1. Round 1

1

ROUND 1

Willo

“ I . Want. Tacos.” I can sense a tantrum coming on, and not from Luna, my youngest, but from Jackson, who should have known better at seven, or, so I thought.

“Not tonight, Jacko. Nonna left that lasagna for us yesterday.”

“I love Nonna’s ‘zanya.” Almost five-year-old Luna holds her hands to her chest and sways in the princess gown she insisted on wearing to the shops.

“How about we do nachos for lunch, kids?” I hope this might be a compromise. Heck. All parenting is a compromise, or, so my mother claims. For me, everything is a compromise, meaning nothing is as I really want it to be.

“Why isn’t Mrs O’Toole looking after us anymore?” Eleven-year-old Billy asks as he lifts his head from the book he reads as we walk around the supermarket.

“Because her dad’s hurt his hip, and she needs to look after him for a while.” I’ve told them this, and still, they harp on about it. I should be glad they like their babysitter so much.

“Like you hurt your knee?” Jackson asks, the tacos long forgotten.

“Mrs O’Toole’s dad doesn’t play football, silly.” Billy lets out a huff of air and shakes his head.

“Dad, he called me silly.” Jackson threatens the waterworks again. My teeth grind together, and I try to remind myself I’m a great dad.

I’ve tried so hard to do it all on my own, but I can’t. My mother and mother-in-law both insist on being integral parts of my kids’ lives, and Moira O’Toole is a saint. Needing help to raise my kids shouldn’t bother me like it does. I always want to be the best dad I can, even though I’m on my own. I love my kids fiercely, but it’s times like this when they are on the verge of a supermarket meltdown that I wonder if I’m a good enough parent.

“No names, kids.” I sigh. “And you can have tacos tomorrow night.”

Further arguments ensue about soft and hard shells, and I give up. I won’t be eating tacos. Well, not the same version as the kids. They don’t fit my macros, and I’m all about regaining fitness.

Tearing my ACL in round six last year was devastating. At the time, they told me twelve months minimum on the sidelines. I’ve done all the rehab my doctors and physiotherapists asked of me in the hope I’d be fit to play at the start of this season, but it’s been deemed that I’m not fit to play. I feel I am. I’m running and moving well, but the club specialists want me to have at least another month on the sidelines, telling me I need it if I’m going to get through the whole season without the risk of injuring my knee again.

I’ve spoken to friends and colleagues who’ve done their knees before me, and they’ve all said to follow the experts’ opinions. I just have to look at one guy I know in another club who came back too early only to re-injure it and require another season not playing the game we love. It ended his career. At twenty-nine, I like to think I have a few years ahead of me. Great players play until their mid-thirties. I’m contracted for another two after this season, but time will tell.

And of course, my team is playing interstate. I was all set to travel with them until Moira’s father took a tumble in the shower and broke his hip. Nicola, my mother-in-law, came and stayed for a few nights with us, but she needed to get home to Bunyip Point, and Mum is on a well-deserved holiday in New Zealand.

Murray, my closest younger brother, is busy on the farm at Lovemore Gap, and, as much as the kids love him, he gets antsy away from the sheep and open fields. Eva, or Charlene as she is better known, helps run our uncle’s mechanic business, and I know she’s hellishly busy all the time. Her twin, Tom, better known as Tina, is a policeman on the other side of the state, and I’ll never ask him to give up his holidays to look after my responsibilities.

Nicola told me my sister-in-law, Frankie, could come for a night or two, but she has her own kids to look after and anyway, I hate asking for help.

“Is Gaga sick too? Is that why we haven’t seen her?” Jackson looks at me, his eyes bulging and lines formed across his forehead.

“No, she’s on holiday, remember? That’s all. Now, lettuce, tomato, cucumber… What else do we want in our salad tonight?”

“Avo!” Luna jumps up and down before squeezing the hard avocados at the front of the display.

“Gaga says we need a pear.” Billy starts placing pears into a plastic bag, the book he’d been reading tucked under his arm.

“You kids don’t eat pears because you say they’re slimy.” I take the bag from him and place the pears back in the display, reaching instead for apples, which I know they’ll eat.

