Chapter Five
Cease Fire
After a crappy couple days at the office where Nigel continued his threats to fire Giselle, she headed to the sports park for one final practice before the weekend’s game.
Led by Coach Jess, the team hustled and worked hard to polish their strategy and tactics to face the Blue Crush.
Exhausted after a good session, Giselle bid farewell to her teammates and trudged to her car.
During the drive home, she yawned at least three times before pulling into her apartment complex in a quiet neighborhood behind a supermarket.
Giselle hopped out of the vehicle and hefted her sports bag.
She strolled to her place on the ground floor and paused when spotting a large package in front of the door.
“I didn’t order anything,” she mumbled, then squatted to inspect the label.
It was from the auto dealership! Giselle quickly stood and backed away as if the package had grown teeth.
Did Nigel finally let me go? He must have packed my desk items and sent them here.
The coward couldn’t even tell me in person!
She ran trembling fingers through her sweaty hair, then paced on the small porch between her door and a neighbor’s.
He has no right. I didn’t do anything wrong.
Fumbling for her keys, she opened the door to her apartment and shoved the box inside.
Closing the entry, she snapped on lights and dropped her gym bag on the worn carpet.
Taking a deep breath, she stared at the package and grew angry at the impersonal method of getting tossed out.
She pictured Nigel’s thick fingers and grubby hands throwing her things into the box, a leer on his pudgy face.
Gritting her teeth, Giselle tore open the flaps. She reached into the box and yanked out wads of packing paper until her hand struck…the muddy soccer ball.
Stunned, she stared at the thing she had placed into Tony’s shopping cart days earlier.
A sour mix of emotions surged, then shattered.
Relief at not being fired slammed her in a torrent.
The feeling progressed into elation, her heart swelling in joy.
The delight then melted into irritation at herself for having leapt to the dreaded conclusion so fast.
Frustration evaporated beneath a giggle as she thought of Tony, the odd linesman who had countered her artillery barrage with a bomb run.
Their silent war continued. The snicker soon elevated into a full belly laugh, and she sat back on the carpet shaking in mirth.
After a moment, she pulled out the anticipated note and read.
I expected more from you, Chalmers. I find your choice of this apartment complex questionable.
The fire department is far away. The hospital is also distant and makes emergencies inconvenient.
I checked the ratings for your place on Yelp, and the management barely has over two stars.
That rating matches my assessment of your mud ball tactics. Try better next time.
Tony
Giselle glanced between the ball and the note. I don’t even want to know how he discovered my address. Maybe he followed me home during an intelligence-gathering mission. He’s upped his game on the battlefield, which means I need to answer in kind.
She took a nice hot shower, then jumped on the computer to do some research.
She checked the schedule for the remainder of the youth league soccer season and noted a game for Friday evening.
Assuming Tony would be there, she planned to show up near the end of the match and follow him home.
She had already honed her spy skills by tailing him to the grocery store.
Now she would infiltrate the enemy base!
I’ll show him that mailing a package to me was weak sauce. I’ll go to his house for a personal delivery and plant the muddy ball in a strategic location for the best effect. The day will be won.
***
Friday arrived and Giselle made preparations after work, the most critical to smother the ball in a fresh batch of filth.
She set the ball in a plastic bag and placed it in her car, then drove to Stone Bluff.
She wore a dark colored outfit and parked far from the field where the youth game took place.
Leaving her ride, she headed for a cluster of trees close to the game and felt relieved after seeing Tony on the sideline.
Giselle watched the last fifteen minutes of play as the early evening sky began to dim.
The match ended, and the children exchanged high-fives and clustered around their team banners to enjoy a snack and post-game pep talk from their coaches. Parents gathered belongings, folded chairs on the sidelines, and climbed down bleachers to be with their kids.
Giselle watched as Tony spoke to the head ref for a few minutes.
Afterwards, both crossed the field and chatted with each coach before the refs went their separate ways.
Giselle stiffened and hid in the growing shadows as Tony walked to his car.
She crept back to her vehicle and waited inside until he pulled out of the parking lot.
Excited to engage in spy mode, she followed Tony at a reasonable distance.
The thought of him doing the same to her before he mailed the package didn’t bother her.
He may have been a poor line judge, but she didn’t detect a “creep” vibe from Tony at all.
She found his tactics for the ball war hilarious, audacious, and a good challenge for her.
Their silly battles had elevated after each strike, and Giselle hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.
The sky had darkened more by the time Tony drove into a residential neighborhood. Giselle inscribed mental notes of the street names and directions to get here. She rarely passed through this part of the city. Most of her activities took place on the opposite side of town.
In this older district, she drove past leaf-covered lawns in front of quaint homes.
Cars lined the curbs and sat in driveways.
Children’s toys, scooters, and bicycles lay strewn on some properties.
On the dark asphalt, she saw chalk drawings and hopscotch grids faded by weather.
A tire swing hung from a large oak in someone’s yard.
Not yet into the true cold season, brick chimneys stood silent and devoid of smoke.
Giselle turned on Pier Avenue and quickly slowed to a stop alongside the curb.
Several homes ahead, Tony pulled into the driveway of a one-story, tan-colored house and got out.
He rummaged in the trunk and slammed it closed, then ascended three steps onto a porch.
After fumbling with a set of keys, he opened the front door and disappeared inside.
Giselle relaxed and found a good radio station.
She desired to wait until full dark before venturing out of her car for the stealth mission.
A quick thirty minutes passed. The sky blackened, and stars shone overhead.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she grabbed the plastic bag and slipped out of the vehicle.
She headed down the sidewalk and tried to appear casual.
