Her heartbeat was finally starting to feel normal again, but she felt far from calm or relaxed. The moment she’d seen Blake being thrown to the ground, she was no longer afraid of what Kyle could do to her. She only wanted Blake to be safe.
When they entered the penthouse, Blake went straight to the fridge. He reached for a beer and showed it to Neela, who shook her head. He then pulled out a couple of ice packs from the freezer and handed one to her. “Put it on your head, just in case.”
“This might make the news,” Neela said as she took the pack. “A couple of people came out of the pub during the fight.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It won’t help your chances with the captaincy.”
Blake took a drink. “I already have it.”
“What?”
“I’m the next captain. RugNZ is going to make the announcement next month.”
He got it! Pride swept through her. He was a worthy successor to those who had come before him. He’d be a great captain.
Their plan had worked. Two things had been settled tonight.
She felt his gaze as she studied her hands.
“Darl?”
This was different from the car, where no words had been needed. The silence that followed was pregnant with unasked questions and unknown answers which will eventually define their future.
They could be friends. It was better this way. He would now inherit a responsibility few outsiders would ever understand. She understood it, though; she was part of that world. And she wouldn’t be swayed by sentimentality. Letting him move on was the logical thing to do.
She looked up at him. She braved covering his hands with hers, hoping to convey the sincerity behind her intentions. “Congratulations, Blake. You deserve it. I really mean that.”
But he knew her too well. “You owe me one more date, Neela. You’re not backing out of it.”
“There’s no reason for it.”
He opened his hands to engulf hers, surrounding them with his strength and warmth. “We said five dates.”
“We don’t need five dates. This was all about giving you the right kind of publicity. It was about me returning a favor. Your promise to Mano has been fulfilled. Kyle is no longer a problem.”
“Kyle might show up again.”
“He won’t. He’s like most bullies. Once he’s been confronted, he’ll stay away. And if he’s stupid enough to, I have my brothers. It’s time I trusted them again. You don’t need to be a part of this anymore.”
“Darl...”
Unwanted tears that had begun to well up. But she’d promised him honesty. “Thank you for helping me face my past, Blake. I wanted to do it alone, but knowing you were there gave me the courage to follow through with seeing Kyle again. I used to run, but I didn’t tonight. For the first time in over a year, I know I don’t have to anymore. But it’s time I walk away from you.”
Neela tried to reclaim her hand, but Blake didn’t let her. Instead, he kept his grip firm.
“There’s something between us that only comes once in a lifetime,” Blake said. “You’re the face I’ve thought about since I was ten. I’ve always needed you in my life. I don’t like why we started this, but it’s been the best two months of my life, knowing you were a part of it. I love —”
She couldn’t let him say it. She pulled her hands away from his, desperation made her shout, “Don’t! Don’t say it, Blake. Once you say it, I’ll have to hear it in my head and feel it in my heart forever.”
“Would it be so hard to hear it?”
“Only because I can’t say it back to you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She aggressively wiped away at traitorous tears. “I hope we’ll stay friends. But I need to go now.”
“Stay, please. At least until the doctor comes.”
She heard his pain. To know she was causing it sent her to a place of previously unknown anguish.
“I’m seeing one tomorrow. I’ll be fine.” She walked toward the door, then paused. “Make sure you get checked out. Please. Do that for me. I need some time by myself. To be independent again. Please, don’t call.”
He didn’t follow her.
She was both grateful and disappointed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The egg disintegrated before Blake could crack it properly. Much of it was now on his hand; some of it had reached the floor. He cursed and flung the tiny bits of shell into the sink to join the others. It had been six weeks since he’d let Neela walk away, and his anger and frustration had not eased.
Initially, he’d thought he’d give her some time. He’d lasted two days. When he tried to message her, he discovered that her phone number was no longer in use. Part of him was glad that she’d changed it— Kyle wouldn’t be able to get hold of her either—but it was one more damn thing that kept him from reaching out to her.
Then the day of what was to be their fifth date came and went. He had planned to pull out all the stops: to romance her with the full force of his love and wealth. Under normal circumstances, he’d have half a dozen people interested in attending the opera with him, but without her by his side, he couldn’t go. It made no sense. It was the first opening night at the opera he had missed since he’d become a season ticket holder.
He knew he could get Neela’s new number easily. Leila, Mano, even Tim would know. All he’d have to do was show up at one of her team trainings if he really wanted to see her. It was all public information. But he’d heard her plea, and wherever their relationship went next, he was at the mercy of her timing. A less foolish man might walk away, to find someone else to love and who would love him back.
But she did love him. He knew she did. She just needed to admit to herself.
“Blake, mate. Don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re running out of eggs. I’m sure there’s a gym somewhere you can work out all of this frustration. You know, like on a punching bag.”
Blake stared at Tim, who had been sitting at the counter watching him try to bake for the last half-hour. “You know I like to bake before a match. Baking calms me down.”
Tim peered into the sink. “Yeah, well...”
Blake could feel his jaw lock. He took a deep breath and reached for the silver mixing bowl, but he couldn’t stop himself from slamming it on the counter. The bowl rolled and rattled before it settled.
