Chapter Four

C hapter Four

A ndy

Kieran: No, Gloss. I didn't give her any details, only the address. She will be there at about 10, so smile. I don't want to manage any mess if you lose your shit at another journo.

Andy: Pup, relax. It's one hour. I'll survive.

Kieran: Stop calling me Pup and it's not you I'm worried about.

Andy: Sorry, Pup. I'll play nice.

I 'd been with Kieran since I was first drafted by the Hearts five years ago and as far as agents went, he was damn good. He generally ensured the media stayed off my back, leaking just enough information to keep them satiated without invading my privacy and managed the rare problems with transparency and finesse. But above all else, he listened to me. Some of the boys were not so lucky with their management and it was part of the reason Kieran was busier now than he had been when I first signed with him. I referred the younger, more committed players his way because I trusted him and respected the way he managed his clients.

When he told me the club was pushing for my agreed upon mid-season feature and more than just a post-game recap, I listened because he knew this wasn't easy for me. I'd been burnt in the past and consequentially, I did not trust journalists or anyone affiliated with the industry, which was why I kept my interactions superficial and rare. For the first few years I refused any form of engagement – including game-day questions – and was close to leaving the game entirely, but between my parents and Pup constantly reminding me why I should stay, here I was as captain. Kieren still vetted every organisation and reporter who I liaised with, offering me multiple outlets who were willing to pay big money for an hour of my time. But, after taking long enough to consider his options in a last-ditch attempt to avoid the piece altogether, I eventually requested the same woman who attempted to speak to me at the beginning of the season. She was not the same journalist from Urban Pulse who Pup originally lined up but when she appeared, clearly with no idea who I was, it was a breath of fresh air I didn't realise I needed. The lack of expectation almost made me smile, while she stood in a rumpled state, feigning a confidence she so obviously did not feel. Because I'm a selfish prick, I gave her nothing. I told myself when I asked Pup to call the agency to apologise for my sudden departure it had nothing to do with the look of fear that quickly swept her face – as if my refusal to answer anything impacted her significantly. I also told myself I did it so it didn't damage the reputation of the Hearts, despite never having cared before. Additionally, I conceded that refusing to interview with anyone other than her was only because she already knew me and therefore wouldn't expect too much. It had nothing to do with the way I thought of her cherry lips every day since then or wondered how they'd taste. It was definitely nothing to do with the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about her and the way I came alive when I brushed my finger against her mouth.

Regardless of those things though, they were all unworthy of my respect and I was sitting in my living room, repeating these weak justifications as I waited to be asked God knows what questions for the uncomfortable hour we would spend together. I could have met her anywhere, but any places seemingly local were out of the question because anyone who recognised me would have a field day. I also didn't want to meet at the club where there would be unlimited amounts of people eavesdropping. Besides, in my own place I had the upper hand. Pulse already signed a non-disclosure about the location and the details within the building so there were no concerns there, and truthfully, I just needed one damn thing to be on my terms .

Uncharacteristically nervous, I opened the door to my balcony and moved out to peer at the view, one of the main reasons this place cost me a pretty penny. When my phone trilled with an incoming FaceTime from my folks, I smiled, grateful for the distraction. Mum's head filled the screen and her face lit up when she saw me already smiling at her.

"Darling, how are you?" She was wearing her gym shirt with her hair off her face meaning she recently arrived home from one of her exercise classes. My dad spoke before I could answer, his face appearing just behind hers, looking equally as sweaty.

"Move over woman and let me see that shit eating grin of his. Good game on the weekend, son." I could see the pride all over their faces and I grinned as he put an arm around Mum and adjusted the phone so I could see them both.

"The team was awesome. Some of the young ones are fast. Did you see Jack? He is improving every week."

"It's your leadership, boy. That final goal - straight through! There is a reason you are the captain of that team. Bet Coach was happy with you."

My parents had no idea of the pressures the club placed on me as captain, not to mention those I put on myself to perform each week. It was partially why I had taken my time before accepting the leadership role, because I knew once I signed that dotted line, my soul belonged to the team. I still remembered Pup coming to my apartment because I refused to formally accept, fearful of how much more interest it would create for not only me but my family. I loved playing football and I especially loved playing for the Hearts, but I took my job seriously and I knew I wouldn't say yes if I wasn't entirely committed to being the best leader the club could have. I also knew I needed to make sure my parents were supportive because ultimately it was something which impacted them just as much as me – something we discovered not too long after I was enlisted to the pros.

"Thanks, Dad. How are you guys?" Compliments always made me uncomfortable but the joy on their faces after each game, regardless of the result, reminded me just how proud they were. It was them who woke up early every Saturday morning to get me to my games when I was a grumpy teenager who wanted nothing more than to sleep the day away. It was them who gave up two of their afternoons every week to take me to training – rain, hail or shine – and when I was drafted to the Hearts, it was them who lost their eldest son to the city without ever making me feel guilty. They still had Dylan at home, but he was about to turn twenty-one and while he was my younger brother and I loved the kid, he was also a royal pain in the arse. Above all else, it was the three of them who suffered the invasion of privacy just as much as I did, a thought which never failed to invoke a burning hatred to spread through my body landing firmly in my chest.

"We are good," Mum answered, removing me from the vile trip down memory lane. "When can you sneak in another visit? I miss my baby."

"I thought I was your baby?" My dad said as he kissed her on the cheek and I laughed as Mum swatted him away with a grin on her face.

Their love was loud and sickening and they didn't care if Dylan or I were around, they would still act as though there was no one else in the room. It was a good thing I was never going to be in the market to settle down because their example meant I would accept nothing less. Their passion was effortless and they were in sync with everything they did. It was admirable in a world where loyalty and longevity were not so easy to find.

"Well, on that note, I need to go. I have a meeting today with a journalist and the quicker I get it over with, the quicker I can go back to ignoring them." I ran my hand through my freshly cut hair, mindful of my own hypocrisy at ensuring I looked presentable today while the irritation of having to speak to the media at all ruminated in the pit of my stomach.

A look of annoyance flashed across Mum's face and Dad rubbed her shoulder, an unspoken reminder he supported her and my own distaste for this part of my job. "Okay, honey. Try to visit soon and give those bastards hell." I laughed at one of the few times I had heard Mum use profanity.

"That I definitely can do." I confirmed as Mum blew me a kiss before ending the call.

I smiled at my now empty screen knowing as soon as they hung up Dad would have to listen to Mum reminding him how much she too hated reporters. Dad would then nod knowingly agreeing with everything she said before offering to hunt them all down in her honour. My childhood was fairly privileged in the sense that my parents showed me what true love looked like. And to their dismay, it wasn't something I wanted, especially when on the field I was absolutely annihilating the opposition and any form of distraction would hinder the goal I was so close to achieving. But, for a while now, entertaining the unremarkable females Pup organised to attend events was becoming tiresome and I was losing motivation to learn their names let alone host any kind of conversation. It didn't take much to realise they were only looking for a famous name to support their lifestyle and ergo I often wondered if I was destined to be alone. A prospect which was not unwelcome.