Chapter 32

: Andi

I got away with it .

It’s been over a month and no one is the wiser.

Nathan has no idea what went down between Brandon and me. For the past four plus weeks, I’ve been meticulously scouring social media. I guess it’s true—out of sight, out of mind. For someone desperate for attention, that’s a bad thing.

I love it.

Not that I almost threw out my career for a man, but that the world seems to have forgotten that I exist.

My whole life has been spent flying under the radar. Being in the background. Not taking up space. Not being seen. I don’t know how to function otherwise.

Brandon Nix is exhibit A.

He put me in the center of his focus for two days, and I practically climbed that man like a tree.

I will until the end of time insist that it was because of the concussion. Yet deep down, I know it wasn’t.

I wanted him.

I wanted to kiss him.

Truth be told, I would have done more.

He made me feel valued and like I was the center of his world for a few minutes. I didn’t know how much I needed to feel that from someone. Never in a million years did I think that someone would be Brandon Nix.

It doesn’t matter.

It can never be again. I dodged a huge bullet on this. Let’s face it, I deserve to get fired. At least now I do. I mean, this situation is almost comical. The way this whole damn thing has played out. I would never have been with Brandon if I wasn’t trying to prove I wasn’t with Brandon.

Just saying that statement makes my head spin.

But it’s true. My mere existence as a woman put me under a microscope which set a chain of events in motion. When the accusations of fraternization started, there was definitely nothing going on between Brandon and me. So maybe I deserve my punishment now, but at least I finally did something to earn it.

At least if I get fired now, I’ll know what it felt like to have his lips on mine.

I should probably disclose this to Nathan as soon as possible.

It also means I’ll never officiate a men’s game again.

Lots of people do shady things and get away with it. I can still work this game and be fair. I’m not the head official. I’m scheduled to be the assistant for the game. Mike—unfortunately—will be the referee for the Wave vs. Buzzards. The game will not be in my hands. Mike will be in charge of the lion’s share of the calls.

I can be fair, even if I am a liar.

Mike calls me the night before the Soccer for Sibs event. “Wanna ride together tomorrow? You know, for old time’s sake?”

Ew, no. I have less tolerance for my ex-husband than ever. Brandon did more for me in four days than Mike did in two years. I was there for Mike, but I can honestly say the feeling wasn’t mutual. It was just as much my fault as Mike’s. I let it happen.

Like I’ve let most of my life happen.

Maybe I need to be a little more like Brandon.

I mean, not the rude, spluttering, Neanderthal parts, but the parts where he speaks up when there’s something that should be said.

You know, like when I’m not getting paid enough.

“I have to be down to Foxboro for 10 a.m., so I was planning on leaving by nine at the latest. How early are you going down?” I know damn well Mike won’t get to the game until the last possible minute. If I ever walked in right when I was supposed to, I’d be criticized for being late. No one blinks an eye when any male ref shows up right before it’s time to take the field.

Also, have I mentioned I hate running late?

“Ten? The game’s not until six. I didn’t plan on leaving until about four. Why so early? I mean, you’ve always been a little neurotic about being on time, but this is pushing it.”

I hold both middle fingers up in a silent salute to the man I cannot believe I married. Maybe next time I see him, I’ll do that to him in person. “There’s a charity event I’m appearing at before the game. It’s at the Buzzards’ practice facility.”

Mike scoffs. “Why’d they ask you? Nobody asked me to go.” The tone of his voice clearly indicates he’s hurt. He’s always had a fragile ego that needed lots of fluffing. He’s definitely a pick me type.

Also, he still cannot get it through his piddly brain that people value me and my work. I’m not his wife anymore, so it’s no longer my job to explain my worth. As long as I know it, that’s all that matters. Instead, I explain the premise of the event to him.

“Yeah, but why’d they pick you? I’m the head official for the game. It would make sense for me to be at the clinic.”

