Chapter 15 Marlon
Marlon
Clara told me Freddie would be coming round tonight, patted my head, and then told me I was not allowed to leave because this ridiculousness needs to be resolved.
Loath as I am to admit it, she might have a point there.
I’ll have to face Freddie soon anyway, it’s not long until all the international players will join our training sessions. We should clear the air before then.
It will very likely break my heart—again—but sometimes it’s just what needs to be done.
Now I’m standing at my window, watering can in hand, hovering over my succulent collection, thinking. Procrastinating. Anything is better than facing the reality of what’s going to happen soon. Only an hour or so until Freddie gets here.
Clara gave me a lecture earlier about how immature it was to ghost him and I should have just talked to him, and she only stopped when I got up and left the room. She’s probably right, but of course I would never tell her that.
I’m kind of glad she’s forcing my hand now. Which is another thing I can never let her know or she will be insufferable forever.
There’s a blackened petal on one of my succulents and I pluck it off carefully, then finally get to work with the watering can, enjoying the careful, precise movements required for the task.
At least make sure you look good when you break his heart!
, Clara had yelled after me when I left the living room.
I scoff and shake my head at my plants. Break his heart, as if.
Freddie’s the one who had a summer full of successful games and international recognition and a whole flood of pictures of him and Hadidja looking happy together.
I’m the one with a failed situationship and no luck on the career side of things.
It seems pretty clear to me whose heart has been in more danger these last couple of weeks.
And I know that supposedly the relationship with DJ is just a front. They’re each other’s beard and are more like siblings than lovers. But it’s hard to believe with the circulating pictures. I didn’t even actively seek them out, but they were inescapable.
With a sigh, I put the watering can down and lean my forehead against the glass. It’s cool despite the warm air outside and helps me focus. There’s no point lingering in the past. At least being away from Freddie for so long made it easier to build a barrier. Protect my stupid heart.
Okay. Right. Freddie may not care what I have to say to him, but I might as well look good when I face him.
Paolo introduced me to some skincare routines and products that, unsurprisingly, have never come up in the Westfield dressing room, and I like what the stuff does to my skin.
It may be forever milky white, with no chance at a tan like Paolo, but I still look better than I did before. More put together.
Knowing I have time, I treat myself in the shower, lather up, use my new gua sha, exfoliate, the whole shebang.
I even put conditioner in my hair, which apparently it needs, now that it’s grown out a little.
When I eventually get out, I’m almost at peace.
Almost in a place where I can be calm and fearless.
I put on lotion while my skin is still a little wet, just like Paolo taught me, and then I wander into my room naked, towelling off my hair.
I love having an ensuite bathroom, love not having to share with Clara and trying to work around her hair-curling marathons, love not having to put clothes on just to be decent.
A quiet gasp tears me out of my thoughts, a tiny sound, half bitten-off, but still loud in the otherwise silent room.
I lower the towel and there he is, on my bed, tanned and freckled and boyishly handsome. Freddie bloody Bloom, staring at me like he’s never seen me before.
Ogling me.
I’m going to kill Clara. Why on earth would she send him into my room instead of the living room? I take back every positive thing I ever thought about her meddling. This is taking it a step too far.
Freddie’s eyes are a little red, as if he’s recently cried, or maybe had an allergic reaction, and they still haven’t made their way to my face. His gaze rakes over my body, lingers on my chest, and I clear my throat pointedly.
I stay where I am, though, and I drop the towel. He’s seen me naked hundreds of times. No need for pretend coyness now. Besides, if it throws him off to see me like this, it might work in my favour. Give me a chance to even the playing field.
Finally, he looks up at me, lust in his brown eyes, but it’s the sadness underneath that catches my attention. Softens me involuntarily. “Hey.” His voice is smaller than I’m used to but I won’t let it get to me.
“Hey.” I make sure to keep my shoulders back, my spine straight, then I cross my arms. “What are you doing here?”
Panic flits across his face and he blinks twice. “Did Clara not tell you—”
“That you would be stalking me in my room without my knowledge? No, she didn't.” My tone is cool and he flinches. I almost feel sorry for him, but this is what I need to do to protect myself.
