Always You

by Tiara Inserto

He didn’t want to see anymore, but he knew he was going to face questions from the Club, the National Team...his mother. Blake hit his forehead with the palms of his hands. Who should he call first? His agent or his mother?

  “Neither!” came the cowardly voice he hated hearing from.

  He ran his hands through his hair, wanting to deny that it was him. He took a deep breath and replayed the video, wondering who and why anyone would have put this up.

  He remembered that night. He’d been close to asking Lindsay to move in with him on that trip. While his face was clearly seen, she couldn’t be distinguished as easily. He’d recognize those curves anywhere, but the shadows cast by the trees that surrounded the hot tub kept her miraculously anonymous. He was glad for that, at least.

  Blake leaned back in his chair, trying to remember the details of their holiday rental. She had made the arrangements for them. Having lived in Los Angeles for a while, she knew the neighborhoods. She was excited about the small cottage in the Hollywood Hills, central to all the tourist-oriented activities they were going to indulge in but isolated enough for them to have their privacy. If he remembered correctly, there was nothing but wild bush behind them. That was probably why he’d felt comfortable doing what they did. They were alone, or so he’d thought.

  The phone rang. Blake grimaced when he saw the name that flashed on the screen. He knew better than to ignore it this time.

  “There you are!”

  “Sorry, Mum. I was on a run.”

  “I suppose you’ve seen it by now.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “Mum...”

  “Your father hasn’t seen it yet. He had an early golf game. I’m not sure how’s he going to react. It’s quite a spectacle.”

  “I didn’t plan on it being filmed.”

  “You don’t plan on a lot of things being on YouTube, but they tend to be. You’re such a high-profile figure, Blake. When are you going to learn that with the privilege of success comes certain expectations?”

  “Mum...”

  “I don’t mind the underwear ads. Those are quite well done, actually, if I do say so myself. But the videos that are posted up aren’t really flattering, darling. What does Scott say about this?”

  He took a deep breath. He bet his agent would have a lot to say about it, but he hoped that Scott would dig in his magical bag of agent tricks and find a way to turn this into something positive. Scott always had in the past, but this was something completely different from breaking up with his latest girlfriend, him singing in public, or falling over his feet.

  “I’ll call him next.”

  “Oh, Blake, what are we going to do with you?”

  “I thought you liked a good scandal, Mum.”

  “Only the ones that were created because of who you are, and not who you think you should be.”

  He sighed. He wasn’t going to be able to brush off this one quickly.

  A yell came from downstairs. Blake glanced at his closed door and checked his watch. Tim was back early. “Gotta go, Mum. Have to give Scott a call.”

  “How does Lindsay feel about all of this?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll phone her sometime today. I’ve only just seen the video. Trust me, this isn’t something I’m happy about, either.”

  “All right. I’ll make sure Dad doesn’t call you until he’s had a glass of wine or two.”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  “Though I expect your brothers might call soon.”

  “Fantastic.”

  But he did smile when he heard his mother laugh at his discomfort. She was disappointed but not angry. That was good, at least.

  He tossed his phone casually onto the desk and rubbed his eyes. This wasn’t really happening, was it?

  “Blake!”

  “In here, mate!”

  The door opened after a single knock. The tall, bespectacled man who stood in his doorway smelled like fish. “I’m trying to count an endangered species while I’m knee-deep in river water that’s going faster than I’d like, and I keep hearing my phone go off,” Tim said.

  “Why were you in the river with the phone?”

  “I forgot to take it off, but that’s not the point.”

  “I guess you heard.”

  Tim threw himself on the unmade bed. “I had twenty messages from the boys asking if that was really you in the video. Wasn’t one viral video this year enough?”

  Blake heard the teasing tone in Tim’s voice. He blew out of his mouth and raised his hands to catch the back of his head. “Falling on a ball during a game is funny, even if I was the one who landed on his face. But I think I’m in serious trouble with this one, Tim. RugNZ isn’t going to take this lightly.”

  Tim shrugged. “What could they do? You’re not on the team for the next tour.”

  “I think that’s what I’m most nervous about. What could they do?”

  “And it’s not like you were shagging some stranger. You and Lindsay were in a relationship. And didn’t all that take place on private property?”

  Blake turned his chair around to face his flatmate. Tim pushed his glasses up his nose, something Tim did when he was particularly confident.

  Blake studied the figure now lying flat on his bed. “You’ve analyzed things fairly well.”

  “You’re the one with the law degree. You should start thinking like one again, you know, just in case.”

  “Stanton!” A loud voice came from downstairs.

  Blake and Tim looked at each other. “I didn’t think he’d be back from Auckland until tomorrow,” Blake said.

  “Well, here’s your chance to see how RugNZ will react,” Tim said as he pushed Blake out of his chair.

  Blake rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, but his reluctance to face Mano increased with every step.

  Mano waited for them at the base of the stairs, arms akimbo and his dreadlocks tied back as usual. Dark brown eyes greeted Blake with curiosity rather than anger. He had his first sign of hope that things weren’t as dire as they seemed to be.

