Chance knows I am anxious, and despite our earlier run, he suggests we go train and hit the gym afterward.
We grab a ball, hitting a close-by field where we practice shots. Neither one of us is fit to play professionally anymore, but it doesn’t mean it leaves your blood. Soccer is instilled in me. You live it, you breathe it, and without it, the struggle can easily become life-threatening.
“I keep telling you, mate, we could use a trainer like you. You’re as disciplined as you can get, which would be very beneficial to some of those kids.”
Chance has been working with some kids on scholarships at UCLA. Between coaching, toying around with recycled art, plus also being a father, he seems content, a far cry from where I am in my life.
I’ve been offered other opportunities, similar to Chance, but he’s a born teacher and has patience for kids. He once told me that his stint in jail made him realign his priorities. For him, there was no changing the fact that his torn ACL hindered his professional capabilities. It took him a lot of soul searching, plus reuniting with Aubrey and starting a family, to realize all hope was not lost. He still follows his passion, just in a different lane.
I am not Chance Bateman.
The yearn to play is still fresh inside of me. It consumes me when I wake, follows me throughout the day, and when I lay in bed each night, I imagine being back on the field, the roaring crowd surrounding me, the ball at my feet.
Ma and Pa always ingrained the importance of fighting until the very end, Pa especially. When he was a teen, he was this close to playing professional rugby. But a small injury, and a father who pushed him into the farming business, saw him give up his dream.
From a very early age, he encouraged me to follow what my heart yearned for. He told me he would support me, give me all the tools I needed, and not once has he ever not stayed true to his word.
My parents often called me stubborn and arrogant, but I knew I was born to play soccer. I just needed to find a way to repair the damage to my body, so I could get the all-clear to play again.
The ball bounces near my foot, a fierce kick and its gone mid-left.
Fuck.
My game is incredibly off.
“I’m waiting for a call from my specialist. I have an appointment tomorrow, so we’ll see what he says.”
Aside from escaping the unwanted media attention back home, a reason for me coming here is to meet with the world’s top shoulder surgeons. It came at a hefty price, but I am willing to do or pay anything to be able to play again.
After the accident, I spent months in a very dark place. My parents were worried I was suicidal, refusing to talk to anyone and isolating myself in my apartment. To reassure them I would not take any drastic measures to end my life, I began to see a trauma counselor.
She helped me work through the initial trauma of the accident, then I accidentally fucked her. We both agreed it was one time, would never be spoken about again for the risk of losing her practicing license, and I would end my working relationship with her and find someone else.
Look, it was a nice fuck on her expensive leather lounge and the boost of confidence I needed at the time. Talk about stroking the ego, and that she did, nicely.
However, getting on a plane to fly across the world for what is not a guaranteed fix, may seem ludicrous to some.
But it is the only chance I have left.
One last attempt to repair the damage.
Chance rests his hand on my shoulder. “Look, I know it’s the hardest thing in the world to give up what you’ve worked your whole life for. I wanna be positive for you, but mate, your accident was life-threatening. You’re lucky to be alive, let alone play again. You gotta take that win.”
Distracted by my cell pinging, I guzzle some water and quickly read the text from Gabriella. I had to laugh, egging her on, until Chance demands I put the phone down and focus on my game, not pussy.
Back at the house, I freshen up and pack my bag before chilling on the sofa where Aubrey is trying to change CJ. The kid has the same energy as Chance, unable to sit still for even a moment.
“It’s like wrestling with a goddam worm,” she complains, frustrated.
I grab a toy, propping it above him and making a monster sound until he lays still so Aubrey can change him.
“You’re so patient with him,” she says, falling back onto the sofa as he climbs on top of me. “You sure you don’t want a job as a manny?”
CJ jumps on me, almost squashing my nuts as he begs for more monster sounds. I entertain him, tickling his sides before he runs away to hide under the coffee table.
“I’ve got two sisters, and the youngest is twelve years my junior. Ma and Pa worked on the farm a lot her first year, so I took care of her after school. It’s been a while, though.”
“You’ll make a good dad. Speaking of which, how are things with, um… Gabriella.”
“Nice segue from Daddy duties to Gabs.”
She grins proudly. “Thought it was smooth.”
“She’s a cool chick. A bit high strung, but yeah, we have fun.”
“Oh… you have fun?”
“Yeah, we have fun.”
“Like fun, fun?”
“More like just fun. No fun, fun.” I set the record straight.
I’d be stupid to assume Aubrey and Gabriella don’t share stories, so exaggerating fun could have landed me in hot water.
“Anyway, she’s with Prince Charming, right?”
If anyone knows the truth, it will be Aubrey.
This could be a chance to get some information that Gabriella is no doubt holding back. But
