It had been yet another soccer practice Amelia’d had to grind her way through on the strength of her willpower. Or maybe it was just plain stubbornness. She made a mental note to discuss this with her new therapist. She’d been making a lot of mental notes the past few days.
But if Amelia didn’t make it to practice, she might as well totally give up and accomplish nothing at all. Her days would be completely empty. She needed something to do, even if her body rebelled. Even if her muscles screamed out for rest.
As she brushed some dirt off her knees, she wondered if she should look into a gentler pastime—something like yoga, as Jill had suggested. Even though Amelia had reacted rather defensively when Jill had proposed it, she wasn’t above taking a medical professional’s advice. That was one of the reasons Amelia had been so happy to get an appointment with Jill, who had a medical degree. As a scientist herself, Amelia could only believe in a qualified doctor helping her. Someone with extensive knowledge of how the body as well as the mind worked. Which was why she’d gotten a referral from her GP to see a psychiatrist with all the required degrees.
None of those degrees had been framed and displayed in Jill’s office to impress her clients. Jill’s walls were filled with the kind of conceptual art Amelia’s scientific brain had no patience for.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Sophia, who had joined the team a few months ago, suddenly stood right in front of Amelia.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Amelia raked her gaze over Sophia. Everything about her made Amelia’s gaydar ping, including the purple highlights in her hair. And not that many straight women joined the team.
“You’re very wrong about that.” Sophia pinned her gaze on Amelia, her hands on her sides. “Are you coming for drinks?”
“Um.” Another topic for debate in Amelia’s head. Drinks after practice used to be a given, before the smallest, most mundane tasks had started eating away all her energy.
“Come on.” Sophia flashed her a smile. “You’d be doing me a huge favor.” This wasn’t even covert flirting anymore. This was full-on flirty banter. The kind that could not be ignored.
Despite being flattered, Amelia could not be less interested. Sophia seemed like a nice enough girl, but she was far too young and, more importantly, Amelia simply didn’t have the energy for any of this. Making it to practice was already a huge feat. A day with an automatic victory. Going on a date with someone, having to make conversation, being interested in another person—these things were so far removed from Amelia’s get-through-the-day to-do list, she couldn’t even fathom them.
On the flip side, Amelia didn’t want to be rude. Sophia was new to the team, while Amelia was, in many ways, an old-timer. It was an unwritten rule that she had to help make Sophia feel welcome. She’d also need to find a way to let her down gently. She knew just the person to help her with that.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Dawn, one of the few remaining founding members of the Darlinghurst Darlings.
“Sure. I’ll come.” Amelia managed a weak smile. A full-wattage smile hadn’t been part of Amelia’s arsenal for a while. Where would she get the vigor for that? “I’ll see you in the pub. I need to talk to Dawn about something first.”
“Great.” Sophia’s face was one big grin. She walked past Amelia, barely leaving any space between their bodies as she did.
When Dawn spotted Amelia, she shot her a wink, and walked over to her. “It’s not easy being you, is it?” she said. “You have my deepest sympathies, obviously.”
“I don’t want to hurt her feelings,” Amelia whispered.
“A young hottie like that? She’ll bounce right back.” Dawn threw her arm around Amelia and, together, they walked to the locker room. “Although, and I say this from a place of deep friendship and love, it might not be the worst thing in the world to have a little adventure. You have all this time on your hands now. You might as well use it to have some fun.”
Amelia rolled her eyes. Dawn, who seemed to have fallen headfirst into an early midlife crisis, not avoiding any of the clichés that came with it, would say that. She was always trying to live vicariously through Amelia, because Amelia was single, and Dawn had been with Cindy all her adult life.
Amelia leaned against her friend’s shoulder. “I need someone to help me deflect young Sophia’s advances tonight. Will you be the excellent friend that you are and come to my rescue?”
“Still not feeling it, eh, mate?”
Amelia shook her head.
“How was the therapy session?” Dawn asked. She was the only person Amelia had told.
“Okay, I guess. I don’t really have anything to compare it to.”