“Shit.” Freddie squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to—I also didn’t want to stare, I know I have no right to—you’re just—” He gestures vaguely but doesn’t look at me. “So damn beautiful. Hard not to look.”
The compliment makes my insides tingle but I shut it down immediately. I can’t let this get to me. I need to put an end to this, no matter how difficult he makes it for me. “So I’ve been told.”
That makes me sound equal parts arrogant and pissed-off, but only one of them is put on. The vehemence of my fury surprises both of us, I think, sitting deep in my stomach like burning coal.
Freddie clearly has no idea how to respond and silence settles between us. “I’m back,” he says eventually, a complete non sequitur. “From Sweden, I mean.”
“Yes.” I can see that, I want to add, but it feels a bit cruel. And despite everything, I don’t want to be cruel. I just want to be done so I can move on. Maybe I should make this easier for him. But I…can’t. So I wait.
“I was hoping to talk to you.” There’s none of Freddie’s usual bravado in his tone and I almost feel sorry for him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
You were avoiding me first, is at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it. Being childish won’t do either of us any good. So I shrug, more nonchalant than I feel. “Been busy.”
“Yeah.” Freddie clasps his hands in his lap and looks down at them. “Clara told me. Congrats.”
Oh, God. Talk about irony. I didn’t tell Clara about Paolo breaking up with me, if you can even call it that, because I didn’t want to deal with her response, and now she’s passed on incorrect information to Freddie. Which means he thinks I’m in a happy, committed relationship.
If only. It would make everything so much easier. Maybe I should just let him believe it’s true, as an easy way out of this mess.
We could have been so happy. The two of us, we could have been so good together. The memories of our first night will live with me for the rest of my days, that first time I ever felt cherished and admired and like somebody worth wanting. I would have given almost anything to keep it.
Except football, of course. Except my career—our careers.
And now we’ve both lost this potential specialness.
Freddie stays silent for another beat and I walk over to my closet so I can put on some clothes.
It gives me an excuse to not have to look at him for a bit, and it also removes the weirdness of my full nudity.
Freddie is so obviously unhappy, I think as I put on boxer briefs and reach for a plain grey T-shirt. It does something to me I don’t want.
We need to be just mates and that’s hard to do when I can’t even look at him without wanting to pull him into my arms.
After I’ve put on some running shorts, I figure I can’t avoid the confrontation any longer. There’s no point dragging this out unnecessarily. A deep breath, and I turn back to him. “So, was there anything in partic—” I start.
“I love you,” Freddie blurts out at the same time.
The world goes strangely dull around me, like everything is wrapped in cotton. I can’t move. All I can hear is my own stumbling heartbeat. “Pardon?”
“It’s true,” Freddie says. He’s not looking at me and I’m strangely grateful. “I wish it weren’t. I know we can’t, but—fuck, Mar. I’ve missed you so fucking much and I can’t stop thinking about you, about—about us, and you’re—”
“No.” I wish I could sound more decisive, more like I mean it, but this is the best I can manage. “Don’t.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t help it. His tone is so Freddie—all emotion, no thought.
Confused and upset and not ready to back down.
I know it’s impossible but it looks like even his hair is standing even more on end than it usually does.
I want to hug him, make it all better. Return the favour of finding comfort in his embrace.
Instead, I shrug, helplessly. “It’s not fair. I’ve just gotten over you.” Lies. Blatant lies. I’m so not over him it’s embarrassing. But I can’t tell him that. “Don’t start again now.”
Freddie looks so confused. So helpless. Like he thought he’d come here, tell me he loves me, and we kiss. Cue the happy music, the end. Sweet, wonderful Freddie, with his heart on his sleeve and his actions so instinctive.
Everything inside me tells me to go wrap him in my arms, hold him tight, tell him everything will be all right. But how can I do that when I don’t mean it? When I know it can’t be true? I clench my hands so hard my short fingernails leave marks on my skin.
“It’s different now,” Freddie says, after what might have been an eternity or the blink of an eye, I’m not sure. He looks right at me, determination in his eyes. “Mar, fuck, I know we screwed up. I screwed up. But I mean it. For real. I’m in this, one hundred percent.”