Support Play

by Ella Jackson

  "Is anything wrong?"

  She waited until Daisy had climbed into the back seat of our car, and I had shut the door, before she answered. "No, not at all. Daisy is doing great; her test scores and comprehension are above average for her age, and she's fitting in really well with the rest of the class. She's even got them playing soccer at lunch. Some of the boys complained, but now they all seem to be enjoying."

  I reddened slightly. "I, um, that wasn't my idea, okay? This isn't some kind of Tiger Woods child prodigy situation. Seriously. To be honest, I'd be pretty happy for Daisy to never play soccer."

  She laughed, not unkindly. "I get it. No, they're just kids, having fun. I'll let you know if they start talking about transfer fees and red cards and goal-line technology. No, what I wanted to talk to you about was that Daisy seems lonely sometimes."

  "Lonely?" My heart sank. The thought of my girl being lonely at school or saying something like that to another person, was awful. "Look, honestly, Ms. Cooke, I had no idea… I mean, it seems like she's got lots of friends and…"

  She reached out a hand and touched my arm lightly. "Please, call me Samantha. And please don't worry. This is a very common situation for children of single-parent families. She talks all the time about you, and all the things you do together, non-stop. No, it's just that moving to a new town is always tough on kids, no matter what. She idolises you, you know that?"

  "I guess so. Although I don't know why sometimes. Look, is there anything I can do about it at the moment?"

  She shakes her head a little sadly. "No, I don't think there is. Just keep an eye on her, and make sure that she has time with kids her own age as much as possible. Maybe you could join some kind of coffee group?" She saw the look on my face at the mention of the words 'coffee group' and smiled. "I appreciate that this is unusual for you, Mr Williams. Let's just stay in touch, and I'm sure everything will be okay."

  I nodded, still wondering if there was something more I should be doing.

  "On another topic," Samantha said eagerly, "what about the Thunderbirds next game, then? How are you feeling about it?"

  "Pretty good," I said, wryly, "thanks for asking. I guess you have to take an interest in everyone's job, right?"

  "I do, but this is a personal interest not a professional one. I spent a graduate summer teaching in Europe, and came back a soccer fan. I was so excited when I heard Cheyenne was getting its own team, that I went right out and bought all the memorabilia."

  She opened her handbag to show me a brand-new Thunderbirds scarf in our purple and white colours, and I couldn't help smiling. Looks like some of that outreach stuff Jessie keeps going on about really does work.

  "Awesome." I said it with genuine goodwill. "To answer your question more fully, I think we doing okay. We've still got a lot to do to gel, but things are coming together pretty well, and now the first game is behind us, some of the nervousness is over and done with. That makes a big difference."

  She patted me on the arm again. "I get it. You guys are going to kick ass this season, I just know it!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn't help smiling along with her. "I did have a favour to ask, though - we're opening the new gymnasium next month, and finally getting rid of that awful concrete-block dungeon over there." She indicated a squat building on the far side of the school grounds with her arm. "Is there any chance we could get you to come and take part?"

  I smiled. "Well, I can't promise anything, but I think we can probably come up with something." Privately, I knew that this was the kind of outreach stuff the Thunderbirds loved doing. We'd be there in force, I guessed.

  "Oh, that's wonderful! I do hope you can. Anyway, I mustn't keep you. Thanks so much for making the time to talk to me, Mr Williams."

  "You too, Samantha. Take care now." She turned away, her practised eye scanning the line of cars, parents and children, busying themselves with getting home.

  I climbed into the front seat of my car, and patted Daisy on the knee. "You okay there, kiddo?"

  "Sure, dad. Ms Cooke is really nice, isn't she?" Daisy was fiddling absentmindedly with her pigtail as we pulled out into traffic. "She's always really interested when I tell her about soccer, and about all the places we've visited because of your games."

  "Yeah, kiddo, she is nice. She cares about you a lot." My phone beeped, and without thinking I looked down at it, provoking a squawk from Daisy.

