Grand Slam

by Tracie Delaney

  Pete glanced down and rubbed at the wet patch her tears had created. “It’ll soon dry.”

  “At least dab it with some water. The salt will make the fabric go stiff.”

  “Are we really sitting here talking about my bloody shirt? What do you need me to do?”

  She took a breath and met his gaze. “Can I have my job back?”

  “No.”

  Tally blanched, a sudden coldness striking her core at his harsh and instantaneous refusal of her request. “Why not? It’s what I need.”

  “No, it isn’t. What you need is space. Time to get your head around what’s happened. Coming back to work, with the resultant stress, is the last thing you need.”

  Tally repetitively rubbed her forehead. “I’m not earning enough freelancing yet. I need a steady income. I can’t afford to take a break or wallow in self-pity. I know I’ve messed you about, but please, Pete. I’m begging you.”

  Pete chewed his lip and didn’t answer. She needed him to agree. If he didn’t take her back, she didn’t know what she’d do for money. She couldn’t expect Em to subsidise her living expenses. Em barely earned enough to keep herself afloat.

  “You have money,” Pete finally said.

  Tally frowned in confusion, and then her eyes widened. “I will not be using Cash’s credit card, if that’s what you mean. I’m cutting it up as soon as I get home.”

  “No, that’s not it. You have your own money.” When Tally stared in utter bewilderment, Pete continued. “Your dad had an insurance policy that paid out when he died. The money went into a trust. I’m the trustee.”

  Almost robotically, Tally raised a hand to her head. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

  Pete shrugged apologetically. “Your dad insisted I was to let you have the money only when a real need arose. That time is now.”

  It took a second or two for the information to sink in. When it did, her relief was tinged with annoyance at the collusion. “I can’t believe this.”

  Pete patted her hand. “I did what I thought was best. I was planning to give you the money on your wedding day, but now…”

  “How much money?”

  Pete rocked his head from side to side. “About one hundred and fifty thousand.”

  Tally’s mouth dropped open. “A hundred and fifty thousand pounds?”

  He cracked a small smile. “Yes.”

  “Holy shit.” Tally rose from her seat and paced across the room. This was unbelievable. Unbelievable. Her dad had died right before the credit crunch hit, and by the time she’d recovered enough from the shock to agree to sell the house, the proceeds had barely covered the mortgage. And now this bombshell. That amount of money would bring her freedom, choice. It would give her space to sort out her screwed-up life, not to mention her screwed-up head.

  “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “Oh, Uncle Pete, thank you.” She flung herself at him, and as his arms came around her once more, a wave of unconditional love brought tears to her eyes.

  “I still think you should call Cash,” Pete said when they finally broke apart.

  “He hasn’t called me.” Tally winced as the hollow ache in her chest made a comeback.

  “Do you really want to play that game?”

  She got to her feet. “It’s over. Let it lie.”

  “Why don’t I call him? Have a chat. Man to man.”

  “No.” Her hands formed into fists. “I’m not a child. Leave it, please.”

  Pete made a frustrated noise. “All relationships go through bad times, Tally, although you and Cash have had more than your fair share. You need to remember, the ones that survive are where both sides fight, and fight hard.”

  She exhaled on a sigh. “I would fight if Cash would let me, but he’s given up—on himself and on us. What else can I do?” A pang in her heart made it difficult to breathe, and she rested a hand against the fireplace to steady herself.

  Pete’s face softened. “Look, go back to Em’s and have a think about what you want to do, but my advice, for what it’s worth, is to take your time. There’s no need to do anything rash.”

  Tally chewed over Pete’s revelation as she rode the tube back to the flat. As she walked up to Em’s building and let herself in, a wave of nostalgia brought a smile to her lips. Although Dad was no longer alive, he’d still managed to save her.

  2

  Cash listlessly reached for his phone when the damned thing pinged again with an incoming message. Seven missed calls, twenty unanswered texts, multiple WhatsApp notifications.

  None of them from Natalia.

  He tossed his phone beside him. He’d made his feelings perfectly clear, and she’d listened—thank fuck. If she’d stayed, it would only be a matter of time before he hurt her, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Doing the right thing didn’t ease his pain, though.

  His phone rang, and regardless of the internal conversation he’d just had, hope spiked within him. He glanced at the screen—and came crashing back to earth. Mum calling again. He needed to answer it, put her mind at rest, but he couldn’t face the questions she would undoubtedly ask about Natalia. He’d have to explain how he’d thrown her out in the middle of the night with nowhere to go.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. God, he was a fucker. He’d told her that on their first date, but she hadn’t listened. She wanted him anyway, and for a time, he truly believed they could be happy, that he could have a normal life like everyone else.

  How wrong he’d been. He could blame the accident, but it was a catalyst really, a way for the universe to readjust to how things were meant to be.

  He scraped a hand through his hair. He missed her. It had only been three days since she’d left, and he missed her more than he ever thought possible.

