Always There

by Tiara Inserto

  Liana laughed. “Not easy being on the sidelines, is it?”

  He grunted.

  Still, Mitch’s presence was the anchor Liana needed. When practices were over and the press conferences concluded, they could retreat to their room, draw the curtains, and simply be Liana and Mitch.

  Liana was aware she was breaking glass ceilings. The coverage on her was no longer limited to the sports page. Her agent said he was getting offers from major companies seeking her endorsements. “Quarter of a million pounds for ONE endorsement, Liana,” he reported excitedly.

  In the end, the depth of experience, talent, and skill of the South American champions were too much for the Kiwis. The Argentinians won on penalties. Jerome Pillane’s blocked shot was enough to send the other team into the Cup final.

  Liana would always remember the moment she saw the ball enter their net on the last penalty kick. Their goalkeeper had guessed right: his fingers slightly grazed the ball, but he would be unable to stop the decisive kick. They’d lost after coming back twice in 120 minutes of football.

  Liana had doubled over; the strength of her despair surprised her physically. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Just a football match. She straightened up and looked to her side to see Phil’s stunned face. His hands were still on his head. The stadium was nothing but noise. Liana gave Phil a quick pat on the back.

  “It’s done. Get the men together. Time to thank the fans.”

  He nodded. He took a step forward but turned around to give her an unexpected hug. Liana watched him walk away: her tall, quiet, usually undemonstrative partner-in-crime these last four years. Deep breaths, deep breaths. The world is still watching...

  The roar of the stadium hadn’t subsided. Jubilant Argentinian fans were singing and chanting. She looked up briefly: blue and white swirling, faces of joy, tears of ecstasy. She knew those scenes, but this time they were at her team’s expense. Someone had to win, and someone had to lose. It was the nature of sports. It still hurt.

  Liana walked towards Jose Carinol, a little grateful he wasn’t one of the other managers who had looked at her with disdain and disbelief over the years. Carinol, a short man with keen eyes, saw her approaching and shrugged off others who came to congratulate him.

  While they shook hands, he spoke. “What you’ve been able to do with this team, Señora, is nothing short of amazing. You pushed my team harder than I’ve ever thought possible. Your men deserve all the respect we can give you.”

  Liana recognized the significance of Carinol’s statement, said within earshot of dozens of microphones and journalists. “Thank you, Jose. This was something I will always remember. Good luck in the finals.”

  The roar around the stadium, indistinguishable between cheers of joy or cries of despair, continued to swell in volume. Security guards were finally on hand to give her some space. She just wanted to gather the men up and move them off the field.

  She reached Henry first, still seated, his eyes reflecting his disbelief. Liana patted him on his back and whispered in his ear. “I couldn’t be prouder of you. Come on. Help me get the team together.”

  She hurried to one player after another. “Be proud,” she said, encouragingly. There’ll be time for more words later. As she moved toward her men, she accepted handshakes from the Argentinians, noticing that they were also approaching her team. They wanted to exchange shirts, she realized. The number two team in the world wanted their shirts.

  She finally saw Jerome, sitting on the halfway line. Arms around his knees, his body hunched in dejection. She kneeled in front of him. Smiling gently, she lifted his face with her hand. He had never looked so vulnerable, her brave, brave captain. He had started this journey for her. He had said she would be perfect for this job. He was half-right. It was this team that was perfect for her.

  “You didn’t lose this,” Liana said. “Our little team took the South American champions to penalties. We didn’t lose. I don’t care what the score-line is. You played like warriors. None of you gave up.”

  Jerome nodded as his tears continue to fall. He exhaled, trying to compose himself, and when he got up, he pulled her with him.

  “Now, go and lead the haka,” Liana said. “We have several thousand fans over here we need to thank.” She heard her name being called. The captain of the Argentinian team was walking toward her.

  She put her hand out to congratulate the World Player of the Year. Miguel Benitez shook it firmly. “I hope I will one day have the honor of playing for you, Liana Murphy.”

  “The honor would be mine, Miguel.”

  Miguel smiled shyly. He turned to Jerome and swiftly took off his shirt, handing it to the stunned captain.

  “You, my friend, are an incredible football player,” Benitez said. “I will consider our battle today as one of the best matches I’ve ever played in.”

  “Thanks,” said Jerome. “That means a lot, especially coming from you. And congratulations.” They shook hands. There was a pause.

  “Uh... May I have your shirt?” the Argentinian asked.

  Jerome’s head jerked up, his stunned expression replaced by a sheepish grin. “Sorry.” The two captains laughed as he quickly took off his shirt and handed it to Benitez. With one more glance at Liana, holding Benitez’s shirt in hand, Jerome jogged towards the end of the field where their fans remained.