  "Daddy! You know you're not supposed to look at your phone in the car!" Her admonishing tone gave me a pang of guilt. Since she had been old enough to understand what had happened to her mom, she'd been terrified of anyone doing anything in a car which was unsafe, and she wouldn't stop until we had pulled over.

  I put the phone on the passenger's seat. "Sorry, kiddo, you're right. My bad." A harrumphing noise from the back seat suggested that I hadn't been entirely forgiven yet.

  Later, when we were home, Daisy fed, and happily lying on the rug, playing with Cyrus, I glanced at my phone. It was a message from Keisha.

  >Hi Dale, it's Keisha Gilmore here. Regarding the profile on you, I suggest we meet at the Thunderbirds training facility to conduct the remainder of the interview. This will ensure an appropriate atmosphere.

  I muttered a curse, under my breath. Apologising by text message rarely worked well, so I decided to play it straight until I could see her in person.

  >Hi Keisha. Okay. How about Wednesday afternoon? I'm looking forward to it. Look, I'm sorry about what happened; I owe you an apology.

  There was a lengthy pause before I received a reply.

  >Wednesday afternoon is good for me, Dale. I'm as keen to wrap up this profile and move forward as you are.

  Ouch. Okay, this wasn't going to be easy. The rest of the evening I spent absentmindedly thinking about how I could make things up to Keisha Gilmore.

  Eleven

  Keisha

  Dale was already waiting for me when I walked through the door of the facility for our interview. There were a few other people milling around, getting ready for the afternoon, but I didn't recognise any of them.

  He met my gaze, and I stared back at him, determined not to give him the satisfaction of showing how upset I am. There was a brief silence, and for a moment I thought he was going to apologise, but he looked at the floor. When he looked back up, I had my hand out.

  "Dale." His name sounded awkward and croaky in my throat, after the last time I'd been calling it out as I came. "Thanks for making time to see me again."

  "Yeah, sure. My pleasure." Again he looked like he was about to say something, but then looked away and indicated a doorway through which I could see a meeting room. "Look, I've organised a room for us to talk and. I hope that's okay. Jessie is, uh, very keen for you to have whatever support you need." A pause. "And so am I."

  "Great, great." This was a ridiculous conversation, and I felt like I wanted to shout at him, berate him for being such an asshole. But instead I just gripped my bag tightly and walked through the doorway into a small meeting room. Dale went to pull out a chair for me, but I deliberately ignored him, sitting in another chair some distance from him. He sighed, and sat down abruptly.

  "Look, I –"

  I cut him off. "Dale, let's get this interview done, okay. I'm sure we've both got a lot to do." Pulling my note pad from my bag, I pushed my chair back and crossed my legs in front of me in what I hoped was a formal and businesslike manner. I had spent an hour this morning changing outfits, trying to find one that didn't scream 'angry'.

  Clearing my throat, I clicked my pen loudly and made a show of looking at my pad. "So, last time we talked, I asked about public expectations on you. How would you say that you manage attention from fans?"

  Dale shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. Just looking at his face, you would think he was genuinely upset, but I reminded myself that he wasn't, or it wouldn't have thrown me out of this house.

  After we made out.

  "Keisha, about what happened between us, I didn't want
–"

  I put my pen down on the table, harder than I expected, and the clatter almost made me jump. "Dale, there's no need to talk about it. I think it's best if we agree that it was just a one-off event, and we need to keep this interview professional from now on. Okay?"

  He bristled, dark eyes flashing. "Look, you don't understand. I wasn't being evasive because of you."

  "I understand everything I need to, Dale," I snapped at him, drumming my fingers on my thigh in an attempt to keep my emotions from showing. "I understand that you had your fun, but you screwed up. You realised you had another woman to see, maybe even coming to your place – how do I know? – And you couldn't wait to get me out of there fast enough."

