Page 87 of Endurance
“No!” she exclaims with a laugh and pushes me away. “You’ve made me dinner and I intend to enjoy it.”
I sag. “And so another dream dies.”
For years, the first thing I thought about when I woke up in the morning was football. Not just on match days but every day. I’d wake up thinking about the last goal I scored and when I’d score the next one. How practice went that week. A manoeuvre I wanted to run by Dad. How we were going to push our team to the next level. The politics, the players, the passion. The struggle. Football always consumed me.
So when I crack my eyes open to the light of day on the morning of my first match after my suspension and the first thing that crosses my mind is Belle, I know that everything has changed.
The pitch is wet and spongey from this morning’s rain, like a baptism, cleansing the area for my readmission into the sport. The air is heavy with cool moisture and the faint smell of stale beer and Pukka Pies permeates my nose. All of it feels like home.
I stand here, awaiting the kickoff, practically coming out of my skin with an urgency to turn this vibrating focus coursing through my veins into a fucking win to relegate all other wins. My team feels it, too. DeWalt, Booker, Dad. They all look at me and feed off the energy I’m pushing out.
I’m determined to honour this coloured armband with the word “CAPTAIN” scrawled on it. I’m determined to prove that Bethnal Green isn’t the beleaguered team it once was. I’m determined to show them that Tanner Harris is not half a striker. Not anymore.
I’m determined to show them that I’ve been reborn a new man.
The whistle blows…and it’s exactly what I do.
AS SOON AS THEPARKERSwalk out of the Westminster Suite of the Shangri-La Hotel, I tear into my handbag for my mobile.
I’ve been dying to know how Tanner’s match went, but it was important to give due respect to the Parker family who travelled here all the way from America. We had a lovely afternoon of high tea thirty-eight levels up in Europe’s tallest building, The Shard. The suite is decadently kitted out in soft creams and under-stated Asian interior design. But let’s face it, you don’t notice much of the room when you have floor-to-ceiling windows with stunning views of the River Thames and Tower Bridge.
The Parkers were blown away. Their daughter, twelve-year-old, Nevaeh, was one of Dr. Miller’s first spina bifida success stories from a clinical trial she did at her former hospital in Indiana.
Spina bifida is when the spine doesn’t close properly in-utero and can cause severe nerve damage over time. Nevaeh’s lesion was located at the top of her spinal cord, so the prognosis for foetuses like her is not good. Most are unable to even breathe on their own.
The Parker’s OB advised them to abort, as do many doctors, but then they found out about the clinical trial. Dr. Miller operated on Nevaeh when she was a twenty-five-week foetus. Now she’s a healthy, vibrant girl who recently became captain of her debate team. It’s the stuff miracles are made of.
Miracle or not, it doesn’t take away from the fact that I need to know how Tanner did today. He may not be saving the lives of tiny patients, but people depend on him. His teammates look up to him; his fans root for him. Football breathes life into an often times dreary world. Watching him give it his all and commit to the match one hundred percent is miraculous in and of itself.
And when I left his flat this morning, I saw a graveness in his eyes that frightened me. I don’t know if it was because of the game or because of something with us, but I’ve been worried about him all day.
I scroll through my mobile and pull up football highlights for the day. When a headline catches my eye, I nearly squeal with joy.
“A carnival performance,” is what the media will be calling the Bethnal Green F.C. win today. Bethnal inflicted humiliation on their opponents with a seven to one powerhouse victory when the ninety minutes was up.
“Yes!” I shriek and throw my hands up into the air before I continue reading.
A massive comeback for striker Tanner Harris, who captured his third career hat-trick after a month-long suspension. There are a million different ways a ball can enter the net, and Tanner showed us some of the best. But his reign didn’t stop there. He proved beautiful leadership on the pitch with two stunning passes to fellow striker and South African transport, Roan DeWalt, resulting in two more balls between the posts.
I sigh with relief as I read more gushing specifics about every one of Tanner’s impressive goals. Needing to connect with him, I pull up my text box to send him a message. Suddenly, his face lights up on my screen with a call.
I’m smiling ear to ear when I answer. “You fucking hotshot, you did it.”
His deep laugh warms my nether regions. “We did. It was a match I’ll never forget. God, I wish you could have been here.”
“Me, too,” I groan. “You’re going to demand a blowie tonight as retribution, aren’t you?”
He coughs out a surprised laugh. “I certainly would never say no. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but that’s because they’ve never had Belle Ryan’s mouth wrapped around their cock.”
I giggle and shake my head. “You better not have people around you.”
“Oh, I’m in the changing room talking into the megaphone. It’s fine. The guys are really happy for me.”
“Tanner, you knob!” I can’t hide my laugh. I don’t want to hide my laugh. Need creeps between my thighs. A great afternoon for me; an incredible win for him. I’m all by myself in a lush room. He needs to be here. “When are you getting here?”
“The team is going out for a pint to celebrate and then I’ll head back to the flat to change. I can be there by a quarter to eight to pick you up from the room if you’d like.”
I exhale. “That works I suppose.”
