Page 29 of Payback
IRESIST THE URGE TOcall Allie the second I arrive back at my flat, and it’s a gut-check moment when I realise that I haven’t been this eager to pursue a woman in years. What is it about her that I find so alluring? Is it because she seems completely uninterested in the fact that I’m an athlete? Is it because she’s adorably clumsy around me and her awkwardness makes me smile?
It’s more likely because the one night we had together was so memorable that I need to find out if it was all in my head or not. Or maybe it’s because she acted so tense around me, I want to make it my mission to see her let her hair down?
Then again, I’ve never had a one-night stand before, so some of this is probably a personal goal for me to keep my track record intact. Thankfully, I’m going to see her tomorrow at the wardrobe fitting, so I can do my best to pursue all of my curiosities.
I park my car on the street outside of the Georgian house that I share with Maclay. When the two of us joined the team, we both had families back home who depended on us for support, so becoming roommates seemed like a reasonable idea considering the cost of living in London. Championship League wages are decent as a whole, but the difference is night and day when you compare my earnings of one hundred eighty thousand pounds per year to what Gareth Harris was making at Manchester United before he retired.
Regardless, the money I make per game affords me a comfortable life here in London and allows me to send at least half of my earnings to my mom to help out with my two younger sisters.
Mine and Mac’s place is located slightly north of London in Islington Green. It is a bit more central than where we train in Bethnal Green, so getting to clubs and nightlife isn’t too big of a jaunt.
I unlock the navy front door and jog up the creaky wooden stairs to the main level which features a cosy living room that opens up into the kitchen. The house is definitely a bachelor pad with our black L-shaped sectional sofa and a big screen TV stuck up above the old fireplace that we never use. The kitchen is small with black cabinets, brass finishings, and a tiny, old table that Mac found at a second-hand shop the day after we moved in. It’s not much, but we like it.
Mac took the master bedroom located off the kitchen, claiming he needed it because of his penchant for midnight snacking. I ended up with the bedroom upstairs that has the bigger bathroom in the hallway.
Both of us had our fair share of houseguests when we first moved to London, but once we became well-known as soccer players in the area, we realised quickly that bringing women back to our place only made it that much easier for them to show up unannounced. Now, we’re both a couple of lonely bachelors who honestly haven’t seen much action as of late. Hopefully when I see Lis tomorrow, that will change for me.
My phone lights up and I glance over to see MOM on the screen. I answer as I drop my duffel bag on the floor by the washing machine. “Hey, Mom.”
“Roan…How are you, sweetheart?” she coos into the line in her part British, part South African accent.
“Good. Just got back from training. How are you?”
“Training?” she tsks, and I can visualise her furrowed brow with very little effort. “I thought you had your final match of the season last week.”
“We did, but we have a couple of friendlies coming up.”
“And then you’ll get a break?”
I nod. “Yeah, but I still have to work hard to keep in shape during the off-season.”
She tsks again. “That team works you too hard.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. My mother has always been supportive of my career, but she’s also been very ignorant about the work it takes to maintain it.
“It’s only going to get harder with our premiership promotion next season. It’s a big deal to move up a level, so it’s going to mean more matches and more training…But that’s all good, Mom. It means more money as well.”
“We don’t need more money, Roan.” Her voice is sharp and brisk. “You already give us too much.”
“Are you still living in the same flat above the dance studio?” I ask knowingly.
She sighs heavily. “Yes.”
“Then we need more money.”
I’m met with silence on the other end of the line until she finally says, “Did you hate growing up here that much?”
“No, Mom,” I volley back, agitation coating my throat. “But Mia and Ava are seventeen now. They need their own bathroom, and you deserve to have a laundry room you don’t have to put coins into.”
“Mia and Ava are fine, and so is our laundry. That money needs to be saved for their education more than our comfort. You don’t have to take care of us, Roan. We make do the same way we did when you were a child.”
My jaw clenches at her words because making do is all my mother has ever done. My father’s sudden passing surprised everyone and we were not in a good place financially at the time. But my mother was too independent to accept help from his family or her own back in England. Despite her beliefs that less is more, I know my sisters feel differently. I’ve overheard them talking to each other about ways they can prevent their friends from coming over because they are ashamed of the small space. It’s a big reason I moved out at eighteen when I started playing for my team in Cape Town. Moving out meant they could both have their own bedrooms at the very least.And yet it’s still not enough.
“How’s the studio?” I ask by means of changing the subject to something that doesn’t make me want to grind my teeth.
My mom rattles on for twenty minutes about a new date night dance class she’s teaching for couples looking to spice up their love lives. She always comes alive when she talks about dance, which I’m grateful for because she’s really had some bad luck in love. Dance is her passion now. She tried to make it mine, too, despite my resistance. Now that I’m older, I can look back and say that dance made me a better soccer player. It certainly didn’t hurt my skills in the bedroom either.
We end our phone call just as Mac strolls into the house.
