Page 45 of Hits Different

He catches my eye, then turns away quickly like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I’m sorry, man. We’d have made it in time if I hadn’t taken us on a detour through my car crash of a life”.

We begin making our way back. He’s walking ahead of me, and the wind has picked up so it’s only by chance I hear his reply.

“It was worth it”.

Chapter 17

Seeing Red

Brandon

I take a deep breath and place the ball on the penalty spot. The crowd is loud, but that doesn’t matter. The goalkeeper locks eyes with me. That’s fine. He can. I know where this ball is heading, and it really doesn’t matter whether he’s there or not.

I’ve made this shot a hundred times. I could do it in my sleep. Far left back corner. I line it up and let it fire.

And it hits the crossbar.

Again.

The crowd vanishes.

“No good”, Ivor remarks. And makes another note on his clipboard.

* * * *

The next few days are filled with training, training and more training. Relief arrives via an invitation to Friday night drinks. I’m getting the sense that most clients keep to themselves rather than mixing with the staff. There’s definitely an unspoken divide between three distinct groups. Players. Employees. Locals.

Parties made me super anxious when I was a kid.

I remember begging my mom to let me stay home instead of going to the birthday of some kid from a holiday film she had a cameo in. Paparazzi cameras were flashing when we arrived, and I was too scared to get out of the car. Eventually she went inside with a bottle of wine and left me. For nearly six hours. I was twelve years old.

She did me a favour. I figured it out after that. Fear doesn’t go away. You have to fake a smile and run towards the shit that scares you. I met Parker literally the next day. And I’ve been running towards him ever since.

Parker joins me at the bar. “We’re going to try Carlucci’s. Archie’s been on at me for a real boys night out for ages”. A familiar insecurity tightens uncomfortably across my chest. “Coming?”

I hesitate. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with him. The very opposite. But the ease in which he’s taken up space rent-free in the same spot he vacated three years ago is dangerous. For both of us.

“I’m going to have a drink then get an early night”. I wrench the words out and organise them cheerfully. “But you go ahead”.

“I’ll have one with you before I go then”. He signals for two beers. I nod towards the non-alcoholic tap for mine. His eyes follow mine to the chintzy artwork, stopping at the jukebox. “I feel like we’ve stepped back in time”.

The beers land in-front of us, sloshing up the sides. “It reminds me of Cassidy Monroe’s 12thbirthday party”.

“Horse-themed, if I remember rightly”.

Flashbacks of a bunch of pre-teens in a church hall, with a crazy middle-aged DJ in a colourful novelty waistcoat banging out some age-inappropriate tunes. Cassidy and her girls charging around the dancefloor. The boys awkwardly huddled together in the corner. “I’ve got a theory about girls and horses”.

“Carter, is there a subject that you don’t have a theory on?”

“There’s always one girl in every school who’s totallyobsessedwith horses”.

“That’s more of an observation”.

“Mytheory”, I lower my voice, because this is kind of a dick thing to say, “Is that this level of obsession becomes so deeply ingrained it almost like, changes the girl’s DNA”.

“Carter, are you trying to say girls who are obsessed with horses end up looking like them?”

“No, I’m tryingnotto say that, but you’re not making it very easy”.

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