Kind of hard while dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie, wandering around a neighborhood I don’t belong in.
Heart hammering, she approached Tony’s front lawn and dropped to one knee.
Pretending to tie her shoe, she didn’t see any motion cameras, but that didn’t mean anyone in the house couldn’t spot her if they simply glanced outside.
Picking up the sack, she crossed the grass and paused in front of the porch. Dread gripped her in ice as she held her breath, but thankfully no lights snapped on. Slowly, she tiptoed up the steps near the front door and glanced around to look for a place to set the ball.
In front of the door? Nah, too much like a package delivery. Hm, on that wooden chair? Nope, still seems too basic. I need to make this raid count, something that will hammer Tony into the realization that I’ve won.
Giselle backed off the porch. Ducking low, she crept past a flower bed and trimmed bushes spread before a large, curtained window. Light shone from inside, perhaps a living room or kitchen. As she passed, she thought she glimpsed the flash of a TV.
Moving around the side of the house, she entered a shadowed area and halted before a walk-through gate. A drop of sweat trickled down her back. She swallowed, her throat dry. Her heart hadn’t stopped its rapid, nervous beat since exiting the car.
Giselle pulled the latch, and the gate swung open.
She stepped onto a concrete patio, her slow footfalls seeming to pound the ground way too hard.
Her quick breath sounded like a locomotive, unduly loud and announcing her presence.
Clamping a hand over her mouth, she slunk further into the darkened backyard.
She passed a silent air conditioning unit, a neglected ten-speed bicycle, and an old lawnmower pushed against the side of the house.
Nearing a window, a shouting voice on the other side halted her.
Crouching, Giselle inched closer through the shadows.
She lifted her head just high enough to peek between the blinds and into a bedroom.
Tony stood within, his dejected posture and lowered head an indication of grief. From this angle, Giselle saw his dazed and sorrowful expression. Yet his blue eyes appeared firm, a hardness that resisted whatever ailed him. It didn’t take long for her to understand the reason for his distress.
Holding a bottle of alcohol, an older man stumbled into view. His off-balance posture, reddened face, and uncoordinated gestures indicated heavy intoxication. He rammed a finger into Tony’s chest, then swigged from the bottle.
“You’re still reffing frickin’ youth league games?
” the drunk man slurred. “How far have you fallen? Everyone look at my pathetic son, the sideline judge who wasn’t good enough to make the college team.
So instead, he traded a ball for a flag!
” The man drank again, brown liquid trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“I tried my best, Dad,” Tony replied in a trembling voice. “You know how hard I trained.”
“Trained?” the father continued to shout.
“You spoiled your workouts by sticking your head in those medical books instead of hitting the field more. Did studying improve your footwork and stamina? Did reading that garbage impress the coaches?” He shook his head.
“You think you’ll be a great doctor or something when you can’t even commit to soccer? ”
“Not a doctor,” Tony said quietly as Giselle strained to hear. “It’s physical therapy, Dad.”
“Oh, well excuse me mister lifesaver. Do you know how many coaches and scouts I spoke to on your behalf? I used to be a star player in Major League Soccer, and I expected you to do the same. I had connections, and several people wanted to see you play. But you let a bunch of college weaklings take your spot!”
He turned and threw the bottle against the wall.
Glass shattered and liquid splashed everywhere.
As if expecting this, Tony barely flinched.
A small sigh lifted his shoulders. In that horrifying moment, his distant visage revealed to Giselle that Tony had suffered through this countless times.
She imagined the worst—an alcoholic father in the house having an unpredictable mood, either mellow or violent depending on several factors.
Tears stung her eyes as she watched, her heart going out to Tony.
She had a wild impulse to barge in, take his hand, and sprint at his side until the house vanished and the pain faded.
Giselle barely knew him, but that strange connection they had formed through the silent war pulled at her spirit.
She experienced an indescribable bond with her “enemy” and wished for nothing more than to help him.
Tony’s father pointed at some books piled on a desk. “I’m paying for that doctor crap, don’t you forget it.” He pointed at the floor. “I’m also paying for your butt to eat and sleep here, don’t you forget that, either. You’ll be twenty-one next month. You think that makes you a responsible man?”
He scowled and nearly lost his balance. “That ref job pays crap. You didn’t have what it takes to play, so now you babysit kids on the pitch? You’re an embarrassment.” The man turned and stumbled out of the room.
Tony sat on the edge of his bed. Team pennants and World Cup posters decorated the walls. A shelf held soccer trophies and plaques from his youth. Apart from the physical therapy books, a laptop and notepads sat on the cluttered desk.
He didn’t move for a long time. No tears approached, but the dejected expression he wore appeared more painful than weeping.
Deep exhaustion and concern marred his youthful face.
Tony felt troubled, but not for himself.
His somber body language and distressed look seemed to be for someone else—a beloved father lost to his own demons.
Giselle’s quiet tears continued to fall. Shame over witnessing this private moment crushed her down—none of her damn business. Yet sitting alone in his room, Tony’s melancholy form gripped her.
She wiped her eyes and hitched in a breath.
Is it so strange that I want to comfort him?
I thought of Tony as an overbearing man who enjoyed abusing his position.
Maybe I was offsides, maybe not. It doesn’t matter anymore.
I see him now as a vulnerable human being.
He’s hurting at this moment beneath real abuse, and here I am trying to leave a dirty soccer ball on his property.
“I’m sorry,” Giselle whispered.
She slowly turned away from the window to slip through the darkened backyard and side gate. After crossing the lawn, she reached the sidewalk and ran to her car for a muted drive home.