Mike only met Benj in person once or twice during the time we were together. Of course, one of those was at our wedding. I still talked to—and about—my brother all the time. The fact that Mike can so easily forget the person who means the most to me makes my blood boil.

“Maybe because I’m just like the kids who will be attending. I grew up with a sick sibling. I can relate to them.”

Mike laughs. “Andi, you can’t relate to anyone. You’re too much of a machine. You don’t even like kids. It’s why we never had any.”

Normally, my reaction to Mike would be to say something banal and placating, end the phone conversation as soon as possible, and then ruminate about it for months.

However, I don’t even know what normal is for me anymore. “Actually, Mike, for the record, I don’t have a problem with kids. What I do have a problem with is sacrificing my body to carry them when I’m already pushing myself to the peak of my performance levels just to do my job. Because my job—the thing I want most in the world—won’t cut me any slack for growing a human being. Instead, it would penalize my time off, thereby impacting my ability to be promoted to the next level. You would not have been forced to diminish your training or take time off. Your career would not have changed at all. And that’s just the pregnancy. How would we have ever raised a child working the schedules we worked? We could barely take vacations or even date nights. It would have meant the end of my career for me, and I wasn’t ready to give it up, certainly not for you.”

Then I disconnect.

It feels good to hang up on Mike.

It feels good to feel.

I pick up the phone and call him back. I don’t wait for him to say anything before launching in again. “And another thing, it’s ass that you get paid more for doing the same job and you know it and you haven’t said anything.”

“That’s why it would have made sense for you to take time off with the baby. The loss of my salary would have impacted us more.”

THIS IS THE ARGUMENT HE MAKES?

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. It’s a moot point now. We didn’t have kids because I didn’t want them with you. You’re not a good partner because you don’t see me as equal. You never have and you never will. I’ll see you at the game.”

I hang up for a second time.

We didn’t even fight like that when we were getting divorced. He told me I was boring and that I didn’t have a personality. He was also screwing a secretary at the USSLRA office.

Somehow, that didn’t endanger his career.

If anything, it made him more masculine and virile, which automatically made him more qualified to do his job.

It’s bullshit.

It’s in the past.

I don’t know what my future holds, except there’s no place for Mike in it. I’ve wasted enough time and energy on him.

It’s time to prepare not only for the game but the clinic tomorrow.

The more I look into JustSibs and their website, Coping Space, the more I’m learning about the effect growing up with Benj had on me. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I love my brother most of all. But I wish I knew how to love him without diminishing myself.

It’s a pattern I seem to be repeating.

I didn’t think there was enough time, love, and attention to go around. Benj obviously needed more than I did. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have any needs myself.

And aside from showing these kids at the clinic the very best time ever, I have one more thing I desperately need.

Equal pay for equal work.

––––––––

T HE MORNING OF THE clinic is here. I barely slept at all, thinking about the day to come. No problem, I can handle this.

I can handle anything.

Until I walk into the Boston Buzzards training facility and see Brandon Nix standing there.

My step falters before I regain my footing. The last time I stumbled because of Brandon I ended up with a mild brain injury, and we all know what happened next. I don’t think the outside observer would notice my slight loss of rhythm. Nor would they see the lump forming in my throat or the tightness constricting my chest.

He looks good.

His hair is slicked back into a low ponytail. It looks shorter than before. There’s not as much blond on the ends. His normal five o’clock shadow has grown in thicker, almost to a full beard at this point. He’s wearing his glasses.

Damn.

I love those glasses.

Brandon’s joking around with his teammates, bouncing a soccer ball on his knees.

I’ve been around soccer players my entire life. I’ve played soccer since I was a kid. Until the COVID pandemic, I played in a few recreational leagues. I’m not usually impressed with this type of horsing around.

Is it hot in here or is it his thighs?

I swallow, allowing myself one more look before I shut all those feelings away. I can’t have them. I can’t think them. They cannot exist.

It’s probably a good thing I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of experience not allowing myself to feel or express anything. I’m going to need every single bit of it today.