Chapter Thirty-Seven

C hapter Thirty-Seven

A ndy

F ollowing what was a very one-sided match, we left the field and the disappointment of our fans behind as we entered the sheds. Sadly, we were only trading in one blood bath for another because we were going to be annihilated by Coach after that abysmal performance. Especially when the opposition were at the bottom of the ladder and beating us gave them their first win of the season.

It had been a long and gruelling week for all of us and it was clear that the pre-match motivational speech about ‘ tough times not lasting ' and ‘ it's not about the adversity but how we respond to it ' did not have the effect Coach hoped. Because we played like fucking shit and that was led by me. No goals, no score assists and only a few tackles.

Between the two empty bottles of whiskey on my bench, the extra time spent on the training paddock and the infinite hours obsessing over Arna , I wasn't doing well. Whenever I wasn't completely distracted, I ruminated over her words, replaying like a broken record, each repetition deepening the ache of betrayal further. Normally, false accusations like this didn't even pierce the surface but the little blonde editor was wedged so deeply under my skin that she was able to fracture my world much easier than most.

She was there when I tried to sleep, when I sat on my balcony and when I had a spa. What was once a place of sanctuary was now a brutal reminder of what we shared. The space itself now tainted as everything she did or said was a platitude. A fabricated act to get closer so she could craft the exposition of the decade.

It was no wonder I couldn't lead the team when I could barely lead myself to shower. Because I saw her face in everything I did and with those images came flashbacks of that article. A reminder of the power of her words and how they so quickly devastated me and what we had, leaving a lasting imprint on my soul. She was in my head in the locker rooms where I pictured her haphazard outfit and uncertainty when she was first sent to interview me. And that was the best-case scenario. The alternative was picturing her standing there with my name across her back, hungrily watching me, before kissing her as if there weren't twenty other horny blokes in the room wishing it were them. She was everywhere and nowhere and that was the part I couldn't stomach.

I missed her.

Tonight, the post-game room was sombre, filled with smatterings of family and friends and only a handful of those who could only be described as a plague upon society – still infecting minds with their toxic narratives and fake news. They stood with their cameras out, pens, paper and smiles so broad you could almost fall for them if you weren't careful. Because if you did, you were blinded to their abandonment of any sense of journalistic integrity, blinded to them choosing to peddle sensationalism and clickbait rather than truth, and most of all, blinded to their ability to worm their way into your entire being only to savage you.

"Hey, kid." Pup had the decency to look at least mildly sympathetic despite riding the waves of our losses along with us.

I didn't respond, instead lifting my chin in acknowledgement before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor and take off my boots.

Crouched down next to me he sighed. "Andy, I know it's been a tough week." He consoled and I scoffed at what was the euphemism of the century. "But you need to pull your head out of your arse because your wallowing is impacting a lot of people now. I thought you were a grumpy prick before, turns out I had no idea."

"Oh, fuck off, would you?" I was not in the mood for a lecture after a fifty-point loss.

"He's right, you know." I stilled at the familiar voice which, when I looked up, matched the familiar face leaning against the wall next to me.

"No interviews, Felicity." I spat viciously before ripping my socks off.

"Good thing I didn't ask, Andrew ." She retorted, emphasising my full name.

"I'm going to check on some of the boys." Pup said, excusing himself from whatever the heck this was.

"What do you want then?" I asked with more bitterness than she deserved. Flick had previously been my journalist of choice because she seemed nice enough, didn't expect too much and wrote exactly what I said without garnishing. But I thought the same about someone else and was burnt. So, I was back to despising all of them, history be damned.

They were a bunch of self-serving manipulators, twisting the truth to suit their own agendas and prioritising ratings and profits over honest reporting and factual accuracy.

"I want you to read something for me actually." Curiously, I looked up at her and noticed the envelope she was holding.

"What?" I snapped.

"Andy, you might be the captain of a very successful football team, not ugly and a pretty nice guy to interview when you aren't growling, but you're dumb as fuck."

My eyes shot up to meet hers and she was shaking her head in what seemed to be regret.

"Flick, get to the point because I have about three minutes until I get my arse chewed out over everything I fucked up tonight and no patience left already."

She dropped the envelope next to me and I glanced at it, masking my interest at what she would personally bring all the way here.

