Page 14 of Keeper
“What’s going on, guys?” a female voice interrupts.
I turn to see Camden’s girlfriend, Indie, stride up to us in her Bethnal polo and trousers, a med kit in hand. “Tanner’s a moron,” I answer.
“That’s nothing new.” Indie grins and pushes her bright green glasses up her nose. She gestures for me to sit down where I’m at and drops down on her knees next to me. “You tweak that same muscle again?”
I nod and she begins rooting around in the kit for the Deep Heat. “You need to be stretching this out every night, Booker. I’ve told you this. This muscle needs strength training for a solid six months. Playing with injuries isn’t necessary if we do things to prevent them instead.”
“I know. I keep forgetting,” I groan.
Tanner eventually gets yelled at by Coach to rejoin the team. I exhale heavily, relieved to see the back of him.
“Tanner getting on your nerves again?” she asks, looking up at me as she squirts the cream into her hand and twirls her finger in front of me so I turn around.
Indie and Camden have been together for nearly a year, so she’s practically part of the family. I think he would have proposed already if Tanner hadn’t stolen his thunder by proposing to Belle first.
“He’s trying to wind me up about rooming with Poppy.”
She chuckles. “Oh yes, the childhood friend I’ve been hearing so much about. I don’t know why you’re surprised by Tanner. He has a go at people for much lesser things. You shacking up with a girl is high-level gossip in the Harris family.”
I flinch as Indie rubs the cream on my side, working out the knot that’s already formed. Indie is good at this—sports medicine. She’s been with Bethnal for less than a year and has already been promoted from shadowing our team doctor to assisting and travelling with us on a regular basis. She’s quick, she’s efficient, and she has a great way of knowing exactly what we need before we even need it. Injury numbers have gone down since she joined the team because she knows all these strange new stretching techniques for injury prevention. We all laughed when she first demonstrated how to do them. But after one session, we all felt an ache in muscles we didn’t even know we had.
“Poppy and I are not shacking up,” I sigh. “Actually, we’re hardly speaking.”
“Oh?” Indie asks. “Did you do something to piss her off?”
I shrug my shoulders and remain mute because I’m not proud of what I did. I can’t believe how far it went, and it’s all my fault. I was the one who kissed her first. I was the one who climbed on top of her. And I can’t stop replaying it all in my mind in vivid detail. I can’t stop seeing that fucking nipple ring of hers.
“You going to bring her to Sunday dinner?” Indie asks, applying a warm bandage over the affected area.
I clear my throat, annoyed by my graphic memory. “I’m not sure she’d want to come. We’re kind of in a strange place.” It’s amazing how much easier it is to reveal even half-truths to Indie. I think she must have her degree in psychology, too.
She tsks and replies, “Well, get out of it and invite her. Harris Sunday dinners are great at bringing people back together. It’s where you both grew up. This seems like a no-brainer.”
That’s actually not a bad idea. I’ve been avoiding her because I don’t know what to expect from her. I’m afraid that if I push her too soon, she might bolt. But maybe going back home will help us remember what we were like as kids and not focus so much on how different we are as adults.
Indie caps the cream and stands. “Stretch and ice that tonight. Other than that, get your arse back to work. We have a game to win, and we won’t be able to do it without you.”
IT’S GAME DAY.AS USUAL, I’m on edge as I get ready in my room. I don’t get jovial and excited on game days like Tanner. I don’t wax lyrical about the majesty of Tower Park. I retreat into myself and focus one hundred percent on the game.
Goalkeepers are more often goats than heroes. It’s a role on the pitch that is always more criticised than praised. Maybe it’s because I never play a dramatic game if I can help it. I’m not setting up those Sky Sports-worthy saves and creating headlines because I grew up learning that dramatic diving saves happen when you’re not paying attention. Instead, I prefer to be prepared for anything and everything. I calculate every slice a football makes across the pitch and ready my subconscious for the speed and trajectory their kick would have if they shot at me right then.
I apply this same strategy to my life. Low drama. Love is an unpredictable emotion. It causes extremes and, as a footy player who prepares for worst case scenarios, I can’t overextend my inner circle or I risk getting burned. That’s why I don’t have relationships with women. I usually date them a few times before I sleep with them. Then I lose interest and stop calling. It’s a cycle that I repeat and causes very little commotion. I can usually tell when I’ve come across someone who’s clinging on a bit too tightly and detach before things go too far.
Luckily, I’m the keeper of my own heart.
I stuff my boots and gloves into my team bag and zip up my jacket. Making my way out of my room, Poppy’s voice surprises me as I enter the kitchen.
“You have a match today, right?” I look up to see her perched on top of the table with a bowl of cereal in her hand. She ruffles her hair off to the side, avoiding eye contact with me despite the fact that she just asked me a question.
Effectively snapped out of my tunnel vision, I nod woodenly. “Yeah, I do. Are you not working today?”
She shakes her head. “I’m off. And since I’ve never seen you play, I thought I’d come. If that’s okay.”
Frowning, I pull my bag up on my shoulder, shocked by her request. Having Poppy at a match will be a completely new experience for me.
“I’ll erm…organise a ticket for you to pick up at the window,” I stammer.
Her face flushes a crimson colour. “You don’t have to do that.” Her eyes finally find mine. They seem sad and insecure. They’ve lost the joy she had when she first arrived. I hate that I did that to them. I hate that this is the most we’ve spoken since night one. I wanted this flatmate situation to make it easy for us to be mates again, not hard. I miss her light tone. I miss the way she sometimes sings the last word of her sentences. This Poppy feels awkward. I have to fix it.
