Page 15 of Ace My Heart

I smiled, feeling heaps better already just at the thought of having Brad with me.

“Sure, that sounds great. I’m in room … actually, I’ll meet you in the foyer.”

Brad inhaled through his teeth. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea? You’re not supposed to be moving on a sprained ankle.” Brad would know, he was studying medicine at Uni.

“It’s okay, I’ve got crutches. I want you to take me somewhere if that’s alright?”

“Um, okay. I’ll be there in about twenty.”

I arrived in the foyer long before Brad was due, so I took a seat in one of the tub chairs and sighed. People looked at me with funny expressions, some of them even surreptitiously pointing their phone cameras in my direction. Great, I was infamous now: the tennis player who stuffed her Australian Open chances by falling over.Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what I’d always wanted to be remembered for. I’d been playing the pro circuit for two years now; I thought I’d gotten pretty good at ignoring the unwanted attention.

Didn’t stop me wishing I could do a Russell Crowe and chuck my phone at them.

“Looking good, Mel!” Brad’s mellow voice was like music to my ears. I looked up and beamed at him.

“You have no idea how great it is to see you!” I gushed.

Brad grinned, looking so boy-next-door it was almost criminal. His floppy dark blonde hair fell into his grey eyes, never looking quite tidy enough. His smile was bright and lopsided, and his teeth weren’t perfectly straight, giving him an approachable air. He was tall and lean, dressed casually in a pair of shorts and a black t-shirt.

“So, where do you want me to take you?” Brad asked, helping me to my feet and tucking the crutches under my arms.

“I need to get to a church,” I replied, hobbling out the front door. Brad helped me down the three steps, where his car was idling in the valet parking area.

“A church? Mel, you haven’t been inside a church since high school.” Brad sounded dubious.

“Exactly. Clearly I’m overdue. Besides, I broke a promise to God, and I need to make up for it before he sends worse shit my way.”

Brad shrugged. “Your wish is my command.”

The smell of frankincense inside Saint Eric’s hit me, bringing back memories of sitting in the pew in high school, waiting for my turn at confession. Nervous, sweaty-palmed memories of not wanting to tell the preacher just what dirty sexcapades I had gotten up to over the weekend. Memories of taking my Hail Mary’s without complaint, only to never actually recite them.

Shaking the cloak of memories off, I hopped over to the altar. After all, I hadn’t come for confession; I was here to light a candle just like I’d promised I would. I reached for my handbag for a two-dollar donation, before realising that I hadn’t brought it with me. Just my phone and the electronic room key in my back pocket.

I turned to Brad to beg for a loan, but he was already standing there with a wry grin on his face, a coin held out to me.

“My treat,” he whispered. I smiled at him and took the money, slipping it into the donation box and taking a candle.

Brad helped me kneel down in front of the altar, and then politely moved away so I could pray in peace.

I lit my candle from one of the other little stumps that were still burning there and sat it in among them.

God, first up, I really need to thank you for watching out for me in my quarter. I felt you with me during the match, I felt your strength supporting me.

I’m also really sorry, I made a promise and I broke it. I needed your guidance today and I couldn’t find it. I kind of feel like that’s probably a bit my own fault, really. And it’s made everything so much harder.

I’m going to need your help, to find the patience and the humility to mend this rift with Steve. I feel so awful that I let him down. I let me down too. And I let You down …

Now, I know that I don’t really have a right to be asking you for anything else right now. But … after last night – and I know you know what I’m talking about – there’s something that’s been playing on my mind. It’s not tennis related, promise …

I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes tighter shut, hoping that if I concentrated hard enough God really would pay attention.

Please, God, help me to find a guy. Not one who just thinks I’m hot and wants to screw me, but one who will take the time to get to know me, with all mycrazy fucked-upness, and who can love all of me. One who can help me to … to trust him, because after … well, everything, I just really need some help with that.

Oh, and if you have time, can you give Joel Herbert genital herpes? If he hasn’t got them already that is. Thanks God.

Finished, I looked around, and Brad walked over and helped me up. “So, what do you want to do now you’ve got that off your chest?” he asked.

“Let’s get pizza and booze and have a night in.”

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