“I eat pears.” Jackson is proud to contradict me.

“I hate pears.” Luna is sitting on the ground, and I’m glad the store is relatively quiet for once.

Mum has been on at me to get an au pair, saying it wasn’t fair on Moira to be at our beck and call. Moira had worked for the Bayside Monarchs for over thirty years. She and her husband, Bert, had been unable to have children, and they offered to house rookies who came to the club. I’ve heard so many of our club’s legends talk about their first years with Moira and Bertand how a stable place to live had helped ease them into professional sport.

A few years ago, I went on a study tour to the States and spoke with professional athletes there. We didn’t have a college system here in Australia, and often, we were drafted straight out of high school. I’d been one of the rare ones who wanted to pursue tertiary education and started a law degree. With everything that happened, my studies went by the wayside, not even finishing a semester, but one day, I might pick them up again.

Study was one of the reasons Mum thought I needed a permanent person to live with us and help with the kids. It wasn’t going to happen. Especially not after Charlene told me that in the stupid romance books she reads, the widower ends up marrying the help.

I’m not planning on marrying again. Cara was it for me, and no one could ever replace her. We were kids when we met catching the bus to high school. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved and the woman I expected to love for the rest of my life. It was why I’ve been celibate for over four years.

Mum has other ideas and keeps telling me about various women back home. I don’t think she even realises there are women who hang around the club for the chance to get to know a footy player, and yes, that’s ‘know’ in the biblical sense. Sure, she wants me to be happy, and she believes that happiness comes from a partner to walk through life with. But I’ve been there and done that and have the grief engrained into my soul to show for it. There was no way I could go through that again.

I’ve also seen what she’s been through, and even though she had many more years with Dad, it had still left an enormous hole in her heart too when he died. I’ve thought of looking for a male au pair, but figured I had Moira and family around who could help. Well, until this week, at least.

My world collapsed over four years ago when Cara died. I thought I knew of stress when Cara told me we were going to be teenage parents, but that was nothing to the week that saw the death of my wife, my sister Suzy, and my father.

Billy’s birth had been a blessing, despite the shock of the pregnancy. Cara and I were in love. She wanted to work the land with her family, and would have once I retired. She never got to live this dream though. I was drafted to the Monarchs. She dropped out of school, and we moved in with Moira and Bert. When Billy was two, and it was clear I was going to be a permanent fixture in the Monarch’s game, we bought some acreage just out of Bayside Cove where Cara could run some cattle, and our growing family could roam and run wild.Despite the challenges of being young parents, we were so happy, and I would choose to do it again in a heartbeat. There’s been little happiness since her death though.

My trip down memory lane is interrupted by Jackson. “Dad.” He pulls on my shirt, and I look up to see a young girl standing there with her father. She looked about Jackson’s age but has her thumb in her mouth. Her father is wearing a Monarch’s jersey and turns to show me my number, number four, on his back. They are both clearly fans.

“Hi, I’m Willo.” I crouch down next to the girl. Our PR department is strict with us about not pissing off fans in public. I hate being approached when I have my kids with me, but these were fans, and fans were part of the game.

“This is Hayley.” The father is shaking. I can’t tell if he is nervous or what.

“Hi, Hayley. Do you play football?” The child nods. “That’s great. Do you want to get a photo?”

Hayley’s father has his phone in his hand, and his trembling fingers take ages to get the camera working. I thought it would just be me and Hayley in the photo, but her father wants in too, and I end up taking a selfie of the three of us.

My own kids are used to this happening. In many ways, I hate that they think this is normal.

“Thanks so much. My missus isn’t going to believe this. You’re her hall pass, you know.” Oh, Jesus. I want this man to shut up.

“Thanks, man. Nice to meet you, Hayley.” I mean, I still don’t know how to respond to comments like that. They aren’t infrequent, either.

When Cara and Suzy died, the media had a field day. Sure, it was offseason, but that made it worse, as there wasn’t a lot of footy news to report on, so they went to town on me. A man being widowed and left a single parent of three young children shouldn’t have been news. I knew I wasn’t alone, but I wasn’t just anyone. I was Willo Lovemore, star player for the Bayside Monarchs.

