T
en minutes before game time, all the players were in the changeroom beneath the stadium. Physio’s strapped up limbs while assistant coaches shared their re-spun speeches. Twenty-two men wore the Club’s game-day black, red and white uniform. Some sat and did deep breathing, as if meditating. Some bounced a ball against the wall. Others paced the floor like wildcats. While others leaned against the walls, heads down with earbuds in, listening to music or motivational podcasts.
Seated in front of his locker, Ward watched them prance about with the jitters, jumping and flexing before the siren.
‘Well, what d’ya know?’ Zara was right about footballers being two-legged thoroughbreds. All that attention to muscle strength, reflexes, agility training, and cardio, all for this one moment. The more he looked, the more similarities he found between the two sports.
Ward glanced at his game-day uniform, the shirt, the shorts, the long socks, and the footy boots. It felt foreign, not having worn it in his three weeks away from the game.
He blinked as the internal visions hurtled through him from the last time he’d worn this uniform. The wet rain, the cold wind, the salty sweat stinging his eyes as he leaped for the ball, clambering over teammate’s backs. The lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, as his fingertips reached for that ball spinning in the dark skies, then it all came crashing down.
He winced, bracing himself, slapping palms over his ears as he lowered his head between his knees. He panted as muscles tensed, trembling with fear that led a fine sheen of perspiration across his skin. The pain of plummeting to earth spiked like a spear ramming along his spine and into his neck. It hit in a massive wave so deep, so heavy, his heart boomed in his ears with each pound of his pulse. His lungs squeezed. It hurt to breathe. Hands fisted with whitening knuckles against his scalp, he shivered in a mass of tight muscle.
Lost, he turned away from his teammates and spotted his mobile that lay beside Zara’s painted pebble in the pocket of his sports-bag. Fear gripped him hard as he clutched the cold stone in his hand and forced himself to breathe. With the other hand, his thumb stabbed a number in his phone. ‘Pick up. Pick up.’ His head dropped as he squeezed his eyes shut tight. The pumping blood pounded in his ears, competing with his phone’s dial tone. ‘Pick up. Pick up. Please, pick up.’
‘Hi,’ said Zara’s soft voice over the phone and he sighed at the sound.
‘Thank god.’
‘Nervous, huh?’
Was this a panic attack? He sniffed at the stale sweaty locker room air that tasted like a bad acidic medicine at the back of his throat. ‘Just hit me.’ Whatever this was, it was like he’d been trampled by an entire team of players attacking him for the ball.
‘Keep deep breathing and roll those shoulders for me.’
He croaked out, ‘Okay.’ Used to taking orders he did as instructed. ‘Just keep talking, please.’ The sound of her voice was soothing and the pebble in his hand was warming. He filled his lungs and exhaled, hoping to release the stress gripping his shoulders. How did she know his shoulders would be like this?
‘I’m guessing your uniform might’ve been a trigger.’
‘I’ve never been like this, Z.’ Where was his backbone now? Had he regressed to the fears of a boy playing his first game?
‘You have.’
Frowning, he sat straighter facing the locker with his back to the room. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Yes, you have. When you first saw your fall on the TV it must’ve sparked the nightmares you suffered that night.’
‘I don’t remember having any nightmares.’ Then he remembered he’d woken before her fireplace on the stormy night his memory had returned and kept reliving the fall. ‘I remember you were there.’ She’d rubbed his back and her voice soothed him back to sleep. Was that real?
‘I didn’t leave your side that night.’
Again, he sighed with relief, and the icy grip around his soul was exchanged with a warmth that flooded through his chest.
‘You’ve been through this before. You’ve faced your demons and worked through them yourself. You jumped off a horse the same height you fell and landed squarely on your feet.’
‘But you were there to catch me.’
‘I didn’t need to catch you because I believed you’d do it. You got yourself there. It was you who had the courage to face your fears, and you did it.’
‘You helped me.’
‘But you had to want to do it for yourself first. It’s you who has always had that belief in yourself.’
‘Me?’
‘You were the one willing to take that chance and let me work on you. It was you who went running in the mornings, not me. It was you who lifted hay bales and pushed and pulled gates and continued training. You climbed onto that horse, not me. All I did was guide you because you had that courage to try.’