“Ahh. That explains the dents.”
“You’re not helping!’ Blake roared. “Go count some frogs or something!”
“I would, except I’m afraid if I leave, I’ll have nothing to eat on tonight,” Tim said. “I really don’t think you should be in the kitchen.”
“I’m fine, okay? I’m fine!”
Tim flinched. Blake turned away. Hands on his hips, he closed his eyes and took more deep breaths. He knew the root of his anger was his fear of losing her. After he’d returned to Christchurch, he’d been caught up in pre-season training and Club meetings. Added to the schedule were more meetings with RugNZ in preparation for his captaincy. But every day, he hoped she’d call, leave a message, something. He was no longer running in the mornings, but he’d wake up anyway and walk to Hagley Park to see if she were there.
She wasn’t. She’d disappeared again. How dare she resume her life as if they had never existed?
There was a quick knock on the door, and Tim hopped off the barstool to let in Andrew and Walt Stanton.
Andrew looked past Tim after greeting him. “Honestly, Blake. I could hear you yell from down the driveway.”
Blake stared at the two figures now standing in front of him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded and yanked at an apron that had the misfortune of being stuck to the hook on the wall. Damn it! Blake gave it one last tug, and both the apron and the hook came off, along with some of the plaster.
Four men stared at the spot where the hook used to be.
Blake looked at his witnesses, then at the apron in his hand before he threw it on the floor. Then he pointed at th
e other men. “You’d think she could at least tell me she’s safe, right? I have to read it in the papers! How hard is it to get on the phone? I’ll even take an email!”
“Blake...” Walt started.
“Maybe you need to just let her go,” Andrew interrupted.
Blake glared at Andrew. “Aren’t you the one who said it makes you happy to see her with me?”
“That was before you went a bit crazy...”
“I’m not letting her go!” Blake yelled. “I’m not her father! I’m not Kyle! Why can’t she accept that I need her, eh? What’s so wrong with letting me love her? I’m the bloody next captain of the National Team of New Zealand, and the one person I want to impress thinks it’s the reason she should break up with me! ME!”
“Steady, son, steady.” Walt pulled off his sunnies and placed them on his forehead, then scanned the kitchen counter. “Choc chip cookies? Looks like you need a little help. Andrew? Tim?”
“How about I run to the shops and pick up something for all of us to eat for tea?” Tim said. “Blake has to be at the stadium by six. I’ve tried for an hour, and all I seem to do is increase the destruction of plates and eggs.” He reached for his jacket and winked at Blake. “She didn’t die, mate. She just needs time.”
“Oh, shut up,” Blake muttered, his shoulders drooping.
Walt picked up the apron from the floor, casually slipped it over his head, and washed his hands before he opened the refrigerator. He tossed the butter at Tim, then grabbed the last two eggs from the fridge.
“Sit down, Blake,” he said firmly. “You need to cool off. Got to get your mind ready for the game. Didn’t Nan tell you never to bake when you’re angry?”
Blake frowned at his dad. “No. Nan said to bake when you’re angry. Nothing like beating eggs to let it out. She told me that’s how she stayed married to Pop for so long.”
“Yeah. We ate a lot of choc chip cookies growing up,” Walt admitted.
Blake watched his brother and father move with practiced synchronicity. They had always cooked in pairs: Andrew and Dad, him and Robbie. Mum only burned things.
He couldn’t remember when he was last overwhelmed by his feelings. Even in the euphoria of winning championships, nothing came close to the emotional roller-coaster of the last few weeks.
When Neela closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in Andrew’s penthouse, the floor seemed to swallow him. He could barely breathe. He couldn’t stand. Andrew found him sitting on the kitchen floor, his bottle of beer still full but his heart completely empty.
The sound of the mixer brought his attention back to the kitchen. When the room began to smell of vanilla and chocolate, he tried again. “What are you two doing here?”
“Tim called and said you were being a pain in the arse,” Andrew replied. “I told Dad. Dad told Mum. Mum’s painting Neela at the moment, so we thought we’d come over here.”
“Neela’s at the house?”
“She looks great—ow! Dad!” Andrew kneaded the spot on the back of his head where Walt had smacked him.
“We’re supposed to help your brother, not tease him.” Walt turned to Blake. “You are all right, son, aren’t you? Do you need to talk to someone about...uh... what you’re feeling?”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Good lord, Dad. That was terrible.” He put the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “If I understand everything correctly, she still wants to be with you. She just doesn’t know if she’s ready for more right now. And do you blame her? From what you said, her last boyfriend really did something to her.”
Blake crossed his arms. “It’s been six weeks. She hasn’t tried to get in touch once.”
“There’s no schedule for this one,” Andrew said. “You have a choice: wait or go. Both will have consequences that could last a lifetime.”
* * *
“He’s heartbroken, you know.”
“Mrs. Stanton...” Neela said.
“I’ve never seen him like this. His dad is even worried, which never happens. He and Andrew are going to watch Blake play tonight.”
Tonight? Of course. The start of the Super Rugby season. Those dates were usually ingrained in her head, but she’d tried to avoid all news about Blake these past six weeks.