“Daddy, what’s a hall pass?” Luna asks in a voice that makes shoppers around us glance our way.

“It’s like a kick that goes straight down the centre of the ground.” Jackson shakes his head, convinced he is right.

“Um…” I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell Jackson he’s wrong without explaining the implications to my daughter.

“Look, Dad, Cocoa Puffs are on special, can we get some?” Billy asks as we walk down the cereal aisle.

“Sure.” There is no point arguing. I am a pushover where my kids were concerned. They’ve lost so much already that I’m scared if I say no they’ll be scarred even more.

We make our way to the checkout, and I wish I’d shopped online and ordered the damn groceries to just be collected. I needed to get the kids out of the house, though. Who was I kidding? I needed to get out of the house. I gave up trying to organise the groceries at the register—the kids have other ideas, and I just hope the checkout operator knows how to pack appropriately.

I nod at the checkout operator, who I notice has braces on her teeth. “Hi, Lover Boy.” God, I hate that nickname. I suppose with a surname like Lovemore, it is almost inevitable, though. I can’t help but notice how this teenager sticks her breasts forward as she scans the items. Fuck. She looks like she is still at school. “I’m Cherise, and if ever you need a babysitter or anything, like anything at all…”

Luna and Jackson are busy picking through the chewing gum display at the register, while Billy is back reading his book. I want them to make a fuss so I can just ignore this woman, but they aren’t going to come to the party.

“Thanks, Cherise, but we’re fine.” My lips curve up, but it is forced.

“I could always come over, and once the kids are in bed, we could…”

No, we couldn’t. Christ on a bicycle. Get me out of here. I can feel my dick and balls shrivelling and climbing inside me at the thought. Sure, she’s pretty, but she’s young, and I’ve only ever been with one woman, the mother of my children. The thought of having sex with anyone else still sickens me. Cara ruined me for any other woman.

There is a cough behind us with an older woman looking to get her groceries processed through the checkout, too.

I tap my card to pay and take the kids outside to my truck. Piling the groceries in the back and making sure the kids are strapped in, I pull my phone from my back pocket. There is a message from Matty McLaughlin, our team’s captain.

Matty

Hey mate, thinking of you and wish you were with us. You’re here in spirit. Bel said if you need anything, give her a call.

I should have been the one texting Matty and telling my team to play well.

Thanks, mate. Now get the points for us, and I’ll be back before you know it.

Belinda, his wife, is thirty-seven weeks pregnant with their second child, and there’s no way I’m going to call on her for anything. She and Matty had always been amazing, and I knew they’d both come running if I needed them, but Bel doesn’t need to be worrying about me when she should be nesting, or whatever it is women do when they get ready to have a baby.

The drive home is uneventful. I’m glad we live a bit out of the city and can use the fifteen-minute drive to decompress from the stress of the shopping trip. It’s as if as soon as I leave the built-up area and see open fields, trees, and stock, I feel more relaxed. As much as I miss not being able to order pizza delivery, our lifestyle on our few acres of paradise is more relaxed and peaceful than it would be in the city.

“Can we go to the farm next weekend?” Jackson pleads as we unload the truck. “We could go for a swim in the dam with Uncle Muzza. ”

Lovemore Gap, the place that bore the name of my great-something-grandparents, is a couple of hours’ drive away. Caritas Downs, the property my family runs, was somewhere I didn’t venture. It held too many painful memories.

After three years, I finally relented and let my mother, brothers, and sister take my kids out to the farm, but I still refused to set foot near the place. After an almost idyllic childhood, it led to an adulthood of grief and despair, which I didn’t need to be reminded of.

Last year though, especially when we had away games, I let my family take the kids out to the place I’d grown up and spend a weekend with their uncle and aunt, and, of course, their Gaga, as they called my mum. Even after my injury, I let the kids go with my family, and I’d travel with the team.

“We’ll see.” I sighed. “Gaga won’t be home until after that, though, and Uncle Muzza and Auntie Charlene are busy and probably won’t have time to come and get you.”