  Liana looked at the side of the stadium where most of the Kiwi supporters were. What a turnout! So many of them so far from home. And judging from their faces, their singing, and their continual applause, they were proud of their team. The players assembled ahead of her; the reserves and staff stood behind those who had played. She stopped at a respectful distance, a familiar shiver going through her at what she was about to witness. Tradition never grows old.

  Jerome’s loud, passionate call for a haka temporarily quieted that side of the stadium. The team responded. They yelled and chanted from their hearts, hands slapped on thighs and chests. Performing motions learned since childhood, they raised their arms to the sky, honoring the history of their country.

  As she heard the words, Liana thought about her own journey to reach this moment.

  She came to New Zealand for a job, but somewhere along the way, it stopped being a job. It became bigger than that, bigger than her, bigger than the sport. The voices that reverberated through the still-full stadium reminded her she was just part of a story that was meant to continue long after the final whistle was blown.

  She was hired to take the team to Brazil. The reality was that the team brought her. They trusted her because she was now one of them.

  When the haka was over, she walked to join the team in applauding the supporters. But the men had, instead, turned to face her. She stood in place, surprised. The players, still bare-chested, moved aside to let Jerome position himself at the front of the group. They fell behind him, followed by the support staff and reserves. A voice from the stands called for another haka.

  “Ringa pakia!”

  It was a powerful voice that pierced through all the noise and activity around them.

  It was the voice of a leader.

  She looked up to searched the crowd. It couldn’t be...

  Mitch?

  * * *

  It had been a few years since Mitch led the haka, especially in the colors of his country.

  Chris Harris had given him a pass to enter the lower stands as well as a familiar looking black shirt. Mitch immediately recognized the number he used to play in.

  Harris smiled when he saw Mitch’s confusion. “Barnsey said to give this to you,” he explained. “Apparently, he follows Twitter quite religiously during the World Cup. He said to tell you that she deserves to receive this with one of the legends of rugby leading it.”

  Who knew Barnsey could be a romantic? But Barnsey was right. He touched the fern emblem briefly before changing. Many, many good memories came with wearing this shirt. Today would be another.

  Mitch waited until the players on the field finishe
d their haka before moving forward. As he did so, he heard a few cries of congratulations. He looked around, nodded acknowledgments, and shook a few hands. The fans seem to know what was to happen. Nicole Pillane’s tweet must have spread like wildfire. The fans were as committed to this as he was. Mitch examined the faces around him; they were excited and determined. He looked onto the field.

  The players were now in position, having changed their formation to face his wife. His heart swelled at seeing her. His beautiful wife looked both vulnerable yet strong. She stood there, confused but unintimidated at the sight of her players, all of them now shirtless, facing her. She couldn’t see it, but the Argentinians were gathered at the halfway line. They, too, wanted to honor his wife. No one was leaving. He took a deep breath.

  “Ringa pakia!”

  The football team on the field responded, as did the fans. Startled, Liana now turned to the stands.

  Mitch paced as he made calls to action, his heartbeat matching the tempo that began with his first cry. Each response came louder, swifter and more determined until the stadium pulsated with an ancient beat he couldn’t remember not knowing. Adrenaline shot through his body; his breath quickened. Mitch looked to the field and found Liana’s eyes....as they did years ago across a crowded ballroom. In that instance, he knew she saw only him. He raised his arm and pointed at her. This is for you, my love!

  “I Karanga atu ia i mua i tana wahine!”

  * * *

  In Christchurch, Mark’s head was buried in his hands. Liana’s grandfather was also in the room, his head still shaking. Connor looked dazed. Cat was beside him, wanting to say something but lost for words. Anusha had left the room, saying she was going to take Jayne out for fresh air, even though Jayne and Fred were still in the room. No one had noticed how the toddlers were decorating the Persian carpet with newly discovered markers. Natasha was still in the kitchen, having retreated there during the penalties, unable to watch.

  For as long as he lived, Mark knew he’d never forget the look on Liana’s face when the last penalty kick went past the New Zealand goalkeeper. It was agony personified.

  “Mark,” Raj said, his voice urgent. “Is that what I think that is?”

  Mark’s gaze followed Raj’s finger pointing to the TV. His own disbelief grew at what he saw.

  “Turn it up, Mark!” Raj instructed. “Anusha! Natasha! Come here quick. You have to see this!”

  * * *

  “This is unbelievable, folks,” said seasoned sports commentator, Bryan Richmond. “If you’re not familiar with rugby, the great Mitch Molloy, former captain of the current world champions is in the stands leading a haka. Molloy is also the husband of football manager, Liana Murphy. This is quite the moment for them both.

  “The Kiwi fans are joining the players in paying what must be the ultimate compliment to the manager. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, we have witnessed history with her presence at this tournament. And what a tournament it has been for the Kiwis!

  “Listen to that. I’d recommend turning that volume up high! Thousands are chanting a haka, the traditional Maori war cry. While many of us may have been introduced to it because of the All Blacks, the haka is used widely in New Zealand culture to honor people and recognize major achievements.