  Cash wandered aimlessly around the house, catching sight of himself in the hallway mirror. He looked like shit—hair unkempt, beard in desperate need of a trim. He had dark circles under his eyes, an outward sign of an internal battle.

  The buzzer sounded, telling him someone was at the front gates. Well, they could fuck off. He didn’t want to see anyone.

  “Cash, it’s Mum. Is everything okay?”

  Not even her.

  “I don’t care how long I have to stand here before you let me in, but you should know it’s raining. Do you want me to catch cold?”

  He grimaced as guilt pinched at his insides. Of course not. What does she take me for?

  “Tally, open the gates, darling, or so help me, I’m climbing over.”

  Fuck.

  He pressed the buzzer, estimating it would take his mother about two minutes to walk up the drive. He had two minutes to get his shit together and try to find a way to explain why Natalia wasn’t there.

  He didn’t get two minutes. Sixty seconds later, Mum knocked at the door.

  “You should have called.” Cash opened it, ignoring her shocked face as she got a good look at him.

  “I did. Several times.” Rachael closed the door behind her and followed him into the living room. Her eyes fell on the broken vase he still hadn’t dredged up the energy to tidy since he’d smashed it three days earlier. He hadn’t aimed for Natalia. Had he?

  “What’s going on? Where’s Tally? And why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “That’s a lot of questions,” he muttered, dragging a trembling hand through his hair.

  “So take them one at a time.”

  “Fine,” he snapped. “I’m losing my fucking mind. Natalia isn’t here because I threw her out, and I’m not answering my phone because I don’t fucking want to talk to anyone.”

  He sank onto the sofa and glanced at the floor because he couldn’t stand to look at the stunned expression on his mother’s face. Silence lay thick between them. It was his responsibility to speak first, but the words of apology stuck in his throat.

  The sofa dipped as his mother sat beside him. Her fingers wrapped around his, a
nd she squeezed. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “No.”

  “Is she okay?” she asked gently.

  He flashed her a black look. “You mean have I turned into my father?”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” she said in an indignant tone. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Cash.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “She’s fine. But she won’t be if she stays with me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He faced her, hot tears burning his eyes because he refused to let them fall. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I get angry over nothing, and I have no control over it. I can’t turn into him, Mum.”

  “Oh, Cash.” She put her arms around him. For a few seconds, he remained stiff, but as she hugged tighter he gave in, sinking against her. She stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear.

  “I had to make her go, because if I didn’t, I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t hurt her.”

  She gently cupped his face, giving him no choice but to look at her. “You need help, sweetheart.”

  He jerked his head back and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not seeing a shrink.”

  A resigned sigh spilled from her lips. “Then there must be someone you can talk to. Someone who understands what you’re going through.”

  He pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he contemplated his mother’s idea. There was someone, but Cash hadn’t seen him in a long while. Far too long.

  The time had come to build bridges.

  Cash managed to find a space in a cramped Dublin side street. He locked the car and yanked up the hood on his coat. The wind whipped, chapping his face. He bent his head against the driving rain and tucked his hands into his jeans. It only took him about ten minutes to get to the house, but he still cursed the fact he’d been unable to find a space right outside. By the time he knocked on the door, his hands were frozen, he was drenched, and he could barely feel his feet.

  As the door opened, Cash ducked his head.

  “Hi, Louisa,” he said, his tone full of sorrow and regret.

  Louisa gave him a warm smile and stood back so he could get out of the rain and cold. “Come on inside. It’s lovely to see you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t exactly been the best friend.”

  Louisa made a tutting sound. “Now now, none of that. You’ll find no judgement here.” She helped Cash out of his wet coat.

  “Hey, you made it.”

  Cash glanced around as Rowan Murphy appeared on the far side of the hallway, his wheelchair squeaking on the tile as he trundled over. He thrust out his hand. Cash made an attempt to shake it, but his grip was limp and lifeless.

  “Fucking thing,” he said with a grimace. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I should have, Rowan.”

  Rowan rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with the guilt tripping. Fucking freezing, isn’t it? Let’s get you warmed up.” He tilted his head back and smiled at his wife. “Thank you, angel.”

  Louisa gave him a fond look and swept her hand down his arm. “I’ll leave you boys to it.”

  Rowan spun his chair around and headed back down the hallway. Cash followed. The doorway at the end opened up into a large living room where a fire burned in the grate.

  “Have a seat,” Rowan said, waving his arm at the sofa.

  Cash sat and leaned forward, warming his hands in front of the flames. “Not even winter yet.”

  “Gotta love living in Ireland,” Rowan said with a grin.

  Cash sighed. “I really am sorry, mate. I should have made the time to come and see you after your accident.”

  Rowan waved a hand in the air. “Forget it. If anyone knows how much being a professional sportsman takes over your life, it’s me. Come on, Cash, talk to me. I’m here to help.”

  “How much do you know about what’s happened?”

  Rowan wrinkled his nose. “How about you tell me in your own words.”

  Cash swept a hand over the back of his head. “I’m not coping very well. I thought it would be a good idea if I talked to you about how you managed, the difficulties you had—how you came out the other side with your sanity intact.”