Nicola, my mother-in-law, would probably come and get them, and I kept that thought at the back of my mind.

“You could take us after school on Friday, Dad.” Billy hoists a heavy bag of shopping and carts it towards the house.

“Daddy doesn’t go to the farm because it makes him sad,” Luna says almost matter-of-factly.

We head through the creaking wire door and into the kitchen Cara would have loved. Fuck. I really am screwing up my kids’ lives, aren’t I? I was lucky my family still talked to me after what I said after what happened. Perhaps it would have been easier to leave Lovemore Gap and my family behind. Perhaps I wasn’t really meant to be a father after all, and Billy, Jackson, and Luna would be better off without me in their lives. I started the day with such high hopes and a belief that I could be the amazing man they all needed, but I knew deep down I was lying.

I was in a funk again. My cycle of blame switched from me to Cara, to Suzy, to Dad. I wonder if any of it was going to get any easier. It’s been four years, and time heals all wounds apparently, but I know this isn’t true. Time heals nothing. It just makes things worse .

“Come on kids, let’s make nachos.” All three kids help put the groceries away, and I know I’ll have to go into the pantry and rearrange things later. “Shit. I forgot to grab a baguette to make garlic bread.”

“You said a rude word.” Luna points at me with her mouth wide open.

“Sorry, bubs, Daddy has a lot on his mind.” I pick her up and give her a hug. She looks just like her mother, with her dark curls and enormous amber eyes. Cara would hate to see me like this. I know that. But Cara isn’t here. Something in me died with her, and I truly believe I would never be the man I once was.

“I love you, Daddy.” Luna places a kiss on my stubbly cheek.

“I love you too, bubs.”

I just didn’t know if love was enough anymore.

“No, no, no.” I shake my hands above my head and yell at the screen. I’d relegated myself to my bedroom and let the kids watch a movie on the television in the family room. “Come on, Monarchs, you’re better than this,” I scream at the screen, my hands now tugging at my hair. “Come on, Silver. Get some power in your fucking legs.”

Cooper Sterling, or Silver as he is affectionately known, is having a terrible game. He is one of our star players, but is being expertly tagged by an opposition player. I suspect the Monarchs underestimated the Sydney Serpents, who finished near the bottom of the ladder last year.

We are down by fifteen points midway through the final quarter. There’s time, and three quick goals will seal it for us, but we aren’t playing well enough. The camera cuts to our coach, Garry ‘Gaz’ Trundle, as he throws his water bottle on the bench in front of him, dousing his computer with liquid. That none of the assistant coaches with him in the box go to move the laptop and potentially save it sums up the mood in there .

We end up losing by twenty-seven points. Not a thrashing, but still not good. The Serpents’ fans are going wild, and one might think they won the Premiership, not a round one game.

“Did we win?” Billy opens my door and comes to sit next to me on the bed.

“Nah, mate, but the season is young.” I ruffle his hair.

“They would have won if you were playing, Dad.”

I love the confidence my kids have in me.

“Thanks, buddy.” I liked that Billy still came and sat with me for a chat. “Is the movie finished?”

“Nah.” Billy was a kid of few words.

He must have sensed my mood because he simply gives me a quick hug before jumping down off the bed and leaving, closing the door behind him.

I should be playing. My knee is almost perfect. The damn medical and coaching staff just won’t listen.

It was round six last year when I tore my ACL. I knew it was probably going to be season-ending, but I’ve done everything anyone has asked of me and then some to recover quickly. From the outset, I was told at least twelve months away from the game, but my goal was to be back today, for the first game of the season.

“We’re taking it week by week, Lovemore, you know that. Keep on doing what you’re doing,” is all I ever hear.

I want to be out there playing, and by the looks of today’s match, my team needs me. Next weekend will be our first home game, a Saturday night special under lights. We’ll be playing the West Melbourne Warriors, who finished third on the ladder last year. They played last night and won convincingly. Sure, it was well known that teams coming down the highway to play at Kings Park were at a disadvantage because of our huge hometown crowd, but we need more than that to win next weekend.

Monday morning, I was going to be in Gaz’s office demanding a start in the team. They need me, and I need them.