Chapter 14 Freddie
Freddie
The phone rings through for the dozenth time and I groan in frustration, tempted to throw the damn thing on the burgundy settee in the front room.
I’ve been back from the EUROs for a full day and have had no luck in reaching Marlon.
I’m exhausted, emotionally ruined, and desperate to see him.
Hear his voice, drown in his embrace. Make the world go away until it’s just him and me.
The thing is, he doesn’t seem to feel the same way.
He hasn’t responded to any of my messages, anyway.
Not called back. He must have seen by now that I’ve tried to be in contact.
But…I plop down on the sofa and grab a pillow so I can groan into it.
I can’t blame him. I never responded to that one text he sent me.
He’s probably seen the photos of DJ and me that were everywhere once the media attention in me picked up.
We played up the happy couple, knowing what’s expected of us, and I felt hollow afterwards.
I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for him.
But this is exactly why I want to talk to him.
To explain everything, make sure he’s not hurt.
And yeah, okay, maybe for more selfish reasons, too.
I want to see him, need to see him, just the two of us.
Before the season starts and we’re back to being team mates.
I want to drink my fill of his beautiful face and delicious body.
I whine into the pillow. I miss him so much it hurts.
On a whim, I pick up my phone and scroll until I get to Clara’s name. We’ve never spoken over the phone, having done all her scheming in the winter over text. No idea what I’m trying to achieve with this, but I guess it can’t hurt to try. Maybe she’ll at least talk to me.
It only takes three rings. “Freddie? Are you dying?”
I laugh, surprised. “What? No! Of course not!” Although seeing that Italian free kick hit the back of the net and not being able to stop it felt a bit like dying. Like being stabbed with a blunt knife while the whole world watched.
Clara huffs. “Then why are you calling? Who does that?” She sounds nonplussed rather than angry, but I’m still caught off-guard.
“Uh—” What am I supposed to say to that? “I wanted to talk to you?”
“Okay, then text? Like a normal person?” She sighs. “Okay, but I’m already here, so let’s have a little chinwag. What’s up?”
I press my lips together, but this is what I wanted. So now I need to do the embarrassing thing and say it all out loud. “I’ve been trying to reach Marlon,” I say and roll over to my back, hiding my hands behind my free hand. “But I’ve had no luck. I’m a bit worried, is he okay?”
There’s a pause that feels more loaded with every passing heartbeat. “So he’s ignoring you?” Clara finally asks. “The way you should do, too? Because you’re team mates?”
“Wha—” I sit upright, feeling unfairly judged. “You set us up!”
“For sex!” she shoots back. “Not for dumb feelings.” That hits me, deep in the chest, because yes, those feelings are so dumb.
I haven’t been fighting them for nothing.
But Clara already continues, leaving me no time to feel sorry for myself.
“I wanted to give Mar someone he trusted to explore his sexuality.” Her tone has softened and despite her overbearing behaviour, I can tell how much she cares about her little brother.
“You were the perfect choice. DJ told me about your little secret at one of our nights out.” She sighs, sounding defeated.
“I guess it’s my fault for thinking one of you would be smart enough to not fuck it up. ”
I suck in a breath. “Shit, mate.” I didn’t think I could feel any more horrendous, but turns out I was wrong. I grab the pillow and hug it to my chest, looking out of the window at the cloudy July sky. “Didn’t think you’d kick me when I’m already down.”
It takes her a second. “Oh, because of the football thing. Yeah, sorry about that.” She seems completely disinterested, but at least she’s no longer telling me how stupid I am.
There’s another pause, and somehow this one seems even more loaded than the previous one.
She sighs, eventually. “You should probably hear this from him, so…I think he’s out somewhere. ”
Something heavy settles in my stomach. He’s out somewhere. That sounds innocent enough, but I have a feeling it’s the opposite of that. If it were innocent, why should I hear it from him? “What are you not telling me?”
She pauses for a second. “Just ask him about Paolo, next time you see him, okay?”
There’s a hole in my gut that wasn’t there a second ago and my heart has fallen right into it. Paolo. Fuck. I struggle to form coherent thoughts. “He—” My throat feels like sandpaper and I clear my throat. “Marlon has a boyfriend?”
“Not yet, I think. They’re on the way there, if I had to guess. He doesn’t talk about stuff like that, but I don’t think he’s been sleeping around as much as he used to.”
Ugh. Okay. I’m not sure which thought is worse; Marlon sleeping around, or Marlon now having a reason to stop doing it. “Oh.” I honestly can’t think of anything else to say; my mind is blank, my heart is shattered, my mouth filled with gravel.
I shouldn’t be so surprised. I told him we couldn’t be a thing.
And yet I thought he’d fight for us.
Even though I didn’t.
God I’m a self-important prick. No wonder Marlon chose Paolo over me.
“Freddie.” Clara’s voice has gone soft and somehow that only makes it worse. “I get that things are a bit complicated with the two of you. But you both deserve to be happy, yeah?”
