the boys get older?—”
“The boys aren’t five yet. They’re years away from even being able to go to AusKick. If you don’t find a way to be involved in football soon, you’ll start taking them to the park and making them practice their kicking every morning, and then you’ll become one of those dads who ruins school sports for everyone.”
“What the f-fuck?” Derek sputtered. “Me? The aggro sports dad?”
Mara stared blankly at him the way she had since they were teenagers. She was the only person who could ever make him blink.
Derek turned his face to the sky and exhaled. He knew where she was coming from, but how was he supposed to explain that he’d die before he became some legacy asshole, henpecking his kids to carry on his reputation? “I won’t pressure the boys.”
“You won’t want to. But by the time they’re old enough to think about playing football, you’ll have been out of the game for years, with no mentoring experience. And the way you’re going, you’ll be very bitter by then.”
“It’s not gonna be that bad, M.”
“Will it be good?”
He couldn’t think of anything to say. He drank some more champagne.
“It won’t be good,” Mara whispered. “We both took more from our childhoods than we wanted. That’s just a fact. I still struggle with being honest, and you’ve still got a temper that won’t quit.”
“Then I’ll get a therapist.”
“Good. But while you do that, I want you to direct your drive where it’s appreciated.”
“Yelling at girls tryna play footy?”
Mara smiled. “You’re not going to yell at girls. You’ll yell at bad umpires, and drunk parents, and racist fans. The people who should get yelled at. And the rest of the time, you’ll be caught up in the game, having fun and learning how to re-channel your energy.”