  "Dammit, Keisha, let me finish." I could tell he was frustrated, but I didn't want to hear it.

  "The thing I am mostly concerned about from that whole sorry episode, Dale," I continued, "is whether your other woman – or women – know about what you do when you meet people in a professional context. You don't exactly have a reputation as a Casanova like Ricky does, but maybe that's what you used to lure them in."

  He stiffened visibly, the apologetic look gone from his face, replaced by a scowl. "I've never done any of the things you're accusing me of. Not once. Don't talk about things you don't know a damn thing about, okay?"

  He was angry, but I was angry too. "Fine. With this other woman say the same thing?"

  "The other woman is eleven years old." The words were hissed between his teeth, and directed at me with such intensity that I pushed myself backwards involuntarily. "She's my daughter, Daisy. I had to go and pick up from school."

  Every word stabbed at me. "Dale I – I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell me at the time?"

  "Because it's not something I talk about to people I've only just met, okay? Even if, well, something like that happens. Not that it ever has before." His voice was low now, but still with an undercurrent of anger. "I was this close to telling you, but when I saw the look in your eyes, there was no damn use. You've made up your mind about me before I even had a chance to explain. Besides, it's none of your goddamned business."

  My cheeks burned, and I tried to find some way out of the mess I've gotten myself into. "But what – what happened? Why wouldn't you tell anyone?"

  Dale leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. Both hands on his forehead, massaging his temples, as if he had a headache. "Because I don't want her to be part of the whole mess of professional sport, that's why. Daisy lost her mother when she was very young; she barely remembers Julia. One of the last things Julia said to me was that she didn't want Daisy to make the same mistakes I had. And she meant get involved in professional sport."

  "I understand." I was searching for things to say that didn't make me look like any more of an idiot than I already was. "I didn't mean to –"

  "She was killed in a car accident, to save you from having to ask. We had an argument. An argument about my training, and what my time away is doing to Daisy. About what it was going to do to Daisy when she was growing up. It's fair to say we didn't agree." He was silent for a minute, and I saw the look of sadness on his face. "We never really got a chance to reach an agreement, you know."

  I wanted so badly to reach out and take his hand, but the table between us felt like an unbridgeable gap. The silence in the room was almost deafening. "Dale, I didn't mean to cut you off. I think I jumped to conclusions, and for that I'm sorry." I looked at him carefully. "Will you accept my apology?"

  He didn't answer for a minute, and looked away into the corner of the room. "You know people wanted me to have Daisy adopted? They seriously thought, that I wanted to get her out of my life after Julia died. Like she was some kind of inconvenience, some kind of impediment to my career."

  The tone of scorn in his voice was palpable. "I read every book I could find about how to be a single parent. Even now I still have packing cases full of the goddamned things. But the one thing that I did learn from them – and it wasn't much – is that I think Julia was right in the end. Since that day, I told myself that I would never let my career take me away from Daisy. So, all of my career choices since then have been around what's best for her."

  "That's why you took the contract here, right?"

  He nodded. "Yep. Three years, with an extension. Less money than almost any other contract, but more security. I know I'm still one of the best defenders in the league, and I know that I could get twice as much playing anywhere else. But nowhere else could guarantee me a contract where I wouldn't have to move. Now Daisy is going to school, and we're staying put."

  I leaned all the way over the big conference table, and put my hands on his. "Dale, I'm sorry. I judged you wrong. Thank you for telling me this."

  He looked down and shook his head. "Look, it – it's still difficult. It's not something I like talking about." Looking up, I saw a look of quiet sadness. "But I'm glad I did."

  I was acutely aware of the warmth of his hand under mine, and the detail of the ropes of muscle on his forearm, and the sound of his breathing. Almost without thinking I leaned closer toward him, and my hand reached up to trace the line of his jaw. "I'm glad too."

  Our lips met again, slowly and gently this time. Once, twice, then again with increasing urgency. "Keisha, is this what you really want?"