He opened his palm and stared at the intricate details of the tree she’d painted onto the flat pebble. It was so small and delicate in his hand, comforting him like the lady herself. ‘You’ve been there for me, Z.’
‘I’m here now.’
‘Where?’ He sat up, looking over his shoulder to the other men performing their own pre-game preps.
‘Here at the game.’
He felt that warmth in his chest spread through his limbs as his grin grew with hope. ‘Here at the stadium?’
‘Yep, the whole family is here.’
‘For real?’ From the open doorway the echo of the roaring crowd filtered into the room like unseen ghosts crawling across the ceiling.
‘You gave us season passes for home games, so there’s no way we’d miss your return game. We even raided Toby’s paints and used old bedsheets to make homemade banners with your name all over them. It’s like we’re your personal cheer squad.’ Her giggle chipped away the last of the fear.
With relief and pride, he covered his mouth with the fingers that clutched the pebble. She was here. His Zara was here, he could almost cry with joy.
What was wrong with him to be so emotional?
‘Now don’t you disappoint us, okay? We didn’t put up with Stacey’s driving for nothing, you know.’
Ward smiled, wiping the fine layer of sweat from his face, as he chuckled at her comment. ‘I’ll admit, Stacey is a shocker behind the wheel.’ A teenager who drove so slowly he’d jogged right past her on the farm’s track, beating her home. Home?
He sat taller, rolling his shoulders, wriggling his toes in his shoes, as the spike of adrenalin coursed through his veins. ‘Where in the stadium are you, Z?’
‘On the left side of where you guys run out of the change rooms. We’re a few rows back from the fence line, Dad says they’re great seats. We’ve got Ward rules as our banners, so I’m apologising upfront because they’re embarrassing. The boys are decked out in every bit of Club gear you gave them, and I’m the one ducking for cover, just like you do with your sister, pretending they don’t belong to me.’
Her laugh made him laugh with her, picturing her double-dimple smile.
‘So, are you okay now?’ Zara asked.
Ward gave a slow grin, there was no more fear as his focus returned. ‘I’m good, knowing you’re here.’ It was the truth. He gripped the pebble as if feeling her strength and held it to his heart.
‘You bet we’re here. Have you ever tried to get four men, two women, and a toddler into one car—its chaos. So please, have a great game, we’ll be cheering you on.’
‘Thank you, Z, I appreciate that and I’m glad you answered my call.’
‘Said I would.’
‘One Minute,’ came the cry from the assistant coach and the surrounding men moved to their feet.
‘Can you stay for after the game?’ It was game time, and he should be focusing on the game now. But here he was planning for after the game—he’d never done that before.
‘Um?’
‘Please?’ If it wasn’t so close to game time, he’d run out there and look for her.
‘Okay.’ Her reply was so quiet amongst the crowd.
‘Great. I’ll tell the steward; they’ll come and see you with a pass.’
‘Don’t go to any trouble.’
It was no trouble, he’d do anything for her. He’d done everything she’d asked that got him to this moment—to play.
Locker doors slammed and the soles of footy boots clacked along the concrete floors. Liniments and last-minute bandage strappings were applied as players gathered by the closed door waiting to run through the tunnel and out onto the field. It reminded him of the thoroughbreds milling around the back of the chutes on the racetrack, prior to getting locked behind the starter gates—another similarity between the two sports.
‘Z, I’ve gotta go.’
‘About time you got out there and looked busy.’
‘I will.’ He smiled wide at the phone.
‘And take no prisoners.’
‘Where did that come from?’ He chuckled, not expecting that out of Zara.
‘That’s Billy’s war-cry before he fights. Works for him, it might work for you too?’
‘I’ll remember that, thanks. I’ll see you soon.’ Ward smiled at the pebble in his palm and kissed it as if for luck from the lady herself.
He could do this now.
With a deep breath, he slid his mobile and pebble into his bag. He rolled his neck and shoulders, flexing his fingers to pump the adrenalin through his veins.
Yeah, he was back.
This is what he was trained to do.
It’s all he knew and what he loved to do.
It was game time.
