Always You

by Tiara Inserto

  He had never stopped loving Neela Smyth.

  But she wasn’t ready to know that. He knew that as well. What he didn’t know was whether she would ever be ready. Blake bowed his head, his silent prayer joining the pastor’s.

  Please let her let me love her.

  The loud notes of the church organ signaled the end of the service. Malcolm and Laura followed the pastor out of the church, occasionally stopping to greet friends and relatives.

  “Sorry about Sam,” Neela whispered, her breath bouncing off the side of his neck. “He’s the worst out of all of us. It just comes out of his mouth. But if you want to know the secret to the best hāngi you’ll ever taste, he’s your fella.”

  “I’ll make sure to take notes.”

  Neela must have said something to Sam, as Blake unexpectedly found himself with him immediately after the service. Sam led him outside while Neela stayed inside the church hall. Blake was then introduced to a group of men in charge of the barbecue area. Sam commandeered this part of the celebration. He barked orders, and everyone seemed to know their place in the chain of command. Blake managed to fend off the various offers of beer— “Driving and in training, mate”—but he wasn’t able to steer the conversation away from rugby.

  Usually, he’d prefer that the talk remain focused on sport; it was a safe subject that made strangers friends. But not today. He just wanted to make sure Neela was all right. She’ll be fine. She’s among family. Rieann’s with her, and it is Neela. She knows how to take care of herself. But he wanted to be the one next to her, to have his hand available in case she needed it.

  Clear glass sliding doors separated the barbecue area from the hall where the rest of the guests were convening and socializing. Blake spotted Neela among the many bodies.

  A casual observer would think she looked relaxed and comfortable. She laughed and smiled, moving effortlessly between groups of people. But he saw how she’d rub her neck, saying enough but never too much. She obliged the requests for photos, but whenever Malcolm Smyth was within arm’s length, she moved away.

  Similarly, Malcolm didn’t seek out his youngest daughter. There was no anger in his actions; he didn’t seem to care that Neela was there. His attitude toward her was especially obvious given all the attention Malcolm showered on his other children and grandchildren. He didn’t miss the opportunity to squeeze Rieann’s shoulder whenever she passed by; he exchanged banter with Joe; he came by the barbecue area to check up on Sam.

  Malcolm Smyth was proving himself to be a doting father but only to three of his children.

  At lunch, Blake joined Neela at the table with Sam, his family and Joe’s children, Aaron and Tanya. Neela looked more relaxed as they ate. She quizzed her nieces and nephews on their summer activities and gave as good as she got whenever Sam teased her.

  After their meal, Blake agreed to throw the ball around a bit. To his surprise, Neela excused herself, saying she’d help her sister clear up. He offered to help, but she insisted he go out.

  “Give them something to talk about tonight,” she said. “There’s a little girl in that group who’d love to have you pass the ball to her.”

  When he came back in, he found her looking through photo albums with Tanya. She caught him staring then gave him a weak smile. She returned her attention to her niece, but her quick glance had been enough to stun him momentarily.

  Resignation.

  No fire.

  That was all he needed to see. He walked toward Malcolm, who was in the middle of a conversation with now-familiar-looking faces. When he got close, Neela’s father gave him a huge smile, and for a moment, Blake couldn’t reconcile this friendly man with the figure who had barely said a word to his most famous child all day.

  “How are you, Blake? Everyone treating you well?” Malcolm asked.

  “Very well, sir. The food was delicious.”

  “Sam is one of the best.”

  “He lives up to his reputation,” Blake said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have to leave now. I’m due in Auckland tomorrow, and I haven’t started packing yet.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Of course. You’re quite the busy man. You’ve done so well for yourself. I’ll admit that out of all the kids from Neela’s primary school, you weren’t on the top of my list to make it onto the National Team.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to think that, sir.”

  Malcolm shook Blake’s hand. “The missus was tickled you showed up. We hope to see you again soon.”

  Blake turned to see Neela watching him. He nodded slightly toward the door, and her face lit up when she realized they were making their escape. She said something quietly to Tanya, who responded with a warm hug.

  As Blake said his goodbyes, he followed Neela’s movement around the room. Rieann embraced her warmly, as did Joe, Sam, and their respective partners.

  Then he watched her walk toward her father. With a strained smile, she made a move to hug him. Malcolm returned her action awkwardly, with a quick pat on the back. They both turned away as soon as their embrace was over.

  Neela approached Laura, said a few things, and exchanged kisses. Then she turned toward the exit without another glance.

  Blake started, surprised to see her leave the room. She wouldn’t go without him—or would she?

  He sidestepped a few people, telling himself that the sudden sense of urgency was unnecessary. Reason didn’t stop him from opening the door with unexpected force.

  The sudden glare of the sun blinded him for a moment. He scanned the carpark. His car was still where he had parked it. He turned and spotted Neela jumping over an old wooden fence. She was moving determinedly toward the hill behind the church. There was a sudden gust of wind; Neela rubbed her eyes...from the dirt? Or was she crying?

  Shit. Neela never cries.

  Blake started after her, the gravel crunching under his hurried strides. “Neela!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Neela! Wait!”