  Rowan paused while his housekeeper brought coffee. Once she’d retreated, he turned to Cash and chuckled. “Not sure Louisa would agree with the sanity bit. But honestly, what other choice did I have? Couldn’t exactly let myself fall apart. I had a wife and two kids who relied on me.”

  “I’ve split up with Natalia,” Cash blurted. Saying the words aloud bored a fucking great hole in his stomach.

  “Shit. I’m sorry. That’s rough. When?”

  “A week ago. I was watching the Shanghai masters, and I could feel the anger building inside me as I watched the match. It should have been me out there competing, and yet I have this useless thing.” He waved his right hand in the air. “Can barely grip a cup, let alone a tennis racket. Natalia tried to comfort me.” He shrugged. “I should have told her to leave me alone. I wasn’t in the right headspace to be comforted, but instead, I let the anger spew out, and she caught the brunt of it. I threw a vase at her.”

  Rowan sucked in a breath. “Shit.”

  Cash grimaced. “Fortunately, it missed. I’ve been trying to convince myself it was because I didn’t aim at her, but the only reason I missed was because I had to throw with my left hand.”

  He hung his head as guilt threatened to drown him, although after living with remorse for so long, he should have been used to it. He didn’t notice Rowan had moved closer until a warm hand landed on his arm.

  “What you’re feeling is completely normal. The anger, the frustration, the pushing against everyone you love. Go ahead—beat yourself up. Wallow in self-pity. You’re allowed to do all those things, Cash. Rail against the unfairness of it all. Why you, right? Then when you’ve done all that, ask yourself one question: why not you? What makes you so special that you’re protected from the shit life throws around? The answer is, you’re not, and once you realise that, once you figure out you’re just as human as the rest of the population, then you’ll be ready to face the long road to recovery.”

  Cash stared at Rowan. He had said those words to himself hundreds of times since he woke from the coma. Why me? But Rowan was right. Why not him? Who the fuck was he to avoid fate, chance, a random accident that changed the course of his life forever?

  “How did you manage?” he eventually said.

  Rowan briefly smiled. “Badly. At least in the beginning. Louisa went through hell the first few weeks. Remember, I was exactly like you—a successful sportsman at the top of my game. After winning individual and team gold at the Olympics, I thought I was fucking invincible. Then my life falls apart on a stupid hack with a horse that, until then, had been bombproof.”

  “But aren’t you angry you’re confined to a wheelchair and can’t ride anymore?”

  “Confined?” Rowan scratched his cheek. “If it wasn’t for my wheelchair, I’d be bedridden, unable to get around by my own steam. And I still ride. I need help to do it, but I get up there, strap my legs onto the saddle, and away I go. I ignore the things I can’t do and focus on the things I can. You should try it.”

  “But what if I never play tennis professionally again?”

  Rowan gave a wry smile. “Can I give you some advice?” When Cash nodded, he continued. “Don’t let others limit what you’re capable of or tell you something’s impossible. You’re stronger than that. And competitive. Use those traits to your advantage.”

  “I don’t feel strong. Not anymore.” Cash swept a hand over his face. “It’s the anger that scares me. I have no control over it.”

  Rowan wheeled himself over to a desk in the corner of the room. He returned with a business card and handed it to Cash. “Call this guy. Dr Bauer. He’s got a facility in Hamburg that specialises in anger management. I spent some time with him after my accident when the voices in my head became too destructive.”

 
; Cash stared at the card. “You think there’s hope?”

  “I know there is.”

  A shrink. Jesus. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.” Talking to strangers about personal shit—was he even capable of that?

  “Don’t think too long,” Rowan said as Cash stood to leave. “The mind doesn’t heal like the body.”

  Louisa walked Cash to the door. “Come back anytime,” she said as he stepped outside. “You’re always welcome here.”

  He bent down and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Louisa.”

  Sleet and rain froze his skin on contact as he ran back to the car. Once inside, he shrugged out of his wet coat and stared at the business card for several minutes. Rowan had made a good point. If Cash left things as they were, he had zero chance of getting his life back.

  He reached for his phone and made the call.

  3

  Tally opened the online banking application for what felt like the tenth time. Her balance read £152,473.56. As promised, Pete had transferred the money. It was hers to do with as she pleased. With the money in her account, she could move forward and plan for her future.

  Her mind was all over the place. The money had brought choices, which in turn had brought confusion. Should she stay in London and work on building her network and her freelance reporting business? Or should she get away as Pete had suggested?

  As boredom set in, she browsed through Facebook. Her newsfeed was full of happy, happy, and more happy. Tally closed it down and opened her emails instead. She deleted most of them and was about to cast her phone aside when one email caught her eye. Or rather, the sender did. Joe Martinez— a snake and a curse against real journalists. What the hell was he doing contacting her? She thought about deleting without reading, but the subject—“You’re going to want to see this”—made her curious.

  She sighed in defeat and clicked on the email. It contained an attachment and one line of text:

  I see Gallagher is up to his old tricks again.