***
Amongst the aroma of coffee, beer, and meat pies, the many fans gathered in the stadium’s stands to soak up the winter sunshine. Zara sat with her family, wearing the Saints’ colours that Ward supplied. She laughed at their homemade banners, waving like limp flags stolen from some ancient sailing ship stranded without a breeze. The disjointed lettering read: WARD’s our Hero; for WARD’s the man; he’s the WARD against evil. It was nice that they’d done this and hoped it boosted Ward’s confidence.
But today she was nervous. This was her first live game of AFL. The big leagues.
‘Was that Ward calling?’ Joe asked, seated beside her.
‘Yeah.’ Zara smiled at the phone as she slipped it into her pocket, hoping Ward was okay.
‘Nervous, huh?’
She shrugged. She didn’t want Ward upset, yet glad he’d called her. Was she getting too attached to him?
‘You’re like your mother, she always knew what to say.’ Joe patted his daughter’s shoulder and faced the field. ‘Should be a good game, luv.’
‘I hope so.’ The pristine grass looked like carpet, about to be churned under footballers’ boots. Would the players run along the fence like thoroughbreds on a track with grass flying behind them? Would they snort for air as they raced for the ball first or to get ahead of the pack? Would the crowd be just as loud vying for their spots to watch for the photo-finish?
But the sheer size of the stadium was unexpected. It blocked the outside world where she had to crane her neck back to stare up at the window view of the sky. An electrified air swirled around as the seats began to fill, she hadn’t expected this many people.
‘Oh, it’ll be a pearler of a game, luv. Our boys are gonna kick career goals havin’ Ward back, that’s a massive boost, along with a home ground advantage. You wait ‘til you hear this crowd roar. I’d better turn off my hearing aid before it erupts.’ Joe fiddled with the aide behind his ear. Readjusted his Akubra, and with a new team scarf around his neck, he grinned wide, soaking up the atmosphere.
It began like a storm rolling in off the ocean that travelled through Zara’s boot soles as it raced to her chest and deafened her ears. She flinched and reached for her father as the crowd roared. He patted her hand that gripped his arm, giving her an encouraging grin, cheering along with the tens of thousands of excited fans as the players ran onto the field.
The fans screamed louder as Ward came out onto the grass like some superstar, and not just a face on the television. She could feel it, see it, and even smell the anticipation that spread like an invisible electric current saturating the crowd as the excitement built.
She gaped up at Ward, larger than life on the big screen, proclaiming his return like a rock star. It was so surreal. She knew a man who was on television screens shown across the country. This world of fame was nothing like her slow-paced cocooned lifestyle on the farm. This was the world of elite football and Ward was at the centre of it.
‘Ward. Ward. Ward.’ The crowds chanted, while Ward shouldered opposition players jostling on the field as he positioned himself in the centre, waiting and watching like a warrior about to begin the battle.
Why was Ward bothering with her? She was just a face amongst a sea of faces, when he was a superstar who had the world cheering his name.
***
The crowd cheered as the final siren blew and the Saints were victorious.
Ward stood in the centre of the stadium and took in the moment. He’d missed this. The game, the crowd behind him spurring the adrenalin that still sizzled within his bones.
He shook hands with the opposition players and headed for his teammates gathering by the changeroom’s tunnel to sing the team’s song. It was all part of their post-game routine.
‘Ward?’ shouted the sports reporter, waving the microphone at him.
‘Oh, man.’ Ward searched for an escape, trying to walk around them.
‘Hey Ward, just a few words, mate?’ The reporter jogged towards him with camera crew in tow.
Too late.
The late afternoon chill nipped against his hot skin in a sweat-soaked shirt and shorts. But he had to do this and took a drink from a team runner as the camera crew got ready. Not that he had any idea of what to say when he had yet to catch his breath.
It’d been a tough game. His focus had only been on the game from the first siren where it was all about getting that damned ball. Pass it to his teammates. And kick some goals.
And he’d done just that.
All he’d seen were his teammates, the opposition, the umpires, and the goal posts. All he’d heard was the whistle. But now he could hear thousands of voices singing their team’s song to a footy field now void of players.
