Page 42 of King of Hearts

Conversely, leading them through a loss was one of the worst. The rooms were sombre, heads bowed, and the coaches provided brutal honesty in their post-match address. As captain, the weight rested on my shoulders. I couldn’t accept the pride that came with a win without also wearing the responsibility when we didn’t.

Especially a loss like the one we had tonight, where some of the fans on social media questioned ‘if the Hearts evenshowed up to play’making the fatigue heavier and the disappointment deeper. Usually after a defeat I would head straight to the offices, watching and rewatching the match tapes, scrutinising every play of the ball, every ‘one-percenter’ which resulted in a goal or assist. I’d send each player a message with things to work on or things I was proud to see. Remind them to keep their head up and to focus on the following week.

But tonight, the only place I wanted to be was at home. When I woke up in the hotel alone, the weight of last night heavy in the air, Arna was the only person I wanted to see. I would usually call Mum and Dad or head to the gym to lick my wounds, but interestingly, my regular was not what I needed.

Shewas.

I retrieved drinks from the small fridge on the balcony and walked over to where Arna sat on one of the recliners. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and seemed to go on for days. Her hands rested on top of her stomach, which was covered in a loose-fitting white dress, transparent enough that the red bikini she was wearing was clearly visible underneath.

She was a fucking sight.

From the moment she arrived I wanted to strip her naked and bury myself deep within her, but there was a lot to be said for the art of patience. Not only did she deserve to be savoured, but there was something bothering her and I wanted her to feel relaxed enough to share. Selfishly, I also wanted insight into that incredible little mind of hers to know exactly how to alleviate those worries.

“Are you sure you want to hear the latest chapter of my workplace drama?” Her accompanying smile was forced and for the first time I wondered if she enjoyed her job as much as she said she did.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Okay, okay. Picture this.” She turned to face me, tucking one of her legs under the other and I caught a glimpse of her bikini bottom for the slightest moment feeling like a pervert when I couldn’t look away. “So, I am seconded to conduct a scintillating interview with an illustrious football deity – that’s you, of course.” She grinned mischievously and I smiled enjoying the theatrics.

“And amidst our ongoing exchange of flirtatious banter, a fleeting moment of intimacy is immortalised by those garbage dwelling paparazzi….” She paused for full effect, “Now, cue the melodramatics of my absolute dickwad of a boss. Because in his infinite wisdom, he has a death wish and dares to question my objectivity.” She threw her hands in the air and shook her head, clearly more upset than her sarcastic tone betrayed if her eye roll was anything to go off. “Like, now my entire journalistic ethos apparently hangs by a thread. The – fucking – audacity!” She punctuated each word with a sharp clap.

“Naturally, I had to school him in the fine art of separating personal from professional, reminding him my integrity is obviously unwavering. I mean, surely, he understands, one must never allow a flashbulb frenzy to overshadow the essence of true journalism.” Her final words oozed with a sarcasm I was finding she used a lot and I laughed, applauding her as she took a mock bow.

“So, your boss is a total dick. You’re one of a kind – surely, he knows that.”

“He does not, because I spent all afternoon editing a manuscript about how celery is reportedly being used to cure anxiety.” She rolled her eyes before taking a large sip of her wine. “Anyway, that is not at all interesting, but thank you for listening. How was Adelaide?”

“Nice diversion,” I grinned. “I think my weekend sounds similar to yours. Only it isn’t the boss who is questioning me but the fans and media. Again.”

“You know, I never noticed the Hearts before. No offence.” She shrugged apologetically. “But now, I feel like everywhere I go I see your photo or something about the team. You’re a big deal, huh?”

I sat back in the outdoor recliner and sighed. “It would seem so.”

“What’s it like, living this life?” She asked genuinely as she raised her sunglasses to rest on top of her head. There was no expectation in her features, no pressure to provide a certain bravado or pretence. She was simply asking a question which hundreds had asked before, but from an honest and unassuming place.

“Days like today are rough.” I answered, raising my beer to my mouth. Watching me with intrigue she seemed to ponder my response before she asked another question.

“Why do you carry the weight of a loss alone? There are twenty-one other players. And, yes, you should be proud of that knowledge – I’m honestly a super fan at this point. But seriously, I appreciate you’re the captain, but it seems quixotic to carry that on your own.” She looked out towards the cityscape after planting that seed, giving me time to think before I responded.

I ran a hand through my hair, lolling my head to face her. “You know you’re a logophile, right?”

Arna burst out laughing, slapping a hand against her thigh. “You Googled that word, didn’t you?” She said between her laughter.

I nodded emphatically, not even remotely apologetic. “I did. And then I used it with every person I could so I wouldn’t forget it. Half the boys questioned if I was having a stroke. But it’s true. You love words. I’ve never heard of half of the shit you say.” She looked at me thoughtfully and I smiled.

“But to answer your question, I guess it’s part of the role. Sometimes it feels like lugging a fridge up a steep hill. As the skipper, you feel every bump, every struggle and every setback. When we’re handed a loss like the other night, it’s as if every single player takes a knock to the heart, but as the captain, that weight lands directly on you. You’re the one copping the most speculation from the press, doubt from the coaches and scrutiny from the fans. It’s part of the gig, but it doesn’t make it easier. I have to shoulder it, rally the boys and bounce back stronger. It’s the only way.”

“Sounds heavy.” She said, her eyes searching my own.

“Probably no different to the pressure you feel from your boss.”

“A lot different. That’s one person, not thousands. Plus, I don’t have people trying to take a photo of me every second of the day. Unless I’m with you, of course.” She smirked and I swung my legs towards her, placing my feet on the ground.

“I’m going to order us some pizzas and then we can have a spa. Do you like ham and pineapple?”

“Ummm, asking me if I like pineapple on pizza is like asking me if I like my shoes on the wrong feet – absolutely not. Pineapple only belongs in a cocktail, not on a perfectly delicious cheese pizza.” The clear repulsion on her face made me laugh.

“Extra pineapple it is.” I said, finishing the rest of my beer and taking her empty glass. “Refill?”

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