"I don't know you very well, Andy, and I can't say I know anything about what you're going through or have gone through. And, truthfully, me being here is not entirely selfless, but shit –" She let out a large breath and clumsily sat next to me. "She deserves better than what she got. What we all gave her." She shrugged, stretching her legs out in front of her and sliding the envelope over to me until it grazed my thigh. "It's not my place to fill in all the gaps or even share this with you. But if she moved to Melbourne without you having the full story, I mean –"

"What?" I said, finally connecting the dots. "Arna's leaving?" Saying her name hurt more than I would have expected and I hid my face to cover the wince.

"Boys – rooms now." Coach bellowed and the players hugged whoever it was they were talking to, heading inside. While players would usually linger and take their time, his voice brokered no argument tonight.

Felicity nodded, a placatory smile on her face.

"Yeah. She was seconded to Melbourne after she quit and Darren was fired and – oh – oops, again not my place."

"Gloss, move your arse!" Coach called and I slowly stood, avoiding eye contact with the few reporters left in the room, Felicity included. I gave her an absent wave, in thanks or dismissal – I wasn't sure, and headed for the post-match boardroom.

"Andy," Felicity called, "Whether you choose to read it or not, there's so much that she hasn't deserved and leaving her words there is included." She looked down at the envelope, her brows raised before she left.

I looked at the letter sitting on the floor, its edges slightly crumpled from where it had been held. In the now empty room its presence was unassuming, yet there was an air of anticipation, the contents a secret itch I wanted to scratch but wasn't sure I had the courage to do so. It waited patiently as I tittered on the edge of a decision which felt pivotal, despite my resolve to be done with this whole mess.

"Gloss, three seconds before I drop your arse to the reserves." Groaning, I bent down and scooped the envelope off the floor before walking into the meeting.

Whether I chose to open it was an entirely different thing.

It was nearly Midnight by the time I finally walked in my front door and the verbal bashing we received from Coach only added to the misery. The extra twenty minutes the massage therapist spent on my back tonight didn't even begin to alleviate the tension.

Heading straight for the kitchen I poured myself a whiskey and unlocked my phone. It had been buzzing the entire drive home and that meant either the boys were talking shit again or my parents were worried. I wasn't sure which would be worse.

Cooper: Oi, Mopey Dick – what happened tonight? I thought it was only at the poker table when you played like shit.

Sebastian: I don't want to agree with this dipshit but Coop is right. Tonight was tough to watch. You good, Andy?

Cooper: Of course he isn't good. He is The King of Broken-Hearts.

Sebastian: Okay, you're on your own now bro hahaha.

Jack: Wasn't pretty, ey. Coach spent an hour telling us how shit we were. Only just got home.

Sebastian: Don't be late tomorrow morning, Jack.

Cooper: Yeah, Jacky boy. Those bathrooms won't clean themselves. Hope Nexus was pumping and there is a nice mess for him.

Andy: You guys spend too much time messaging. Coop, where's the whiskey I ordered?

Sebastian: Going through it quickly, Ando. Reckon there are healthier ways to clear your head.

Jack: Yeah, like listen to your agent. Pup told me there is more to this whole thing and the article Arna wrote was never published.

Cooper: Ha! Wondered what happened there. So, she didn't write that shit. Send us the original.

Sebastian: We all know he hasn't read it. Always has been a sucker for punishment.

Jack: I'm the last one to give advice – but I think you should listen, Cap, and read what she actually wrote.

Andy: Fuck off.

I swirled my drink before taking a sip. That damn envelope buried deep in the footy bag at my feet. I should just switch off my phone and go to bed. Nothing good was going to come from decisions made in the early hours of the morning after a loss like tonight.

The screen lit up as all three of the fuckers laugh reacted to my message. The pricks enjoyed my misery and reminding me about it whenever they got the chance. Finishing the shot, I poured another and headed to my bedroom as my phone buzzed again, this time a private message from Seb.

Sebastian: It's been a long fucking night over here, mate, but I will come to your house now if it means you will pull your head out of your arse. Just read the damn thing and either move the fuck on or grow a pair and call her. I'd rather take your money on Monday and not feel bad about how much of a sad loser you are right now. Read it, brother, and good or bad, we've got you.

I paused, glancing back to the bag. I should throw the envelope away and forget about the last six months. Forget she ever existed and get my head back into the game I know and love. I don't owe her anything. I don't owe any of them anything. But I would be lying if I wasn't a little curious. Closure was a fickle thing but one which could help snap this dark fucking cloud which was hovering above and give me the space to move forward.

Before I changed my mind, I opened my bag and took out the papers Flick handed me earlier. I would read it once and then throw it away, along with the memories. If I had learned anything, it was that trusting people only led to heartache. Fanning the sheets across the bench, I took a deep breath and immersed myself in her head for the very last time.