‘We roll in thirty seconds,’ called out the reporter. He was an ex-premiership captain, and one of the few who’d made it into media after retiring from the game.
What happened to the rest of the ex-superstars of the game?
Ward ran fingers through his sweaty hair to tame his cockatoo crest. He’d done live interviews a few times over the years and used to love it. But today he wanted to get it over with, and fast.
He wiped at the sweat still trickling around his eyes and took another swig of the sports drink. He spotted the banners waving his name, where Zara’s family of misfits waited. That’s where he wanted to be. Not here.
Yet, Ward used to love being a part of the media parade, but now, he didn’t want a bar of it—oh man, what’s going on?
The cameraman signalled with palm up, counting down with his fingers. ‘Five, four, three, two…’
Showtime.
The sports reporter started the interview holding the microphone between them. ‘Ward, you were a powerhouse out there today, mate. How are you feeling?’
‘Good.’ His voice was hoarse from shouting during the game, he cleared his throat and took another drink.
‘You’ve recovered from that spectacular fall a few weeks back?’
‘Yep.’ Ward grinned with a hell yeah. Then remembered to act cool in front of the camera or he’d get hassled by teammates later, and took a calming breath and allowed the media training to kick in.
‘The team missed you and you led the charge today by making the most in possessions. You also beat your personal best for kicking the most goals in one game.’
Ward arched an eyebrow in surprise. ‘We did it together, as a team. Even when I wasn’t well, the team supported me both on and off the field. Now I’m back and I’m bringing my best.’ Ward answered the interviewer’s questions keeping it as brief as possible. He had other things to do, and one of them was to get warm.
The reporter said, ‘It’s great to see you back in action today.’
‘Thanks, it’s great to be back.’ Ward loved playing.
‘And you were back with a vengeance.’ The reporter patted Ward’s shoulder and spoke to the camera for a moment and then the interview was over.
Ward met his teammates who’d gathered by the exit to their change rooms. A team-runner handed him a small football and marker for Ward to gift to someone in the crowd. It’s what they did after winning and that was to hand out either an autographed flag or banner.
They only played eighty minutes of actual game time stretched into an average of two and a half hours. The rest of the time was practising and promoting the club. This part he didn’t mind and knew who he’d give this ball to.
He jogged to the oval’s edge to find Billy squeezed amongst the crowd along the fence line with Toby in his arms. Ward held out the ball to the boy.
‘WARD.’ Toby clutched the ball in his small hands as Ward beamed with pride at the delight on Toby’s face.
Other people jostled and called to Ward for his attention. He got in a few photos and slapped out a few high-fives to fans. Signed a few shirts and scarves, waved at the crowds, and then he saw her. Her black beanie crowned her butterscotch locks that spilled down her shoulders, while her scarf covered her lips to keep them from the cold. He raised his hand in a wave, her eyes shone as she smiled, and he no longer felt the cold.
‘Let’s go, Ward,’ called Nick, by the gate.
‘Coming.’ He gave Zara a sly wink, tempted to climb the fence to be with her. But he had to go change and celebrate with his teammates. The fans’ cheers followed him as he ran down the concrete corridor.
As a prince in a world of kings, he’d missed this and was so glad to be back.
***
‘Ward’s like this superstar,’ said Stacey beside Zara and Joe at their seats, as the crowd spilled through the exits.
‘Ward’s a legend, who played a top game,’ Adam said, climbing over the chairs to the vacated row in front of them.
Billy walked up carrying Toby who hugged his little ball. ‘I’ve never been to a proper professional live game before.’
‘Better switch this back on,’ mumbled Joe, fiddling with his hearing aid. ‘So, what did you mob think of the live game?’
‘I’m hooked,’ said Tim with a wide smile. Gone was the crusty brandless cap, now replaced by the new Saints’ cap he was busily bending to perfection.
‘I thought boxing was tough,’ said Billy, ‘but we’ve got gloves and only one person to contend with. Not like Ward, he had nothing to protect him when he had those two guys on him. They mustn’t show the punches and knocks on TV, coz Ward got thumped heaps out there. He’s tougher than I thought.’
Adam nodded and grinned, looking over at the field. ‘True dat. Ward gave as good as he got in that battle zone.’