  “I was barely off the plane before a reporter asked about this new video,” Mano said as Blake reached him.

  “Am I talking to my captain or my friend?”

  Mano paused. “Your friend. But in fifteen minutes, when Barnsey calls, I may put on my captain’s hat.”

  “Barnsey’s going to call?”

  “Given the current climate about how professional athletes conduct themselves in public, you should be expecting a call. Management will need to issue a public statement about this.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “It could have been worse. We could have seen body parts,” Mano pointed out. “It’s suggestive but not indecent. Well, not completely indecent.”

  “And at least there wasn’t any sound,” Tim quipped as he joined his flatmates at the dining table. “Lindsay could be pretty loud when she was...uh...in the moment.”

  Blake glared. “You’re not helping, Tim.”

  Tim turned one of the dining chairs around and straddled it, his cap turned backward. “Hey, I liked Lindsay. I’m just trying to look for all the positives in the situation.”

  “I wish I knew who filmed it. And why now? That trip was so long ago,” Blake said.

  “I think you’ll have a hard time discovering who recorded it,” Mano said. “This wasn’t about someone being in the right place at the right time. They’d have known in advance you’d be at this particular rental. People follow you all over social media. If someone was determined to find out where you were staying in Los Angeles, I think they could do it. You know privacy is one of the first things we lose.”

  Blake looked at Mano. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Let’s see what Barnsey has to say first.”

  “Do you think I’ll be suspended?”

  “Mate, I don’t know.”

  The rest of the day went by in a haze, with Blake spending most of the day on the phone, talking about a
topic he’d rather forget. His head was hurting by the evening.

  “It could have been worse” was the refrain he kept hearing—and repeated—throughout the day. His agent was on damage control, and they agreed to meet at the townhouse the next day to discuss the fallout from the video.

  “If I ever find out who did this...” Blake muttered to himself as he fixed dinner.

  Tim was at his parents’ farm for dinner, while Mano was spending time with his girlfriend. Typically, when Blake was alone, he’d head to a local restaurant or pub, but the thought of facing anyone today gave him an ill feeling.

  This was his life, damnit! What gave people the right to blast a private experience to the rest of the world? He slammed the saucepan harder than he had intended, and the clash of metal made him wince. Half the water was now on the floor. It’d been a while since he’d last lost his temper. He had learned a long time ago that nothing ever went right when he did.

  Blake reached for a washrag and threw it on the floor, then stepped on it gently before refilling the saucepan with water. When he lit the burner, the flames danced wildly, hissing as they made contact with the still-wet surface. He braced himself against the edge of the counter, wishing he could go to the gym, to the field, even on a bloody run just to burn off the frustration that was building inside him.

  He had always known privacy was one of the sacrifices that came with being a public figure. But he had studied the players who had come before him and had learned from their examples and mistakes. He had also learned that he didn’t mind the spotlight, that he was comfortable with the attention. But he wanted to think he wouldn’t do just anything to grab attention. He certainly didn’t appreciate having his sex life become the trending video of the day.

  At least the phone call with the National Team’s head coach hadn’t gone as badly as it could have. Barnsey wasn’t pleased, but neither did he suggest that this had been Blake’s fault. Even so, Blake knew he wasn’t entirely off the hook; he’d have to fly to the headquarters of RugNZ for a discussion with members of management and the senior players. The National Team players were expected to represent their country both on and off the pitch. Being on the disabled list for the next tour might mean he would escape any severe reprimand for the incident, but it didn’t dismiss the distaste of his private life being so public.

  When the water began to bubble, he tore open the packet of pasta, threw the contents into the pan, then reached for a wooden spoon.

  He replayed the conversations he’d had all day. First with Mum, then Tim, Mano, Barnsey, his agent, his dad, his brothers—both of them. Their conversations fell into a similar pattern: There you go again, Blake. When will you stop mucking about and grow up? Isn’t it time you were more responsible?

  The irony about those questions was that he was just who he was. For all his successes on the pitch, too many people didn’t take him seriously off it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Neela didn’t see Blake the next morning on her run. After she had finished her workout, she stood at the entrance to Hagley Park, watching the path they had completed their run on yesterday.

  His absence in itself wasn’t unusual, but today, her conscience had nagged her from the time she woke up.

  When she’d mentioned the video to him, she’d thought it would be just one more funny thing to associate with Blake Stanton. But the media storm that surrounded it was more significant than she’d predicted. Something she’d thought was suitable for the gossip magazines had evolved into a social commentary on the role of professional athletes in New Zealand, with opinions coming from all walks of life, including Parliament.

  Poor Blake.

  He didn’t need her sympathy, Neela reminded herself. He was as successful as they came. By all indications, he had reached a rare level of financial security through sport, and despite currently being on the injured list, he was still considered a marquee player for the Club. Nor did anyone doubt he’d be invited to sign for another year with the National Team.

  No, Blake Stanton didn’t need Neela’s concerns.

  But she did have them. Plus, she owed him more than an apology for her lack of communication this past year.