  The wind had come up suddenly, mimicking the emotional chaos inside of her. She couldn’t stop crying, but was it out of rage or despair? Or both?

  “Neela!”

  She ignored him. She could barely see in front of her; the tears flowed swiftly. She stumbled again. Bloody shoes!

  She stopped, pulled them off, and for no reason other than that he was her only target, she threw them wildly at Blake.

  She turned without checking to see if she’d hit him or not. The shoes didn’t have heels. He wouldn’t lose an eye.

  “Neela!”

  “Go away!”

  She started to run. Faster, harder. She pushed herself forward. She didn’t care about the rough, rocky terrain under her feet or the dirt that covered the bottom of her dress when she stumbled.

  “Neela! Wait! Damn it! My shoes are meant for dancing, not running! Stop!”

  Instead, she increased her speed, determined to get to the top and drink in the view that had comforted her often in her youth.

  “Neela! Stop!”

  She had to stop, in the end. There was nowhere to go when she reached the top. It led downhill to an empty field that stretched to Mrs. Lawson’s backyard, filled with metal scraps, old tires, discarded furniture, and other things most people would call junk but Mrs. Lawson labeled ‘art.’

  “Neela!”

  She whipped around, roughly wiping her face. She knew it wasn’t his fault she was so angry, but the fool insisted on being here. “Why are you following me, Blake? Go back to your fancy car. Turn whatever aria you have on up high. Go home. You can’t pretend you’re too drunk this time. I can take care of myself.”

  “Neela—”

  She took a step forward and poked Blake’s chest.

  “Now you know. What does it say about me, eh? I can’t be a very nice person if my own father can’t stand me! He barely said ten words to me all day! Not that I blame him. I didn’t want to say five words to him!”

  “Sweet—”

  “Don’t you dare tr
y to sweet-talk me! I don’t need your pity!”

  But she didn’t try to escape his embrace, which was gentle but firm. The swirling wind masked the sounds of her sobs. So complete was Blake’s hold that she didn’t feel the cold. She pulled at his shirt, bunches of fabric clenched in her fist, desperate to let out all her anger and disappointment.

  When she had no more tears left to shed, she kept her face hidden in Blake’s shoulder, and he pulled her closer. In a muffled voice, she repeated her earlier statement. “I don’t need your pity.”

  He held her tighter. “No, you don’t. You’ve never had it. You’ve only ever had my respect and admiration.”

  She wasn’t sure how long she stayed in his arms. Nothing had ever felt as safe. When she finally moved, she studied Blake’s face. “I lost my shoes.”

  “No, they’re right here,” he said, nodding toward the ground. “Your forward throw is pretty bad. It’s a good thing you don’t play softball.”

  She smiled despite herself, then saw the creases in his pink shirt, which was now marked with her tears. “I may have to replace this shirt for you.”

  “Nah. It’s going to be out of style soon. You know I like to keep up with the trends.”

  “You’re so vain.”

  “It’s how I express my artistic side.” Blake knelt, pulled out the bottom his shirt, reached for one of her feet, and wiped the mud off it. He then gently put one shoe on before repeating the action with her other foot. “Dad does woodwork, Robbie does pottery, Andrew is a photographer, and I—”

  “You buy bright-colored shirts,” she finished.

  “And bake and sing,” he said, reaching for her hand again. They began walking down the hill. “Mum always wanted her boys to be well-rounded.”

  “You’re very lucky to have parents who supported you.”

  Blake stopped to place his hands on Neela’s shoulders. “I know your brothers and sister love you. I can see that. I also think your father loves you and your stepmother wants to love you. They just don’t understand you. And that’s okay. You don’t have to understand someone to love them.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Where do you get these things?”

  He smiled and put his arm around Neela’s shoulders. Her arm automatically went around his waist as they continued their walk.

  “Liana Murphy writes the best books,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you have all her books.”

  “Yes, all autographed, in exchange for a lifetime of babysitting Jayne Molloy. I think I have the better deal. I also managed to get her to promise me that I’ll get the first edition of anything else she writes. They’ll be in places of honor in my library.”

  “You don’t have a library.”

  “One day I will. A big room with floor-to-ceiling windows, a big red carpet, and a fireplace.”

  Neela stared at Blake, the corner of her mouth twitching.

  “I’m serious. It’s on my vision board,” he continued.

  She burst out laughing, her anger and sadness replaced by amusement and incredulity. “A vision board?”

  “Haven’t you spent time with the sports psychologist? The mind is a powerful thing.”

  “No, apparently I haven’t spent enough time with the sports psychologist.”

  “When you’re next at the art store, buy a vision board. Fill it up, and we can share.”

  “Blake...”

  “That’s what friends do, isn’t it? We share our dreams. We already have a history together. Even if I’m never allowed to kiss you ever again, I’d like to think we’ll have a future together.”

  Something caught in her throat.

  “I...” She inhaled deeply, trying to clear her mind and calm her emotions. “Sometimes, I just don’t know what to say when I’m with you.”

  The dimple appeared. “Darl, now you know how I feel.”