With scarf covering her lips from the cold, Zara watched the greenkeepers inspect the oval’s turf like it was precious carpet. The stands that had once been full of people were emptying fast, replaced by cleaners. It was so quiet and calm now. It’d taken until the second quarter to stop flinching at the screaming men around her. They weren’t yelling at her but at the game.
She’d never seen a game like it. Sure, they’d watched the local country games and the weekend TV games, but not this. Live in action, the entertainment was borderline-brutal, with crowds screaming for blood and where the players were like gladiators in the arena.
It wasn’t what she’d expected.
She caught her father observing her. ‘Dad?’ He was a clever man who saw all. Yet she read her father like he read her and knew why he wanted her to witness the world Ward belonged to. Which she did, while clinging onto her father’s arm.
Didn’t her father trust Ward?
‘Ward played well.’ She’d seen a different side to Ward today. Should she fear him too?
‘Ward’s recovered now. He’s always been a tough player, and now he’s back where he belongs.’ Joe placed a palm on her shoulder and leaned in closer, saying, ‘I know you’re caught up with him, luv, but how long will it be before this footballer gets all caught up in his world and leaves you behind?’
‘Dad!’ She glared at him for interfering, even if he was right.
‘Hey Zara, are you going to use your backstage pass and catch up with Ward?’ Asked Stacey.
‘Give it to me if you don’t want it,’ Adam said, holding out his hand.
‘Nope, that’s for Zara.’ Stacey faced Zara and asked, ‘Are you going?’
‘What are you guys doing now?’ Zara fingered the yellow pass in her pocket, wishing she hadn’t promised to wait for Ward. She sniffed at the cool air with its scents of cold concrete and clipped lawn, the place was so different now. It was almost ghost-town empty.
‘Let’s go to that pizza place we all love,’ Joe suggested and the crew cheered their approval.
‘Yum, I’m hungry,’ said Zara.
‘Don’t you dare?’ Stacey said, grabbing Zara’s arm.
‘Don’t what?’ Zara grinned at Stacey’s stern expression.
‘You’re wearing that same look when you tried to back out of your mystery date with Ward, and you had a good time then.’
‘I did.’ Zara hid her smile in her scarf. It’d been brilliant and Ward’s effort had been amazing. ‘But…’ She hesitated and looked at her father.
‘Listen, luv, if you get stuck call us and we’ll come and collect you.’
Zara nodded at her father who could read her mind. It was scary when he did that.
‘With Sister Stacey’s snail’s pace driving we should be just leaving the carpark ‘bout sunrise,’ said Billy with a wide white-toothed smile, as Tim and Adam sniggered beside him.
With hands on her hips, Stacey glared at the boys who were like her brothers. ‘Hey, I’m a careful driver.’
‘You are, luv, and you’ll get quicker when you’re more confident,’ said Joe. ‘Don’t go too fast, though, don’t think my ol’ Holden would handle it.’
‘See,’ said Stacey with her nose in the air. ‘So go, Zara.’
Zara rolled her eyes as her only defence against the peer pressure. ‘Yeah, okay, I’ll go.’ She couldn’t disappoint Ward. ‘Tell you what, I’ll definitely catch up. There’s taxis in the city.’
Stacey screwed up her nose, whining, ‘But what about Ward?’
‘It’s rare we all go out to dinner together, so I’ll meet you there.’
Joe gave a nod of his Akubra. ‘Good idea, luv, it might take us a while to get there.’
Stacey’s jaw dropped as her brow crinkled. ‘That’s not coz of my driving, is it?’
‘No, luv, we’ve gotta wrestle this crowd to the car, then we’ve gotta compete with all of ‘em other parked cars through the car park, that’ll take time. Zara, why not ring when you’re on your way and we’ll start them cookin’ your order,’ said Joe, looking pleased with her decision.
‘You bet, thanks, Dad.’ She had her escape plan, with room for Ward to join them if he wanted to. If not, she’d go on her own. No dramas and no commitment.
She lipped her scarf, shoved hands into her pockets, nodded at her father, and took the steps down into the lion’s cave. How soon before she could escape?