“Did you click with the therapist?”
Had she and Jill clicked? Amelia hadn’t really thought about that. Jill had been easy to talk to. Amelia had opened up more than she had expected to. Jill’s intelligent gaze and smart questions had managed to draw something from her. And that was, if nothing else, a start. Maybe even the beginning of finding a way out of this dreadful funk, this heavy, black cloud that hung over everything Amelia did.
“Yeah, I think it will be good for me. I think there might be something there.”
“That’s great.” Dawn gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You won’t feel like this forever, Melly.”
They entered the locker room. I sure hope not. But most days—most hours, most minutes—it sure felt like she would.
“De Bruyne is the best player in the world,” Sophia said.
“You would say that, if you only follow the Premier League,” Dawn said.
“I kind of have a life,” Sophia said. “Pubs to go to. Women to date. You know, that sort of thing.”
She did know how to put Dawn in her place. Amelia had to give her that. It even made her snicker a little.
“I have a wife and two small children,” Dawn said. “And I think Megan Rapinoe is the best player in the world.”
Sophia almost snorted her beer through her nose.
It looked as if Dawn and Sophia would become fast friends. Which was all fine with Amelia, as long as Sophia didn’t focus all her attention back on her. Dawn was doing a brilliant job of deflecting it.
“Who’s your favorite player?” Sophia turned to Amelia.
“I don’t really have one. I mean, I guess it varies.” During another sleepless night, Amelia had signed on for a sports channel that showed matches from all the European leagues, all day long. She’d watched so much soccer of late, she was surprised she wasn’t sick of it yet. She still had trouble remembering the players’ names though. But she had enough personal pride to not just blurt out the first obvious one that came to mind.
Sophia didn’t grill her any further. “Can you believe that the French national women’s team has zero out players?” She shook her head. “Statistically, it’s impossible.” She ran a hand through her short, purple-streaked hair. “Also, do they think we’re blind and totally devoid of gaydar?”
“Maybe the French are much more uptight than we think they are,” Dawn said. “Just because they have a pair of naked boobs in every single movie, doesn’t mean they’re not a homophobic nation.”
“I think it’s a soccer issue as well,” Amelia cut in. “Not one male footballer in Europe has come out of the closet. Not a single one. How is that possible? It must be a culture thing. And a money thing, for sure.” Argh. Money. Maybe Amelia should sell her condo, take her savings, and go live off the land somewhere. Escape the system she had come to loathe so much. Soccer was possibly even worse than Big Pharma, although, as a woman with a heart for science, she knew very well she was comparing apples and oranges.
“I keep a list,” Sophia said, “of all the soccer players I presume are gay. It’s quite long.” She started to count on her fingers. “First, there’s—”
“I think it’s time I go home to the Mrs.” Dawn cut her off. “Sorry, Soph. Melly, do you want a lift?”
Amelia lived walking distance from the pub, but she knew that Dawn was saving her from Sophia’s flirting.
“Oh, come on,” Sophia pleaded. “One last beverage. On me.”
“Cindy will have my head on a spike if I come home smelling like a pub,” Dawn said. “And I need to get something from Amelia’s first.”
Sophia scrunched her face into a disappointed scowl. “Next time.”
Both Amelia and Dawn nodded. They said their goodbyes and went on their way.
“Do you want me to come up for a bit?” Dawn asked, when they had reached Amelia’s building. “For a chat?”
Amelia shook her head. “Thanks for asking, but I’m beat. Go home to your wife and kiss the kids for me.”
“Okay.” Dawn leaned in and pecked Amelia on the cheek. “See you at the game on Saturday. Cindy’s bringing the kids.”
Julian, Dawn and Cindy’s oldest, was Amelia’s godson. She hadn’t been much of a godmother of late. Thank goodness he wanted to be a goalkeeper at the moment—much to Dawn’s, who was a striker, dismay. At least Amelia could give him some easy tips on goalkeeping.
She dragged herself up the stairs, took a shower, and flicked on the soccer channel.