2. Thomas Dryden
2
THOMAS DRYDEN
S taring at the news on his phone, Thomas Dryden felt the horrid lurching sensation that he’d suffered from since the accident. Often accompanied by buzzing in his head, it made his chest tight and brought the taste of bile to his tongue. It was painful for him to see the football news splashed over the headlines, to see that his former teammates were celebrating glory after winning matches, but he was also happy for them. If only he could have been there with them then he’d have been a part of that glory, successful in his own right and not a bystander watching as the dreams he’d had were no longer possible. Dreams could die in an instant along with your former self, and Thomas had learnt that the hard way.
He pushed a hand through his hair and then self-consciously touched his cheek, feeling the raised scar beneath his fingertips. It made sadness roar in his chest, so he pulled his hair back down and covered the scar again. As best he could, that was, because short of gluing his hair over the scar or wearing a mask, he couldn’t cover it completely. The doctors had told him it would fade with time and that there were things he could do to reduce the scarring, but it would never be totally gone. It would always exist as a reminder of what had happened to him. He’d talked this over with a counsellor and his GP, of course, but it still hurt him to know that he would be forever changed because of one night. One night that he wished he could go back and change, but that was the thing with time; there was no way to turn back the clock and no way to change the decisions he’d made or what had happened as a result. He could only thank the universe that it hadn’t been worse and that no one else had suffered as a result of what had occurred. It was only him bearing the scars and the consequences and he would do so for the rest of his life. His career was ruined, his body too, and while he tried every day to be mindful of what he did have rather than grieving for what was gone, it wasn’t easy. Striving to take every day as it came and to practise an attitude of gratitude was a daily effort. He was, he thought, a work in progress, and still learning exactly how to make the most of his lot.
Since he’d come into the café today, he’d had the sensation he was being watched. It was like a prickling on his skin, and it made the hairs on his nape rise. As a professional footballer who’d once played for England, he’d been used to being watched every time he went out. Sadly, it came with the job. He’d been snapped by paparazzi filling his car with fuel, drinking coffee, swimming in Spain, and throwing back shots in clubs. It had taken him time to get used to it but then he’d learnt to deal with it like his fellow players. It wasn’t nice but he was earning a lot of money and living a good life, so he’d sucked it up. But the thing with the media was that your fall was enjoyed even more than your rise, and that had been blatantly obvious to him when things had gone wrong. It had made him even sicker than he was already seeing his bruised and bloodied face displayed on newspapers and screens everywhere. It had been horrific and it had ruined everything, made him desperate to hide away, which was what he had done for the past three years. Being out of the limelight meant that he was soon forgotten like yesterday’s newspapers, and he was now able to live a quieter life. He could no longer play football because of his injuries, and he no longer associated with anyone from his former life — apart from his family — so he was able to escape the harassment of the paparazzi and to live quietly. He had money from his career to last a lifetime if he lived modestly, and so he had been focused on healing and spending time with his sister and her family as he tried to get used to his new life.
Looking up from his phone, he met the eyes of the pretty redhead he’d spotted earlier. She was stunning from her dark red hair with its soft beach waves to her pale freckled skin and her elfin face. Her grey eyes held something haunted that made him wonder what had happened to her, but she was beautiful in a way that tugged at his heart. He’d once been able to have his choice of women just because of who he was. Not that he’d taken advantage of that, of course, because he’d been committed to his partner. But wherever he’d been, women had made it clear to him that they would happily warm his bed or more, just to say they’d been with footballer Thomas Dryden. Those women wanted to be a footballer’s girlfriend or wife. Early on in his career, he’d been on a few dates with celebrities — like one of the women who’d won a reality TV show and with a singer from a girl band — but then his heart had been captured and that had been that. However, the way women used to look at him was a thing of the past and he was pretty sure the woman looking at him now was doing it out of curiosity, pity or both. He wanted neither, so he flashed her a scowl then made a point of looking back at his phone. Thomas had no room in his life for love. Not after what had happened and how he’d been forced to accept that he was just like everyone else and not anything special without the professional footballer identity. He was an average Joe these days. No, less than average because of his scars and his baggage. No woman in her right mind would want him the way he looked now, the way he was damaged now. Thomas was destined to be single and that was fine with him.
Just fine…