***
Showered and changed, Ward searched the corridor where some fans had gathered. His heart grew as big as his smile to find Zara leaning against the wall at the back of the group.
‘You came.’ Ward hugged her, inhaling her warm aroma. ‘Thank you.’ He tucked her fringe behind her ear. She had to be the only woman he knew who looked sexy in a beanie and scarf.
‘For what?’
‘For the phone call and for waiting for me.’
She gave a shy shrug, lowering her eyes.
‘So, what did you think of the game?’
‘Good. I’ve never seen a live AFL game before. How are you feeling?’ Her eyes followed her palms that slid over his shoulders and arms. He recognised that look, it was her practitioner to client look.
But he wasn’t her client. ‘I’m good, I won’t feel anything until tomorrow. Come on.’ Giving her hand a tender squeeze, he led her back down the corridor.
‘Where are we going?’ Her heeled boots echoed behind him, but he wasn’t letting go.
‘To get my bag. Unfortunately, we can’t leave yet.’
‘Why not, game’s over isn’t it?’
‘We have to hang around and talk to some of the members for half an hour, less if we sneak out.’ He grinned at her, but only one dimple showed in her smile and her eyes didn’t shine. Was she nervous?
He led her through the double doors and into the main room where his teammates and their families mingled with members in the typical post-game victory celebration. Her hand squeezed his tighter. Was this too much for her? ‘What do you want to do after this?’
Her forehead crinkled as she licked her lips. ‘I’m meeting the crew for pizza at this great place for dinner.’
‘Really?’ Didn’t she want to hang out with him?
‘It’s got great food, nothing fancy. You can come if you want?’
That made him grin, again, while he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand that clutched onto him like a vice. ‘Could do with a feed. Do they do pasta too?’
‘Yes, it’s an Italian restaurant. The boys vote it the best place.’ She stepped closer and whispered, ‘Can you go out after a game?’
‘I don’t want a late one when I’ve got a light practice tomorrow, then a few days off to do our own thing. Hey Sam, Nick?’
Zara squeezed his hand tighter as her eyes darted around the room, biting her lower lip.
‘Relax, Z, they’re my housemates. I won’t leave you alone for a second.’ Not with his teammates checking Zara out, and they should, the lady was gorgeous.
It was also new to his team because Ward didn’t date, and he’d never brought a girl to the changerooms before. Did that make Zara his girlfriend?
Sam nudged Nick in the ribs. ‘Check it out.’
Nick turned and raised his eyebrows at Ward’s approach.
‘Hey fellas, this is Zara,’ introduced Ward, his chest filled with pride to have her at his side.
‘Zara?’ Nick scratched his head then his eyes lit up. ‘Hey, we heard about you and what you did with our mate.’
Sam nodded in recognition. ‘We want Ward to keep Max. Can’t you talk him into it?’
Zara grinned and her grip on Ward’s hand loosened a little. ‘That’s Ward’s choice about Max, no pressure from me.’
No, she never pressured him into anything. He gave her a sly wink because the woman was his hero.
‘What are you up to after this, Ward?’ Sam asked.
‘We’re going for pizza and pasta with Zara’s crew.’
‘They can come, the more the merrier,’ Zara said, shrugging at Ward.
He was pleased she included his mates. ‘Yeah, you guys should join us?’
‘Did someone say pizza?’ called out Mills, stepping to their small group. ‘Hey, who are you?’
‘That’s Zara,’ said Sam with a wide-eyed nod.
‘No way.’ Mills’ eyes bugged out.
‘Oi? Manners, mate.’ Ward gave a warning frown to Mills.
‘She’s proper pretty.’ Mills wiped his mouth as his eyes walked over her, when Nick gave him a sharp elbow in the rib. ‘What? Did I say that out loud?’
‘You did, dickhead.’ Nick shook his head while Sam chuckled.
‘This is Mills, he’s harmless and honest, and our unofficial housemate. Mills shares the man-couch with Max,’ explained Ward.
‘That couch is big enough for four people,’ said Zara.
‘Max makes it look small.’
Mills screwed his face up, giving a half shoulder shrug apology. ‘So, you’re the one who cured Ward?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did.’ Mills nodded, sending ripples to flow down his glossy black mullet. ‘I now understand how that whole Florence Nightingale deal can be a real problem.’