  He was right. It would have been easy enough to reach out. After all, she knew where he lived. But she hadn’t lied either.

  Once she’d made the team for Brazil, she’d thrown herself into everything the coaches demanded and more. It was simpler to convince herself that her note to Blake was a sufficient form of gratitude.

  Then she’d seen his face across the field in Hagley Park a few months back, and her mother’s voice had rung loud in her brain. “Us Smyths don’t owe anyone anything.”

  She owed him.

  Not the way she was in debt to Kyle. What she owed Blake was more than money. She might not have asked for his help, but he had protected her from the full wrath of Kyle’s temper. Most people would have avoided getting into someone else’s mess, but he hadn’t. And he’d gotten punched in the face for it.

  Half an hour later, after she’d taken a quick shower, her sister’s number flashed on her phone. She was tempted to let it go to voicemail because her instincts were telling her there was only one thing her sister would be calling for. But a promise was a promise.

  She took a deep breath. “Hello, Rieann.”

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “What?”

  “Answering the phone when you knew it was me.”

  Despite herself, Neela smiled. “You know me too well.”

  “Don’t you forget it, little sister. And you know me just as well, so should I say why I’m calling?”

  “You want me to answer the invitation to Dad and Laura’s anniversary party.”

  “Yes! It’s pre-stamped and addressed. All you have to do is check the box and put it in the postbox.”

  “Can’t you say you’ve heard from me already and that you know I’m coming?” Neela asked, walking out of her bedroom.

  “This makes it official.”

  “I’ll save you the stamp.”

  “Neela Smyth, you’re one of the toughest rugby players in the world, and you’re scared to mail back a card to your stepmother.”

  “I still have a hard time seeing her like that.”

  “What? As our stepmother? Get with the times, Neela. She’s not an evil witch. She really loves Dad.”

  Neela bit her bottom lip.

  “It’s because she’s only a couple of years older than you, isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s Dad’s life. The rest of us are okay with it.”

  But I’m not like the rest of you.

  She knew the party was important for Rieann. It was the first event her sister had insisted on organizing since she’d entered remission. Neela’s attendance would be as much for Rieann as it would be for her father and stepmother.

  Tension crept up her neck. She’d rather be tackled hard than spend time with her father. The last time she’d seen him—and Laura—was at her brother’s for Sunday dinner a month ago. The whole family had been there, but even with the endless chatter and mindless chaos that came with such a large gathering, it was awkward and uncomfortable.

  This party was something entirely different. She was to be a guest at an event that honored the reason she’d left home in the first place.

  She sighed.

  That wasn’t exactly true. The engagement was just a catalyst. She would have left sooner or later. Without Mum serving as a buffer, things between her and her father weren’t getting any better. It was either silence or shouting.

  Rieann was right: it really had nothing to do with Laura. Neela barely knew the woman. When her father introduced Laura to the family, everyone had been shocked. She seemed nice. Quiet and soft-spoken. Her siblings said her father’s new wife was as committed to the success of the family business as they were.

  While there continued to be tension between her father and herself, Neela not going could very well b
e the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. There’d be no chance of building anything with Malcolm Smyth if she missed the celebration. Never mind the hell Rieann would raise.

  Neela had made enough mistakes during the last few years to realize how much she still wanted to have her family in her life.

  “Okay. I’ll put it in the post today,” Neela said.

  “If I hear from Laura that she hasn’t received it by the end of the week, I’m driving up to Christchurch to watch you actually post it!”

  Neela laughed. “Don’t be like that. A promise is a promise.”

  “You’d better. Or even worse, I’ll call Mano. He feels so bad that he can’t make it that he’ll do whatever I ask to make sure his most beloved cousin hosts a great party.”

  “You’re evil sometimes, you know.” Rieann’s laugh made Neela smile.

  “You’re not the only one in the family with a competitive spirit, little sister.”

  After ending their call, Neela walked towards the console that held all the mail. She flipped through the various envelopes before she found the invitation in question. She felt the heavy parchment paper, admiring how her name had been written so elegantly in calligraphy. She knew it wasn’t Rieann’s hand that had written it. None of the Smyths were particularly artistic. Rieann must have hired someone to address all the envelopes, an expense that was unusual for the ordinarily money-conscious family.

  She reopened the envelope and pulled out the simple card printed on white stock with gold lettering. The weight of the card and the quality of the print screamed expensive. The Smyth siblings were making a big ‘do’ out of it, but Neela was sure it wasn’t as much for Laura as it was for Rieann.

  Whatever misgivings she had towards her father and stepmother, she had offered to help pay for the party. It was meant to be a celebration hosted by the children, all of them. But Rieann had brushed away the offer quickly, asking only for two things from Neela: to always answer when it was one of her siblings calling and to actually attend the party. The former still took some work, but she had yet to avoid a phone call. As for the latter...well, even her sister wasn’t sure she’d make it.

  She had chosen to come home and knew she couldn’t pick and choose what the move back included. She remained uncomfortable with her father’s remarriage, but Rieann really wanted this. For all the reasons Neela had for not going, breaking her sister’s heart would trump them all.