  “Look at Liana Murphy. She’s positively stunned.”

  * * *

  Liana kept her head bowed as her body trembled, the chants filling her very being. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but this time, there was no reason to hide them. They were no longer tears of despair but of pride.

  When it was over, the sound from the crowd was ear-shattering. Liana brought her hands to her heart before extending her arms. “Thank you,” she mouthed. “Thank you.”

  She looked for Mitch in the stands. Their eyes met again. He smiled and told her he loved her. She knew she couldn’t hear him, but she felt those words as deeply as she did the first time he’d said them. Life was still unpredictable, but they were going to live it together. He was there for her. He was there for her as her husband and as a peer. He’d always been there.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered back. He winked. And suddenly, she was laughing, the joy of the moment erasing any other feeling. Jerome came up to her, Benitez’s shirt now on. His eyes shining, he bowed slightly. “May I have the honor of escorting you off the field?”

  Liana placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Certainly, Captain.”

  She turned her head slightly and caught sight of the Argentinian team, now all dressed in the New Zealand kits and applauding.

  She returned her gaze to Jerome. “Like I said, I don’t care what the score-line is. We didn’t lose tonight.”

  Jerome looked back at the stands, still full of cheering fans. “No, ma’am. We didn’t lose tonight.”

  EPILOGUE

  The wind blew gently across the back of the house. Jayne was sleeping in the crook of Mitch’s arm, her face at an angle, with a small stream of drool making its way down her chin. She is perfection. Her fingers rested on top of the teeth marks she had viciously put into his left arm this morning. His wife’s bare feet were on his lap. He had been massaging them absentmindedly, enjoying the feel of her skin. He glanced at Liana. She had fallen asleep about fifteen minutes ago, her body now snuggling into the swing that carried them all. She looked peaceful... and beautiful.

  Mitch kept the slow rhythm of the swing with his feet; the cadence of the creaky brackets broke the silence of the afternoon.

  Two months after Liana and her team finished their campaign in Brazil, life was slowly becoming understandable again. The phones were no longer ringing off the hooks; there were no more parades and fewer requests for interviews. Neither of their names was on the front pages of the newspapers or websites.

  Not for long though. Liana’s new book, which would share her experiences with depression, would be published in a month. He’d signed his own book contract that morning for a cookbook to be co-written with Cat. But it wasn’t the only offer he had to consider.

  His old Club approached him to return for another season of rugby. Soon after, Connor came by to say the National Team would also be interested in having him back on the squad if the club season went well.

  A part of him was still willing to try, still hungry to play, still loving the idea of being part of the team. Even though he had accomplished all he ever wanted in the sport he loved, he was motivated by the possibility of sharing another World Championship with Connor. New Zealand could make history as the first team to retain the title, and they’d do it at Twickenham, the home of rugby union.

  But he was now part of something new. The last year had taught him that if he could come home to a biting toddler and to a healthy wife who would still make him catch his breath, he couldn’t ask for more. For all the glory he had experienced as a rugby player, this moment, sitting on a bed swing he never wanted, was far more satisfying than anything he could have ever imagined.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  One of the many things travel has taught me is that one never reaches a destination alone. Even when traveling solo, I’ve depended on the kindness of both strangers and friends for direction, advice, instruction...and free lodgings! The journey to this first book is no different.

  My family—parents, sisters, children, uncles/ aunts, cousins, in-laws—I thank you for the inspiration, support, and encouragement. My friends—especially MCS’88 and the Hoopies—your excitement over this is humbling.

  CAG, my book club, my beta readers: thank you for being among the first to believe this could happen.

  Rebecca Syme, Lisa Schaeffer, Jessica O’Dwyer, Lissa Carlino, the Cheeky Tarts, and the Writing Gals: I’m grateful for your generosity of time and insights into this crazy world of writing and publishing.

  Sheila Baptista, Richard Foster, Pauline and Jason Cundall, for pointing me in the right direction regarding information, maps and rugby schedules!

  Lee Smith, Nicola Ann Pike and her colleagu
e for help with the Maori language.

  The generous souls who were willing to share their experiences with depression: I’m honored and humbled by your trust.

  SPS Publishing for your guidance.

  And to my beloved husband, for always being there.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When not overwhelmed by laundry or making quick runs to the stores for last-minute dinner ideas, Tiara Inserto writes.

  She’s a better spectator than an athlete but loves the narratives found in the world of sport, including that of romance!

  A graduate of Marymount College (Palos Verdes), the University of San Francisco and Exeter University, Tiara makes her home in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and four children. “Always There” is her debut novel.

  Tiarainserto.com @te_inserto facebook.com/tiarainsertoauthor

  Pssst!

  Look out for “Always You,” Book 2 of the Rugby Brothers series, where rugby superstar Blake Stanton unexpectedly reunites with his childhood crush. Available in Spring 2019!