  As they began their drive back to Christchurch, he sang along with gusto to the soundtrack of Les Misérables.

  A future?

  Even in the throes of her infatuation with Kyle, she hadn’t thought about the future. She’d thought in terms of ‘now.’ That was how it was with Kyle; he touted a philosophy of complete spontaneity. It had seemed like such an exciting way to live.

  Neela frowned as she noticed Blake passing the turnoff that would have taken them to the freeway. “Where are we going?”

  “Since we’re in the area, I thought we could check out the old school.”

  “Right now?”

  Blake only grinned and continued to sing. He pulled into the school carpark fifteen minutes later. With the engine off, it was eerily quiet. The isolation and silence were a contrast to the busyness and turmoil that had filled much of her day.

  “Come on, let’s take a look,” Blake said.

  Neela peered out the window. “And what are we supposed to be looking at?”

  “Darl, this is where we first met.” His teasing tone accompanied the wink that only a few weeks ago would have annoyed her. Instead, a thrill shot through her, and she fought to dismiss it.

  “Blake...”

  But he had already left the car. She shook her head but followed him. Hands on his hips, he stood facing the school field, now enclosed by a meter-and-a-half-high wooden fence she didn’t remember from her childhood.

  He looked at her when she came up next to him. “Want to jump it?”

  His eyes challenged hers, and he held out his hand as if offering to help. She frowned at the gesture. The height of the fence wasn’t the problem. Her dress flared so it wouldn’t restrict her, but it might fly up a little.

  She warned him. “If you see my undies, don’t say a word.”

  Neela pushed past his offered hand and ignored the wide grin on his face. She reached for the top plank and pushed off from the bottom, clearing the fence in one motion. She turned to see Blake coming over similarly.

  “Leopard print?”

  “You promised!”

  “I did no such thing!”

  “You know if we’re both caught, this could spell trouble at RugNZ.”

  “It’s not like we’re in a hot tub.”

  Neela choked back a laugh. “Fair enough.”

  “We’re just former students paying a visit.”

  “On a Sunday evening with no one about?”

  “Come on, I’ll race you to the middle of the pitch!”

  He took off, and Neela followed. He was running at full speed. When they ran together in the mornings, it was an unhurried, paced exercise to build their endurance. They weren’t slow, but neither was there the urgency that came with an explosive sprint.

  She was a few seconds behind him when they reached the center of the field.

  Hands rested on the back of his head, his chest rising and falling. “Can’t believe we’ll be back here in a few weeks, after all these years. Are you nervous about the filming?”

  “Yes,” Neela said. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself. This place hasn’t changed much, has it?”

  She surveyed the field. It was really like any other sports field found in any neighborhood around their country. There was nothing unique about this one in particular, except maybe that it had produced two players who had gone on to represent their country. How many dreams had been made and dashed here?

  “No, not much has changed,” she said. “Some things just don’t. I’m glad for that.”

  “Do you have good memories of this place, Neela?”

  She picked a blade of grass, flicked it and watched it spiral as it fell to the ground. “Yeah. It was good.”

  “That’s it? ‘It was good’? Come on! Ow!”

  She grinned. “Why didn’t you see that coming?”

  “Because most adults don’t go around pinching people.”

  “Didn’t I pinch you when we were kids?”

  “Actually, no. Then you quit being my protector in our last year of school together.”

 
; Neela looked up as the late afternoon sun brought a gold sheen to the blue skies. She never used to appreciate such colors. “You didn’t need it by then. You could hold your own. And everyone knew it.”

  “I sort of missed having you look for me at recess.”

  She frowned. “Really? Did you look for me?”

  He laughed softly, then stretched his arms before resting his palms behind his head again. “Every day. But you’d moved on to take care of someone else. That’s when I started baking with Joy.”

  “Ahh, I see. Wouldn’t that make me responsible for a cupcake being named after you?”

  He grinned. “Oh, no, you’re not. My recipe, my cupcake.”

  “Bet Molloy didn’t have a cupcake named after him.”

  “You’re right.” He moved his gaze from her face to the rest of the field that stretched in front of them. “Maybe there is something I’ll be able to do better than him.”

  She touched his arm. “Blake,” she said softly. “Few players will ever do what he has done. I don’t know Mitch Molloy, but I know you. You’re a good bloke.”

  His eyes remain veiled. He was somewhere in the past.

  “Why did you tackle me in that video? I mean, we’d always played touch until then.”

  She shrugged, pulling her hand back to her side. “I honestly can’t remember. Something just made me go for it. I saw how determined you were to score, and I forgot we were just playing for fun. I guess I responded to the challenge of stopping you.”

  Blake sat down on the grass, his arms resting on his knees. “I loved this field. It made sense for me, even when I could barely make it halfway across. The grass feels different in each stadium, you know.”

  She joined him and threw off her shoes, then dug her toes into the soil. “For me, it’s the smell. After the warm-ups, the anthems, I take a deep breath and just remember all the other the times I’ve played the game, in any field, ever since I started to walk. The same adrenaline that made me tackle you when we were kids kicks in then.”