She makes a derisive sound. “And I thoughtup the buttwas your thing.” At my glare, she raises both hands defensively. “Fine, fine. Whatever. I’ll take this seriously.” Then she gets up and sits down next to me, taking my face in her hands. “Look at me, babe. It’s not going to happen. You can’tletit happen. We both know that.”
I give her a pitiful whine and sad puppy eyes, and DJ shakes her head. “Nope. Forget it. Imagine if you lost your job and I had topayfor this apartment. And my degree. I’d be so screwed.”
That does make me laugh and she lets go of my face.
“I know it’s not the same,” she says, “but if it’s any consolation, Rachel and I also won’t ever be able to be a couple in public. My family…” She doesn’t need to finish that sentence. I’ve known her family for most of my life and love them dearly, but queerness as a concept is foreign to them.
“What is this, a pity contest?” I push messy strands of hair back from my forehead and shake my head. “No chance. I’ll win this one easily.”
DJ sighs softly and puts her hand on my cheek again, softly this time. “I know, love. And I’m sorry. You know despite all the shit I give you, I want you to be happy, right?”
“Most of all, you want me to be employed,” I grumble, but I don’t mean it. Hadidja is the sister I never had and we ride hard for each other. I would protect her against anything and I know she’d do the same for me. Unfortunately, the obstacles I’m facing aren’t ones that can be overcome by sheer stubbornness and audacity. “Ugh.”
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “You can’t let it go on or it will put both of you at risk. So maybe think of it as a way of protecting Marlon? If you can’t do it for yourself, I mean.”
I nod. “If only I wasn’t sure it will hurt him as much as it hurts me. Fuck.” I hate that my voice has gotten so small. DJ’s suggestion is good, I should focus on making sure I’m not putting Marlon at risk. But still.
Hadidja does give me that head pat, after all. It’s not at all comforting, but then again, nothing could be, except maybe Marlon’s arms around me. “Fuck indeed,” she agrees quietly.
CHAPTER 9
Marlon
JUNE
The coaches lookat me with varying degrees of pity in their eyes. “It’s not about your performance,” the head coach reiterates. “Others were just a better fit for the team overall.”
“Yes, sir.” They’ve told me variations of this statement several times during this conversation, but it doesn’t make it sting any less. I was called up to the national team—I got to participate in the training camp ahead of the EUROs. A dream come true, wearing the Three Lions shirt, playing for England. We all knew, going in, that a couple of people had to be cut from the roster; the coaching team invited more people than they’re allowed to bring to the tournament.
I worried, over and over again, that I might be one of them. It’s what I do naturally. But I played well and I got along well with everyone and my anxiety lessened. I carefully let my guard down.
Too soon.
“Thank you for this opportunity.” What else am I supposed to say? I want to beg. Plead with them to give me another chance when I know there won’t be another. Not for this tournament, anyway. They will go to Sweden without me.
“Thank you for all you’ve given us, Marlon.” The defensive coach smiles at me. “We appreciate it. And you’re a dominant player in the making, I’m sure we’ll see much more of you in the future.”
I think he means it as a consolation, but all I hear is that I’m not good enough right now. I’m not there yet. Maybe those two goals against that I caused in the Champions League are still on their minds. Maybe I didn’t play as well as I did when they put me in.
Maybe even when I give it all I have, I’m just not good enough.
It’s a sobering thought; one that has me questioning everything.
Freddie won’t have to have this conversation with them. We haven’t talked about it, but I know it. Everybody knows. He’s scored at least two goals in each of the friendly matches we’ve played and the press is all over him. The tournament hasn’t even started and they’re already celebrating him.
I’m so happy for him. I really am. He so deserves this and it couldn’t have happened to a better person.
It’s just…where does that leave me? It’s a selfish thought and I fight it down until I leave the coaches’ makeshift office in our hotel and find an empty bathroom. Finally alone, I slump against the wall and bury my face in my hands. Why am I never good enough?
Freddie doesn’t want me. The national team doesn’t want me. Soon enough, Westfield won’t want me anymore, my reputation stained, my performance lacking.
Part of me knows these are irrational thoughts. Of course Freddie doesn’t want me; what on earth would he want mefor? Westfield management has been very happy with me, despite a couple of hiccups, they’ve told me so.
I need to get a grip on myself.
But that’s difficult when I’ve just been rejected. Again.
I want to be chosen. A priority. Just this once. Whether or not it’s a good idea. I want someone to take a chance on me.