  I couldn't do anything except nod. He kissed me again, pulling me half across the table to him, one big arm around my shoulders. Underneath his passion, I felt a sense of relief, and I wished I could tell him right in that moment how glad I was to feel him open up to me.

  "Dale, please, I-fuck." Desire was flooding through me again, and I was doing my best to ignore the warning voice in my brain that said 'you're making out in a fucking conference room, crazy girl! Get a grip on yourself!'

  We broke off the kiss, we looked at each other for a long while, and he released me reluctantly. I slid back down to my side of the table, breathing hard.

  "Wow." There was a brief pause, and he nodded.

  "Yeah." As my breathing returned to normal, I became uncomfortably aware of how wet he was making me again. I made a mental note to bring a spare pair of panties on every interview with Dale Williams in future.

  "I need to see you again." His tone was urgent. "We can't keep doing this, or, well, my teammates are going to find out, and believe me, neither of us want that."

  I rolled my eyes. "Do you know how many rules about journalistic integrity I'm violating right now?" From the look on his face, I wasn't sure he cared that much, but I was determined to hang on to some shred of credibility.

  "Yeah, I guess so. Look, I want to take you out. Tomorrow night? You name a time, and we'll do whatever you want." His smile was implacable. "I figure that's the least you owe me for thinking that I was some kind of creepy Casanova."

  I put my hands to my mouth in mock horror. "That's playing dirty, Mr Williams. In fact I'd go so far as to say that's a guilt trip."

  "Whatever. You do what you have to do to get the right result." Now it was his turn to reach across the table, and his big hand worked its way up my forearm, very gently sending a shiver from my neck all the way down to my thighs. "Is it a deal?"

  I took a deep breath. "I guess it's a deal." Then a thought struck me. "But not dinner. Lunch. And you're taking me to a park."

  "A park? It's a bit cold for a picnic. But okay."

  I smiled back at him, an idea forming. "And bring a soccer ball. I need to do some research, I think."

  Twelve

  Dale

  As soon as Keisha jogged toward me across the damp grass of the Park, smiling, I know from the look on her face that things were looking up.

  "Hey." She was dressed in cargo pants and a puffer jacket, keeping her warm against the cold, and what on anyone else would look nondescriptive somehow managed to be endearingly cute and just a little bit sexy on her. "I figured we'd need something to keep warm. Wait there."

  Rummaging through her bag she produced a thermos flask. "Coffee, brewed
fresh this morning. I hope you don't mind it black."

  I took the thermos from her, unscrewed it, and took a drink. "My favourite. As a matter of fact, I could use some coffee. I've been up since five this morning, getting ready for training."

  Her face took on a look of concern. "Is this okay? I mean, if you were an NFL football player or something, I assume your contract wouldn't allow you to go out and play street football, right?"

  "No, I guess it wouldn't," I smiled, "but thankfully Major League Soccer is a little bit less extreme about that kind of thing. I think my contract says I'm not allowed to go skydiving or suddenly take up bullfighting, and knife throwing is probably out as well. But other than that I can pretty much do what I want." I produced a soccer ball from my bag, and spun it on one finger. "Ready to go for a walk?"

  "Sure thing." She fell in beside me, as we walked across the park, and I talked about the history of Association football, in the UK and in America, and about the formation of MLS. She wasn't taking notes, but she listened to what I was saying with a rapt attention, looking up at me intently, occasionally stopping me to ask a question, and I knew that she was taking it all in, not just being polite.

  Most girls would listen to this politely for about 30 seconds or so, before getting bored and checking their Instagram feed; maybe that was why I was single.

  We moved out into the open space and I rolled the ball in front of me. "Okay, now kick it back to me."

  For a little while, we kicked the ball back and forth, talking easily as we did. I showed her where to strike the ball for maximum impact, and about how to guide her passes. She picked things up pretty quickly, and by the end of about 20 minutes, we were dribbling the ball back and forth to each other easily.