Page 71 of King of Hearts

“That is the true beauty of language, Andy. I mean, I’ve read a novel where a Pacific octopus befriends an elderly woman, helping her find the peace she has craved for so long. It is a gorgeous exploration of love, loss and grief. A story of how friendship transcends all barriers.” She pushed up onto her elbow and I smiled at the way she was coming to life before me simply because I asked about something she so clearly loved.

“I’ve read stories about the love between so many. About dreams, pain, murder, psychological hurdles and otherworldly settings. People sit at their living room tables, Andy. They sit in libraries, on their lounges and even in their beds and they create these stories that we are fortunate enough to be able to read. Hard copy books, on our Kindles or even on our phones. How lucky we are and how amazing it is to be able to experience something new.” She paused before rolling onto her back again and running a hand down her face as she lay staring at the ceiling. “That does not at all answer your question. Sorry.” Her soft laugh echoed around the quiet room, ceasing only when I kissed her, unable to stop myself.

“You work with words.” I said against her skin. “With the stories of others. It answers the question perfectly and I love your mind so damn much.” I kissed her again before rolling onto my back too and reaching down to hold her hand which lay between us.

“The nostalgia of losing myself in some of the books I’ve read or articles I’ve edited – it’s hard to describe. It’s almost ineffable, you know. It crawls on your skin and penetrates the surface until it burrows itself in your bloodstream, coursing through your body as necessary as oxygen.”

She shrugged and I stared at her with an awe which slowly materialised into a realisation that simmered through my chest and into my heart.

I loved her.

I wasinlove with her.

I was in love with a woman who worked for the media. Who had published an article on me and spoken only of kindness. Who made me laugh, surprised me constantly and cheered me on even though she probably couldn’t tell you one rule of the game. The most interesting, beautiful and intelligent woman I had ever met. And I was the lucky son of a bitch who got to call her mine.

Instead of feeling a panic, it was a calm which finally lulled me into giving her a piece of me which I had kept buried for so long.

“I want to tell you atruthtoo, if that’s okay?” I said, suddenly a little nervous.

She didn’t answer, instead kissing me on the cheek, a silent sign of her encouragement.

“When I was first recruited to the Hearts I had a big debut season. I was a highly publicised draft pick and people were talking about me all the time. They were analysing my statistics and making predictions about what was to come for me. It meant plenty of cameras and microphones constantly in my face. As a twenty-year-old I did my best to humour them. To keep everyone happy even when it felt intrusive and confronting.” She squeezed my hand lightly in an act of support and I tilted my head to face her.

“But it wasn’t enough. They always had another question, wanted another photograph, made more guesses or comments about me as a player and then eventually as a person.” Closing my eyes I felt her shift and when I looked at her, she was facing me entirely. There was no expectation or pressure to continue what I was saying, only an unspoken solidarity and surprisingly I found I wanted to give this to her. So, she understood why I was the way I was with the media. Why I was the way I was with her when we first met. But also, for myself. A burden shared…

“They were everywhere. They waited outside the field when we played a match, which was expected, but then they were there on training days too and then eventually outside my house.” I took a deep breath as the memory of the unknown cars lining the hill outside my childhood home returned. The dark windows which I knew concealed cameras and phones, ready to record my family and I anytime we stepped foot outside the door.

“It was suffocating. I did my best to ignore them and the Hearts worked hard to have them removed. The police patrolled, moving them along, which would work for a short while. A night or two of peace and ease in finding parking at my own god damn house. But they always came back.”

Arna ran her finger down my cheek before placing her hand firmly on my chest. No wonder I loved this woman. She was rock solid knowing exactly what I needed before I even did. I rolled entirely onto my side to face her and brought a hand up to hold hers, drawing on the strength she was affording. “One night Mum and Dad were heading out and she went to the clothesline to get something she wanted to wear.” I paused, the anger, guilt and sadness washing through me as if it was only yesterday when I got the call from Dad.

“She took the jacket off the line and came face to face with a fucking journo, camera in hand trying to take photos of inside our house. He snapped photos right in her fucking face, the lights momentarily blinding her and she panicked, tripped and hit her head on the concrete when she tried to get away.” Arna’s hand flew to her open mouth, my chest immediately missing her warmth, but I nodded as I understood the horror in hearing this story for the first time.

“Yep. Luckily Dad heard her and flew outside. There were two of them and he made sure they were still there when the police arrived a short time later. Mum said she was okay, said it wasn’t my fault, but they were there because of me.” I paused, recalling the bright red and blue lights when I got home, the blood on the concrete outside where Mum fell and the resulting concussion.

“We moved houses not long after that. We sold the house I grew up in and where Dyl spent most of his childhood, because my mum didn’t feel safe.” I shook my head and shrugged apathetically.

“You blame yourself.” Arna said matter of factly. “You think it’s your fault that this happened. That’s why you hate us so much.” Her soft voice wasn’t seeking clarification. She knew. She knew when Mum’s cuts and bruises healed, the guilt never left me and now sat dormant like a second skin, ever-present and ready. “But that’s on them, Andy. Not you. You can’t carry everyone else’s bullshit or it will bury you. What they did was illegal. That is not on you.” She sat up, the vehemence clear in her words as she reached for my chin to ensure I was looking at her.

“Andy, you need to forgive yourself, because this is not your burden to bear.” I studied her, the way her hands gently caressed my face while she waited patiently and it felt almost crazy that I hadn’t told her sooner. Of course, she wasn’t going to judge or ridicule. Because she wasn’t them – she never had been.

Reaching out, I pulled her into me and kissed her deeply with gratitude, admiration and what I now knew was love and for the first time in a long time, or possibly ever, I felt entirely content.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Arna

Arna:Marls! I’m calling you this afternoon. I need to see your face and I miss you. x

Throwing my phone into my draw, I opened the latest manuscript I was editing and reached for my highlighter. Why did people feel the need to use so many different fonts in a piece on gardening? It wasn’t as if it was a floral arrangement on the page – Times New Roman would suffice and prevent me from biting the end off this texta in pure frustration.

It was already arduous trying to concentrate when all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed, on top of a six-foot hunk of man meat, and ride the guy until tomorrow. It was safe to say I was not only slightly obsessed, buthappy. I had never felt so whole in any other relationship, not that there was much to compare it to, but Andy brought out the very best in me, challenging me to be bolder, stronger and livelier.

Sighing, I dropped the marker and propped my chin in my hand, elbow on the desk. Snippets of Andy exiting the bathroom, a white towel slung low around his hips crowded my mind and I crossed my legs to alleviate the itch I would not be able to scratch until I saw him tonight. It was a wonder we left the apartment at all. He made it difficult to do anything other than rip that towel from his waist and suc –

My laptop pinging halted my deliciously inappropriate daydream, given I was at the office, however upon seeing Andy’s name I avariciously grabbed the mouse to open the email.

Doing my best to camouflage the broad smile threatening to form, I hit reply.

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