Page 65 of Rebound
They laugh and I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts. I nod for my assistant coach to take over and step off the turf. There’s a tightness in my shoulders I’ve been ignoring and it’s reflecting badly in my daily life. Last night I broke down and cried in the shower, so there’s a sense of relief. But it didn’t chase away the rest of the anxiety building in my head. At first I thought it was related to Tamara, but realised quickly it’s not. It’s something else, an unknown element that’s made itself very comfortable in my head.
Leaning against the side of the main building, I watch as the team falls into formation and runs one of the many plays we’ve designed. The management put together an incredible group of players. Like the ICL, players from different field hockey playing countries are part of the League of Hockey Tournament. The Thunder is made up of a few Dutchmen, three Irishmen, a group of Australians, one Englishman and a whole slew of Indians. Since the Thunder is new, none of the boys from the national team made it. But that’s okay. I know how they play and I can use that knowledge to teach this team new tricks.
If only my head wasn’t feeling so imbalanced. With the team in the capable hands of my assistant coach, I head to the office they set up for us and load up game tape from the first few seasons of the LHT. The only upside to this is for five years, there was no tournament and a lot of the teams from then are now defunct. But it’s good to learn what worked for them so I can use that to coach my guys.
Another thing weighing me down is retirement. For so long I kept putting it aside to focus on the next championship, the next medal and trophy. But it’s clear I can’t keep doing that. I’ll be forty soon and there’s absolutely no way they’ll let me keep playing. There might have been a time when the national team had older players, but in the last ten years I’ve said goodbye to so many men I considered friends.
In my sessions, Dom and I only talk about how I feel with the coaching job. Every time he brings up retirement, I shut it down. It’s bad enough the sport sometimes triggers the panic spiral, I don’t want to spend too much time talking about it as well. I thought coaching and being around everyone would be difficult. But the truth is, it’s actually brought a weird sense of comfort for me. I get to be around the familiar smells, touch the turf every single day and call out plays. It’s everything else. The impending doom of my career, as it were.
When I start to get cross-eyed, I return to the field and drag the coaches in for a fun scrimmage. The endorphins and adrenaline keeps my head from spinning, and it also adds a little excitement for the team. We’ve got a few more months of training before the tournament starts and I don’t want these guys to think of it as just a job. Yes, they’re getting paid to play far away from home, but it’s a fun tournament with a trophy and medal at the end. And I like to remind them of that.
It’s closing in on nine when I finally get home. I’m sweaty and sticky, but I feel good. The weight in my head is gone and my shoulders aren’t pressed up against my ears. And I’ve been smiling a lot. The one hour ride from the training centre to the flat definitely helped as well. I peel off my shirt before I step inside and then untie my hair. I flip my cap around to keep the damp strands out of my face. I’m in the middle of taking my shoes off when fast moving footsteps have me jerking upright.
And there she is, the object of my fantasies and frustrations.
She’s not wearing any makeup, her curly hair is loose and absolutely wild, and she’s in another one of my T-shirts with nothing underneath. I already have no control when I’m around her, but she’s really testing my will power.
“Hi,” she greets me as her eyes do a full body sweep. She wets her bottom lip and bites down on it as her gaze lingers on my bare chest. This isn’t the first time I’ve been half-dressed in front of her, but judging by the way she’s staring, she’s never paid attention before.
“Everything okay?”
Tamara nods and her face brightens. Fuck me, she’s beautiful.
“This is probably going to sound ridiculous, but please hear me out before you respond?”
“That doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” I mumble and she laughs. My lips twitch in response and I nod for her to continue.
She takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, so this was totally impossible to get and the fact that she agreed is blowing my mind. There’s this lady, a baker and I really want her as a client. She’d be the ultimate collaborator and an incredible notch in my career. She’s opening a new bakery in Chennai and I really want to design it. I have soooo many ideas, Trick. SO MANY!” she squeals the last two words.
I’ve never seen this side of her, even when we were kids, she was always poised and composed. Clearly whoever this bakery lady is, she’s a big deal.
“And I had to come up with an excuse to get an appointment. Can you be free tomorrow, so you can go with me? It’s a wedding cake tasting and I can’t go alone. Unfortunately everyone knows Vera and I might have already given them your name. So what do you say, Trick. Will you go with me?”
Her words slowly settle into my brain and all I can focus on are wedding and cake tasting.
“Yeah, Lo. I’ll go with you.”
She bounces lightly and takes a step forward, but changes her mind, almost tripping over her feet. I grab her arms to steady her and Tamara blushes as her honeysuckle scent wraps around me. This is a new version of her and I’m not sure how to respond to it. Her smile is stunning and her eyes linger on my face, down to my chest and she nods.
“Thank you,” she whispers and I release her.
She walks away, leaving me in a puddle of sweat, emotions and what the fuck just happened?
Twenty-Two. Under false pretences
Tamara
Today is a big day, for so many reasons.
One, I’m finally going to meet Julia Christopher and weasel my way into designing her new bakery. When I came up with this harebrained scheme, I didn’t think it would actually work. After my walkthrough at the outhouse with Joshi, I returned to the office prepared to receive more bad news. But Pallavi was practically giddy—a spot opened up in Frosting’s very busy schedule for a cake tasting and it was mine if I wanted it. My assistant, being the intelligent person she is, didn’t ask before she confirmed. I promised to buy her lunch for the rest of the year for making it happen.
Two, the reason my heart is racing fast enough that I might have a panic attack. Patrick Joseph.
After almost two weeks of silence and avoiding each other, last night was definitely a big shock for both of us. It was in the way his eyes widened as I came charging out and the surprise written on his face when I rambled about my plan. Well, the gist of my plan. There’s no guarantee it’s going to work. But I digress. After he agreed to go with me today, I barely got any sleep. I relived those few minutes at the front door over and over again, waking up with my body humming for more.
Patrick’s beauty and physical prowess has never been a surprise to me. Clothed or not, the man is built like a tree and looks really good too. With the way his basketball shorts hung low on his hips, putting every inch of him on display, it was pretty impossible to get the words out. Beads of sweat clung to his warm brown skin, sliding over each muscle and sinew, guiding my eyes in all the right directions.
He’s been shirtless in the flat before, but last night? I got a better look at the tattoos on his torso—flowers on his left shoulder and bicep, monstera leaves on the other side, words on his clavicle, musical notes and cassettes and so much more. I’ll need another day to really catalogue every inch of his inked skin. As well as the two small medallions attached to the thin silver chain around his neck.
