Page 21 of Begin Again Again

It felt unwise to expose her back to him, but Beth didn’t have a lot of options. She walked quickly out the door and down the garden path. She felt him watching, but he didn’t say a word as she unlocked the white picket gate and slipped onto the street.

The sky was inky black and scattered with diamonds. Beth watched the stars flicker, relieved but hungry. She’d gotten more than she expected tonight, but she wanted more still. She pulled out her AirPods and opened Spotify to the Golden Vessel song that had been in her head for weeks. “BIGBRIGHT” flowed into her ears as the red Kia Sorento she’d hired pulled up. She hit repeat and smiled at the driver. “Ride for Beth Myers?”

The driver wound down the window. “I’ve got you. Mask on, please.”

Embarrassed, Beth pulled her pink mask from her tote. Face covered, she settled into the backseat. The car took off and she opened the message app. After a few minutes drafting, she texted Byron. No apologies. No excuses. No regrets. She hit send and put her phone away, leaning back in the seat. In some ways she was relieved. When he first got to the pub, Byron had intimidated her to her bones. Now, for better or worse, he seemed entirely human.

Chapter 4

Byron leapt high, marking the ball cleanly. He hit the field running, green blazing under his boots. The path ahead was short but clear. Yellow and black blurs bore down on him as he feinted left then ducked right. A shadow loomed in front of him. He pretended to handball, snatching the ball back at the last second. His opponent lumbered sideways, and Byron darted ahead, the short green path clear once again.

“Thomas can do no wrong!Look at him go!”

Byron ran faster, bouncing the ball. He collected it, holding his breath as he ran. No one could touch him. No one was even close. The goalposts rose, four white pillars before him. He dropped the ball and kicked, pushing forward with every atom in his body. The yellow ball sliced through the air. He’d done it. He knew he’d done it. The ball cut through the middle posts and spiralled into the crowd.

“And that’s a GOAL! Byron Thomas has kicked the tie-breaking goal for the Sharks and that would have to be—”

BARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

The final siren tore through the stadium like a tornado. Byron leapt up, pumping his fist into the air. His arm was heavy, as though all the energy in his body had gone with the ball into the goal. It didn’t matter. The stadium exploded. A hundred thousand people leapt to their feet, screaming to split the sky.

“They’ve won!”the announcer screamed.“The Sharks have won 2020! Oh, what a year this has been, folks! Byron Thomas has won the Hammerheads the flag!”

His teammates streaked toward him, falling on him in a faceless heap. For a second, he lay crushed beneath them, then rose as they launched him onto their shoulders. His view spiralled upward like a cut balloon, and he stared at himself screaming and crying and pumping the air. Then the camera of his gaze seemed to flicker.

This is a dream.

The thought was a pin, puncturing all that seemed real. Byron sat up as the crowd snapped away and his teammates vanished. His heart raced, pounding with a pride he didn’t earn.

It was a dream. He was alone. He couldn’t play football.

He ran his tongue over his teeth. They were furry but bare. He wasn’t wearing a mouthguard. His chest panged at the proof of what he already knew. It wasn’t real. What was real was his acrid mouth, his heavy bladder, the wet pounding behind his eyes. He was hungover. But why? It was a Wednesday. No… Thursday. Was he late for work?

He looked at his window. It was pitch black, which meant he wasn’t late, but there was an ache in his gut that said he was forgetting something. Sal? Derek? He closed his eyes. A redhead leaning forward laughing, her tits swelling out of her tiny dress.

Beth.Beth.

Byron turned so fast he cracked his neck. Rubbing the base of his skull, he took in the blank sheets. He grabbed his phone from under his pillow. It was five in the morning. He scrolled alerts, discarding Instagram, Messenger, Snapchat, and news, and found Beth had sent him a text.

Thanks for tonight, Aquarius. It’s been fun playing strangers. Beth x

Byron read it twice, his eyes skittering from one side of the text bubble to the other. It could have been worse. It could have been‘Cheers for falling asleep, you dumb fuck.’

A song was playing through his portable speaker. The Mountain Goats, “This Year.” Not the vibe he needed. Byron slumped back into his sheets, his neck throbbing, too tired to turn the music off.

He hadn’t dreamed about playing like that for months. So real it fucking cut. It was unreasonable, but it felt like Beth’s fault. Like she’d opened him up to it. His gaze caught something on his pillow. A long red hair. He picked it up, winding it around his finger. It shone against his skin like copper wire—evidence she’d been and gone. He wound it tighter, turning his fingertip purple. He’d never invited a girl back and fallen asleep, especially after saying the line.

He’d come up with it years ago, while he and Derek were sitting on the deck at Artie Howard’s place. He’d just hooked up with a Formula One model and she’d told him he was the first guy who’d ever made her come. It was probably a lie, but it didn’t seem so at the time. He’d felt like the king of the world, drunk and high in the sun with his best mate at his side and everything to hope for.

“I’ve cracked it,” he told Derek. “The line.”

“What fuckin’ line?”

“The Line. The line that’ll get any girl back to yours.”

“Oh, you’ve cracked that one, have you? With a line?”

Byron raised his hands. “’fraid so, bloke.”

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