Undefeated

by Reardon, Stuart

  “Apology accepted. Goodbye.”

  His shoulders sagged.

  “Anna, please. Can we talk?”

  There was another long pause.

  “I don’t know. Can we?”

  “I promise I won’t even touch you. I’ll stand on the doorstep. Whatever you want. I don’t want you to be scared of me. Christ, Anna . . .”

  He leaned his head against the door, stumbling when the buzzer sounded and it opened suddenly.

  A nervous energy took over his body and he jogged up two flights of steps and knocked on the door.

  She opened it a crack, and it killed him to see that she’d put the chain across the door.

  “What do you want, Nick?”

  His face fell.

  “To give you these,” he said, gesturing with the tulips, “and to apologise. Again.”

  She hesitated, then slowly unchained the door.

  They stood staring at each other for a beat, before Nick remembered that he was holding the tulips.

  Again she hesitated, then finally accepted the flowers, her fingers brushing against his.

  Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, uncertain what to say next.

  Anna glanced up at his face and sighed.

  “You’d better come in.”

  The flat was a complete contrast to her cottage. There, it had been quirky and cosy, old fashioned and quaint. Now, the walls were painted white and the furniture in the lounge was sleek and modern; bright, abstract paintings hung on the walls.

  “It’s . . . different,” Nick said, stumbling over his words.

  She shrugged her narrow shoulders.

  “You’ve gotta work with what you’re given, right?”

  Nick wasn’t sure how to answer, so he stayed silent.

  Anna spent several minutes arranging the flowers in a vase and placed them on a small coffee table in her living room.

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  She slumped onto the leather sofa, her face defeated.

  “I don’t know how to do this, Nick,” she said brokenly. “I didn’t contact you before because I was afraid of . . . this. I can’t be involved with you.” She looked down. “But I can’t not be involved with you either.”

  He sat next to her, tentatively taking her hand between his own until she pulled free and moved to sit at the other end of the sofa.

  Nick followed her with his eyes then began to speak quietly.

  “I don’t know what this is, Anna. But I want to find out. With you I feel . . . shit, I don’t know—alive. Like I have no choice in this, but I do. After everything that’s happened—before and now—I want . . . no, I need to find out if there’s something here. I think there is.”

  “We can’t!”

  He rubbed his hands over his cropped hair in frustration.

  “Do you honestly think we can go another month or longer like this? Andrews thinks I’m not committed because I’m trying so damn hard not to look at you and risk showing how I feel.”

  She shook her head.

  “Exactly! That’s why we have to . . . control ourselves.”

  “I don’t want to control this! And if you’d just be honest with yourself, neither do you.”

  They stared at each other across the expanse of the sofa.

  “I’m not sure . . .”

  Nick was frustrated. He understood her resistance, but didn’t know what to do about it. He stood up slowly, prepared to retreat. For now.

  “I really like you, Anna.”

  She gave a defeated smile.

  “I like you, too. More than I should.”

  “And I’ll wait for you. I’m not Jonathan and I don’t want to hurt you. So I’ll wait for you.”

  Myriad emotions reflected in her eyes and her lips turned down.

  “Will you just hold me?”

  Nick stepped toward her and opened his arms. With a sigh, Anna leaned against him, feeling the gentle weight of his hands on her waist as his warmth and solidity surrounded her.

  “This is all wrong,” she whispered, “but it still feels right.”

  Tears pricked her eyes and she clung to him more tightly, pressing her face against his broad chest.

  Nick shook his head, lightly stroking the curve of her back, his lips brushing her forehead.

  “It’s not wrong. We’re both single, we’re not hurting anyone.”

  She looked up, giving him a thin smile.

  “Our contracts don’t permit fraternization.”

  Nick scoffed. “We were involved before we signed those. If you want, I’ll go to Andrews tomorrow and tell him exactly that.”

  Anna looked horrified. “You can’t! You’ll ruin me!”

  “We’ve done nothing wrong!” he cried out in frustration.

  “They won’t see it like that,” she sighed.

  “Anna!” he gripped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Do you want to be with me?”

  She stared back at him, her eyes roving across his face, weighing his sincerity.

  “Yes,” she said, at last. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

  His arms tightened around her and he leaned down so his face was buried in her neck.

  “Then that’s all that matters.”

  They stood together silently, just feeling, just being. It was simple and intimate in its simplicity.

  Then the moment was broken as Nick’s stomach rumbled loudly and Anna gave a soft chuckle at the chagrined expression on his face.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Nah, it’s fine. I’m hungry, too.”

  “Are there any good restaurants around here?”

  Her closed expression returned.

  “We can’t be seen out together! Not while I’m still working for the Phoenixes.”

  He sighed. “Fine. How about ordering takeout?”

  For the first time she gave him a wide smile.

  “Nope! I’m going to cook for you. Well, I’ll be the chef, you can chop stuff. Deal?”

  Nick grinned. “Deal.”