Clarissa continued. “Blake was always the son who got back up after he fell down and always with a smile on his face. No, Blake wasn’t the one we were worried about, even with all the nonsense that came with being on the National Team.”
“Mrs. Stanton...”
“Don’t move, sweetheart. I’ll get the shadows wrong. That’s a good girl. ’Ta.”
Neela sighed and looked for something to focus on. There were a lot of choices in Clarissa’s studio: art, framed family pictures, collectibles, a selection of teacups. She settled on the nodding cat figurine, smiling smugly from its place on the shelf behind Clarissa.
“We knew this was serious when he didn’t go to the opera,” came the voice from behind the canvas. “He never misses opening night. An opportunity to dress in his best clothes and listen to music he adores? I thought it would take something extraordinary for him to give it up. And I was right.”
Neela detected the smug tone in Clarissa’s voice. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with me.”
“Believe that if you wish.” Clarissa stepped back into Neela’s line of sight. “Sweetheart, really, you must sit still.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Stanton. It’s just...” Neela took a deep breath.
Clarissa smiled gently. “He said you told him not to contact you. Why, dear? It’s obvious that you miss him too. There’s sadness in your eyes where once there was fire.”
“I’ve been busy,” Neela whispered. “So has he. He got what he really wanted, the captaincy. You must be proud.”
Clarissa laughed. “Well, yes. But he was supposed to be my artist, the singer, the actor. Then one day, when he was ten, he came home and said he wanted to be a rugby player. Just like that.” Clarissa shook her head, but the smile stayed.
“Something— or someone— opened a new world for him, and he became great. It’s a powerful thing to watch one’s children discover their talents. I’m proud of all my boys, Neela. It’s not what they do but who they are, and they’re all good young men. A little quirky, which surprises me, given that their dad is so predictable. But you’re wrong about the captaincy. It’s not what he really wants.”
Neela stood up, not caring whether she was in the right light. She wrung her hands. “Our relationship was for show, Mrs. Stanton. It wasn’t real. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we’ve only talked about being friends again. Nothing more.”
“He’s positively morose at the family dinners. He’s starting to depress even Lulu, who’s never sad! As for it not being real? We all saw the way you two look at each other. You can’t fake chemistry, dear. But there’s nothing wrong with making him wait. I told you, he’s always had it too easy with the girls. He’ll wait for you. I’ll guarantee it. My boys all know quality.”
Neela shook her head sadly. “I see where Blake gets his positive attitude from.”
Clarissa stilled her paintbrush.
“Actually, I got it from him,” she said softly. “I didn’t handle the move to England very well. But every weekend, when the boys came back from boarding school, he was the only one who could make me laugh. If you find someone who can do that with you, help you laugh when the world around you is dark, it’s a gift.” Clarissa turned back to her canvas, brush moving again. “By the way, what do you think of the name ‘Corey?’ It’s such a lovely name. Good for boys and girls.”
An hour later, Neela kept her motorbike running, having impulsively decided to keep going after arriving home. Restlessness stretched through her body, especially after she’d sat so still for Clarissa. Fortunately, there’d been no more mention of Blake during the rest of her time there. Not that it mattered, because she had heard enough to resurrect all her feelings for him.
He was never far from
her thoughts, and as lonely as it felt without him, she realized she didn’t want to lose her memories of his voice, his face, his smile, that bloody dimple— even the ache that came with remembering what it had been like to be in his arms.
She would return to a life without him, she promised herself. She would work hard and keep busy. She would learn how to live without Blake. She’d gotten over Kyle. She could do it again.
The difference was that she still wanted Blake.
And if what she’d heard today was right, he still wanted her.
He loved her.
Neela revved her engine to take a particularly steep hill, and as she turned the corner, she realized she wasn’t far from Captains’ Field.
A tribute to the men's rugby National Team, the tall cutouts of the more recent captains stood on private grounds which were part of a working farm. Rugby diehards would make a pilgrimage there for selfies. Her dad had brought his children here years ago, long before Neela had had any thoughts of being a professional athlete. He sat all four of them on the fence and recited the stories behind each captain’s most famous match. He told them to know the history of the sport, to understand the honor of playing for one’s team, whether it was for school or, perhaps, one day, for country.
He had looked at Joe then. No one expected Neela to fulfill the family’s secret hopes. But, silver medal or not, her decision to walk away when she did and how she had done so had dampened any joy her father might have felt at seeing her take the field in their country’s colors.
She should regret that action, but she couldn’t. It was who she had been at that time.
Neela parked the bike on the side of the road. The wooden fence seemed newer now. She climbed it, sat on the top rung, and studied the cutouts, each standing at approximately five meters tall. The team of captains, by its sheer size and numbers, was enough of a reason to stop and stare, especially for fans.
Now, years after she had first seen them and without the impatience of youth, Neela was able to appreciate the artistic impression of each face. The artist had cleverly captured the character associated with each captain. Mitch Molloy looked dangerously impassive. Connor Dane had a regal quality about him. Then there was her beloved cousin: no pretense, no airs. Just strength.
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