‘Hey!’ Ward punched Mills in the arm.
‘You told them?’ Zara arched an eyebrow at Ward, her eyes shining with amusement as her handgrip loosened even more.
‘Well, they are my best mates, and it’s like your lot at home where we have no secrets.’ Home? Whose home, his, hers, theirs?
Mitchell approached and patted Ward’s shoulder. ‘Good game, Ward.’
‘Thanks, Coach. Zara, this is Mitchell.’
‘Zara?’ Mitchell shook her hand, then stepped back blinking, tilting his head. ‘Are you that, ah, Reiki stuff?’
Zara nodded with a tight-lipped dimple-free expression. ‘I do stuff, yes, although my official title is Reiki Master.’
Mitchell crossed his arms over his chest with eyes narrowing at Zara. ‘You do horses, right?’
Ward cleared his throat, annoyed at how Mitchell spoke to Zara.
‘Horses are my specialty.’ Zara seemed calm as if used to this questioning from sceptics, when he’d been one himself.
‘So how come you did Ward then?’ Asked Nick.
‘My father is a huge fan of you guys.’
‘So, is it true you’re like a horse whisperer and stuff?’ Mills asked, as Mitchell screwed up his nose.
Ward frowned at Mitchell and said, ‘Zara works on horses worth more than this whole team, Coach, I’ve seen it. Her clients are billionaires who fly her around the country for race meets.’
Zara squeezed his hand as the colour dusted her cheeks. ‘Ward, please, no one needs to hear that.’
‘You should be proud of what you do, Z.’ He was proud of her, yet she was so humble. His arm wrapped around her shoulders pulling her close to his side. She fit there.
‘Zara, did Ward ask you about Sheldon?’ Mitchell asked.
Ward sneered at the name—why were they doing this? ‘I asked and Zara said no.’
‘Why not? It’s the same injury,’ Mitchell said to Zara.
‘I only work on animals.’
‘Aren’t you’re qualified for humans?’ Sam asked.
‘Yes, but I prefer to treat animals.’
‘Would you consider doing some side-work for our team,’ said Mitchell, ‘should they require a one-off treatment?’
Zara stepped back, and Ward squeezed her shoulders to stop her in case she ran. What the hell was Mitchell thinking? His eyes narrowed and his voice lowered in warning, ‘Zara only does horses, Coach.’ With teeth clenched, he glared at the man he called god. But right now, that gloss melted like thin wax covering a false idol in the sun to reveal Mitchell as only a mere man.
‘Are you saying our mate’s an animal?’ Mills blurted out with a cheesy grin as Sam and Nick chuckled and the mood was defused.
‘The boys at home call Ward a two-legged thoroughbred,’ Zara said with tongue in cheek to Ward.
‘Well, Zara, whatever you did,’ Mitchell said, patting Ward’s shoulders like a father to son, ‘I can’t thank you enough for your help in fixing our boy.’
‘Glad I could help.’
‘Me too.’ Ward watched Mitchell walk away, no longer hero-worshipping the man, but someone Ward respected. When did that change?
‘That’s a man carrying a lot of responsibility and pressure, huh?’ Zara said.
‘Yeah.’ Ward never wanted Mitchell’s job. As coach, Mitchell carried the team, the club, and all the fans across the country on his back. Yet, Ward had trouble committing to a dog.
Ward hadn’t expected that from Mitchell. He didn’t want to share Zara with anyone, or have her touching their bodies. Thankfully, she only worked on animals. Sure, he liked his teammates, and some were like brothers, but he was protective of the lady who had yet to agree to be his girl. He couldn’t rush her, considering what she’d been through, and knew he’d have to earn her trust. ‘Come on, let’s run away.’
Through the crowded room that was suddenly too loud and stuffy, he dodged conversations, avoided eye contact, and aimed for the exit. Leading Zara by the hand, through the double doorway and out into the vacant corridor, where his arm slid over her shoulders and she fit perfectly at his side. He collected his duffel from the bench, and for the first time in his career, Ward was the first to leave the club rooms during a victory celebration. Glad to get-gone, he never looked back.