  He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, then followed Anna into the kitchen. It looked as though he’d interrupted her part way through the food prep. Assorted salad vegetables were heaped next to a cutting board, and a pair of salmon steaks was still sealed in a packet.

  “Eating healthy?” Nick grinned at her.

  “I do take my own advice sometimes,” she smirked, flipping him with a pair of oven gloves as she took a baking pan out of the pre-heated oven. “See if you can do something creative with the salad.”

  It felt right. Working together quietly, standing together to prepare a meal, without tension, without expectation, it was the most relaxed Nick had felt in months. And it exceeded every hope he’d had when he’d trod with heavy steps towards her home earlier that evening.

  The white tulips had been arranged in a frosted glass vase and looked beautiful, if fragile. Just like Anna, Nick mused.

  They ate together, talked together, and later that night, made love together, soft and tender, heated and passionate. And it was right.

  The preparations leading up to the Phoenixes’ first game of the season were intense. It was a home game and the fans’ expectations were riding high. After the nail-biting final weeks of the previous season when they’d nearly been relegated, the pressure was already building.

  Nick had been selected to play in the opening match. He felt proud of the responsibility, determined to play his best, itching to get out onto the field and show what he could really do, show that he’d earned his place on the team.

  They’d spent their mornings in training and their afternoons analysing video tapes of last season’s games as well as tapes of their opponents. It gave Nick a chance to see how his style of play would fit into the team, although as there were three other new members, there were bound to be some significant changes, as well.

  Wednesday was a day off, but Nick went for a long run and booked himse
lf in for a sports massage after.

  Thursday and Friday morning were run-throughs of the plays, practising together. The training focussed on making last minute improvements, as well as learning to read each other as much as was possible for the new team structure. Calvin, the team captain dictated game scenarios as well as plays in different parts of the fields, almost like a dress rehearsal for the forthcoming match.

  Nick felt strong and confident, as if he was finally being allowed to become the man he knew he should be.

  But the best part was that every morning, Nick woke up with Anna wrapped around him. He loved that she slept naked. He loved feeling her silky warmth curled up next to him, the softness in her eyes that turned to glittering heat as they made slow, intense love, their bodies sliding together in a tumble of grunts and sighs, sheets and pillows tossed to the floor.

  The night before his first match as the Finchley Phoenixes Fullback, Nick had joined the rest of the boys for a light training session, massages and ice baths, followed by a movie marathon afternoon and a dinner of steak, rice and broccoli—high in carbs and a little protein. Sim Andrews had arranged it but not attended, knowing that the team needed to chill out and relax both their bodies and minds.

  After that, he’d gone home to Anna’s, dodging questions about what he was doing and who he was seeing. His evasiveness had led to speculation that his girlfriend must be married. Nick hated that anyone would think it, but decided that saying nothing was best. For now.

  “I’m not supposed to have sex the night before a match,” he sighed, as Anna greeted him at her front door dressed in skimpy boy shorts and a tank top.

  She laughed happily.

  “You’ll be relieved to know that is complete nonsense. Studies show that there is no significant difference in performance between athletes who abstain and those who indulge, provided the coitus takes place at least twelve hours prior to the game. Although two hours before a match decreases performance. I can find you the reference if you want, McGlone and Shrier, I believe.”

  Nick gazed at her in amazement, then swept her up in a full body tackle, ran through the flat and threw her on the bed.

  The next morning, he cracked an eye as Anna slipped from the sheets, and he watched her pull on a thin robe.

  He stretched out in bed, a smile on his face as the stars aligned. After a miserable year, he was back, better and stronger, and a hell of a lot happier.

  It had been so long since he’d had a match day that his routine seemed unfamiliar, but the aroma of strong coffee percolated through to the bedroom and he heard the ding of the microwave. Anna poked her head around the bedroom door.

  “Get your lazy ass up. I’ve made breakfast.”

  Nick raised his arms over his head, stretching slowly again, then stood up, feeling the roll and play of his muscles as he sauntered buck naked into the kitchen, his dick semi-erect.

  Anna shook her head.

  “That beast needs a leash!”

  “Feeling a bit kinky, doc,” he teased. “You’re staring at me again.”

  Amusement coloured his voice.

  “Don’t blame me. You’re the one walking around naked, being all sexy. I’m only human.”

  She smiled as she plunked a bowl of porridge in front of him, and passed over a jar of honey.

  It had been months ago when he’d told Anna about his porridge cravings on match-day and his preferred routine, but she hadn’t forgotten.

  “It’s good for you,” she said softly, and Nick saw the care and concern in her eyes, in everything she did.

  He felt the familiar pinch of match-day nerves, but ate everything he was given, and drank down two cups of coffee, discreetly washing down a couple of Ibuprofen, something he’d being doing pretty regularly.

  Then he hit the shower.

  Anna was waiting for him when he climbed out, freshly washed and clean shaven.

  She was holding a bottle of massage oil.

  “Did you know,” she said suggestively, “that I took a class on how to give a deep tissue massage?”