I manage a vague noise in agreement.
“You should talk,” she continues. “In person. Swing round this evening, seven-ish? I’ll make sure Marlon is home.”
“Uh-huh.” I hang up before she can say goodbye and I don’t even care how rude that is. My mum would be appalled. But I have no capacity to care; all I can do is stare at my phone and watch as the screen slowly darkens.
Marlon has a boyfriend, or as good as.
There’s a man in his life who he kisses, sleeps with, laughs with. Shares stories that I will never know. Maybe this guy was even at the game where Marlon scored a goal, got to see that proud, bashful grin. Got to hug him.
While I was miles and miles away.
My heart thunders in my chest and I know I need to calm down, but it’s incredibly difficult. My mind is spinning, everything in me spiralling at an increasing pace.
We both knew we could never be anything, not the way I wanted—not the way he wanted, either, unless I misread the signs.
Not publicly, anyway. We could have tried, though.
I could have tried. Instead of having my head up my own arse because I got to play my first international tournament, I could have tried to stay in touch.
Show him I care about him, in whatever capacity he’ll allow.
He is a beautiful man, inside and out. Did I honestly think he’d stay single for long? Sure, he’ll never be able to have a relationship in public, but there are plenty of ways to make it happen anyway. Why was I too scared to even try?
Why the fuck did I think he’d stick around, just in case I wanted to have another taste of him?
I deserve every single ounce of pain that’s coursing through me. All of it and so much more.
If anyone else had treated Marlon with the disrespect I showed him, I would have been so mad. So now I can direct that anger at myself. That disgust.
It’s no way to treat someone you care about.
I roll off the settee, tumbling to the floor, hitting my forehead on the coffee table on the way. Good. I deserve it. I grab the crocheted quilt that lies in a heap on the floor and pull it over my head for good measure.
Be so for fucking real, Freddie. You don’t care about Marlon.
You’re crazy for him.
Madly in love, despite it being the worst idea you’ve ever had.
And now you have to live with the consequences of your actions and are feeling sorry for yourself.
I bet Paolo doesn’t have knobbly knees and untameable hair and a mouth that runs off sometimes with no hope of controlling it. I bet he can talk about his feelings instead of making silly jokes. And he’s available—emotionally, mentally, physically. All the things I’m not.
So, tonight, I’ll get to face him and try to form words that—what? What am I trying to get out of this? Any hopes I might have had about convincing him, somehow turning all of this around are gone. I may be a massive bellend, but I would never lure a taken man away from his partner.
“Ugh.” I spit it out, as if expelling a sound can make all the bad sounds go away. “Pah. Fuck. Shit. Argh!”
“Babes?” My sounds must have lured DJ to the front room. There’s a moment’s pause as she undoubtedly takes in the weird view I must offer, sitting on the floor, a blanket over my head, screaming profanities. “Freds, are you okay?”
I flop down and press my face into the soft Persian rug. “No.”
She gives me a moment to elaborate, then, when I don’t, bare feet pad across the room until she sits down next me and softly pulls the quilt off my head.
“You’re a muppet, you know that, right?”
I weakly paw at her hand but give in when she threads her fingers into my hair. “Fuck off.” It’s not at all convincing.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” she says quietly and her fingertips draw soft circles on my scalp. “Not even after the final. So I’m guessing this is about Marlon.”
“Uggghhhh.” She’s smart enough to understand that that’s a yes. She also knows me well enough to stay quiet because I will keep talking if given the chance. “I’m going over there tonight,” I say, turning my head halfway through the sentence so she can understand what I’m saying.
“Ooooh.”
“Nope. Opposite of that. He has a boyfriend.” Forcing the word out of my throat feels like I’m choking on razor blades. “DJ. He has a boyyyyyfriend.”
“You’re whining.” Her tone is softer than her words are, as it often is. “There’s no point in doing that, you know? It is what it is.”
“Wow. Thanks.” I roll my eyes at her even though she’s right, of course. It’s a good thing we’re not actually together, I wouldn’t win a single argument, ever. “What’s your next bit of advice? Keep calm and carry on?”
She smacks me lightly. “Shut up. But also, yes. What else can you do?”
“I could tell him I love him.” The words are out before I have chance to think about them.
There’s a heavy pause and DJ’s fingers still. “Oh, honey.”
“No, shut up, whatever. I didn’t mean it.” She stays silent and it’s effective yet again. “Yeah, okay, maybe I mean it. So what. I won’t say anything.”
I look up at her, she looks down at me, and we both know the horrifying, embarrassing truth: I definitely will say it. I’ll try to keep it inside, keep at least a shred of my dignity, but it’s not in my future. I’m not built like that.
“Babes,” she says again, pityingly. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was so bad.”
I heave a deep sigh. “I have a feeling it’s going to be even worse later. But maybe I need to get through it to leave it behind. Maybe I need to make a complete arse of myself to show Marlon what he definitely doesn’t want, and then I can move on.
Maybe. If I’m lucky.