  Nick groaned.

  “I don’t know. I’ll get too turned on with your hands all over me.”

  Nick looked longingly at the bottle of massage oil, and realised that he was already growing hard. He sighed, knowing it was a losing battle either way.

  “Yeah, I’d love a massage. Thank you.”

  Nick lay naked face down on the bed, his head turned to one side, watching as Anna kneeled across the rounded globes of his glutes.

  “Nice ass, Renshaw. I could bounce quarters off of those buns.”

  “We could try that later,” he grinned.

  She dug her thumbs into twin knots in his shoulders and Nick moaned softly, the pain exquisite. She really knew what she was doing.

  Twenty minutes later, he felt liquid and weightless, all the knots and tightness had vanished, and he was relaxed, yet deeply focussed.

  As he lay there, missing her body covering him, he heard her in the kitchen and then she reappeared with a large glass of water.

  “I’ve mixed in some rehydration salts—they’ll help keep your hydration levels high. And I’ve brought your stretch-bands—you’d left them in the living room.”

  Nick sat up, blinking with surprise.

  “I thought you’d want them . . .” she said softly.

  He’d never had anyone take care of him like this on match day—never thought anyone would. But Anna knew exactly what he needed before he’d even asked for it. She’d remembered every part of the routine, the structure that supported him on one of the most important days of his playing career.

  The cold space in his chest that Molly had created, finally thawed, filling with a gentle warmth, like sun creeping across a frozen field.

  He felt the deep contentment that came from being cared for.

  Her gaze caught on the packet of painkillers that he’d forgotten to put away.

  “What are these?” He could tell by her tone that she already knew. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not right now, but . . .”

  “Do you take them often?”

  “No, not really,” he said uncomfortably.

  “Nick, you know these are addictive, right?”

  “I’m not addicted, don’t worry.”

  But her forehead was creased with concern.

  “How often do you take them?”

  “Not often. Now and then. Before a game.”

  She frowned, still holding the packet.

  “If you’re not in pain, don’t take them. If you’re in pain, you should see the Club’s doctor.”

  Nick forced a smile.

  “You’re my own private doc.”

  “Nick, I’m serious.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop. I promise. Honestly, it’s not a problem.”

  Whatever her thoughts, Anna accepted him at face value and Nick felt a twinge of guilt. He had been meaning to stop taking the pills. It was just nerves, in case his ankle got fucked up again. But he’d stop. No problem.

  “I just worry about you,” she said softly.

  “Thank you,” he said, because he didn’t have words that adequately conveyed how much her caring meant to him.

  Even so, Anna heard it in his tone and her smile softened.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Anna . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  Her mouth popped open.

  He walked around to her chair and clasped her face in his hands.

  “I fucking love you. Everything about you.”

  He kissed her gently, his soft lips pressing against hers.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he said, his voice hushed. “You show me every day.”

  Two hours before kick-off, Nick was at the club. Anna was there, too, but he’d dropped her off a quarter of a mile down the road so that they didn’t arrive together.

  The stewards and supporters had already arrived,
and Nick could hear the incredible sound of thousands of voices rising in the Autumn air.

  A few fans were also gathered outside the players’ entrance, calling out words of encouragement:

  “Make the fuckers bleed!”

  “Good luck, mate! Make us proud.”

  His heart clenched, and he said a silent prayer of thanks for being here today, for getting his second chance. A quiet wave of pride washed over him as he walked into the locker room and saw his number 17 shirt hanging up on a peg.

  He greeted his teammates, seeing the suppressed energy and excitement in all of them. But when he opened his kitbag, he found that Anna had packed a huge bag of snacks, including a protein shake, granola, oats, a lunch box containing cold pasta, two bananas and a packet of sweets so he could load up on sugar.

  And there was something else. Nick pulled out a small parcel wrapped in fancy paper and ripped it open. Inside was a brand new pair of Speedos in the team colours of burgundy and gold, and a handwritten note.

  These are your new lucky Speedos. I know that they’re lucky, because I believe in you. You are strong, you are fit, and you are an amazing man. You mean the world to me. Now show the world what you can do.

  A x

  Holding the Speedos in his hand, Nick’s heart expanded as he read her words. There was nothing special about them—except that she had bought them for him. It was the best gift he’d ever received.

  Still smiling to himself, he drank down a bottle of water, pulled out his headphones, listening to his favourite playlist as he stretched out his muscles again, then stripped down to his briefs, taking his turn as the club doctor strapped him up.

  He glanced at the motivational quotes that Anna had placed around the room.

  Champions believe in themselves.

  Fitness is not about being better than someone else. It’s about being better than you used to be.

  Look in the mirror—that’s your competition.

  Talent + teammates!

  I do it because I can. I can because I want to.

  We scrum for possession. Run for the try zone. Bleed for the team & live for the game.

  That was one of Sim’s, not Anna’s. She didn’t want anyone bleeding, especially not Nick, although she knew it was a likely probability.