CHAPTER 19
The rumours began to circulate online on Saturday evening, gathering pace by Sunday morning, although I gave them little credence as I'd had no personal communication myself.
Speculation of a possible takeover bid for Broxburgh Football Club seemed to come out of nowhere after the Forfar draw and was rife throughout the rest of the weekend.
“It's nonsense,” I said, cuddling into him.
“Yeah, I guess so,” DeShaun replied. “But... If there was truth to them, whaddaya think you'd do?”
“Right now, I'd probably skip straight to the bottom line and check the amount someone was willing to pay.”
“You'd really be prepared to sell, babygirl?”
“DeShaun, I feel like I've had enough. I thought I could change so much in the game when I took over. I really did. But, honestly, have I done more harm than good?”
His abdomen tensed.
“I think so... Sometimes.”
He squeezed my body and kissed my forehead. “You're too hard on yourself.”
It was easy for him to say. I knew my problem was that I was spoilt, that I rarely held myself accountable and, no matter how much I wanted to change, I'd never work hard enough on resolving my issues to actually achieve it.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” I purred, and felt my focus on my problems begin to blur.
By Monday, the supposed story was on the front page of the Broxburgh Evening News – Angus Hamilton's name appearing in the byline – and I started to become intrigued.
Him and I'd had our problems in the past, yet I knew he was a serious journalist. He wasn't likely to be reporting so explicitly on something which was no more than an online rumour, not without evidence.
His story claimed he'd inside sources at both the club and the source of the takeover, with both confirming privately to him that negotiations were forthcoming.
Yet I'd received no such takeover bid.
I didn't feel like showing my face at the hotel during a time of more media scrutiny and told DeShaun to get a taxi to my house.
He arrived just after dinner, catching me by surprise in the kitchen.
“DeShaun!” I said, clutching my chest. “You startled me. How'd you get in?”
“You left the front door unlocked, Sasha.”
I looked past him down the hall. “I did?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding with his hands in his pockets.
I knew him well enough to know something had happened. “What is it, baby? What's going on?”
DeShaun sighed.
“Please don't tell me there was more problems at training with Kyle and-”
“No, Sasha.” He reluctantly pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “That reporter, Angus, turned up again. He gave me this, for you.”
I took the paper. There was a mobile number written on it.
“He asked me to get you to call him.”
I crushed it up in my hand. “It'll be to do with this phantom takeover.”
“Shouldn't you call him, just to be sure?”
“No, DeShaun. There's no takeover. It's not happening. I've heard nothing all week.” I fixed the strap of my bra on my shoulder. “If he turns up again, just ignore him.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, DeShaun. Anything you say, he can use as a comment. It's safer to say nothing and just walk away.”
He slipped his palms around my tight waist. “Okay, babygirl, you're the boss.”
I smiled. “That's right... Your boss.”
His crotch visibly stirred.
I felt it. “Oh my God, DeShaun, you're getting hard.”
He nodded.
“You really like me emphasising that I'm your boss?”
His eyes lit up. “How about you order me up to bed, Sasha, and we can work on cumming together?”
“That's Ms Liu to you...” I gently kissed his lips. “Mr Wilkesboro.”
On Saturday afternoon DeShaun headed Broxburgh into an early lead at home to Elgin City, settling nerves and silencing his critics in the crowd.
But the pressure was still on and the away side smelt it like blood, piling forward in search of an equaliser we couldn't afford to give away.
Every match from now to the end of the season was a must-win game.
Blair McKay led the defence, tackling hard and giving a man-of-the-match performance, while Ricky McQuillan in goal executed his duties in a manner belying his age, never looking like conceding.
Until the 89th minute. Kyle – or, arguably, Drew – had taken off number 10 Euan Donaldson and brought on Johnny Wood to bolster the defence. The substitute mistimed a back pass to the 'keeper, which was latched onto by an Elgin forward who shot past McQuillan to make it 1-1.
I stared defiantly at the centre of the pitch, trying to convey to onlookers I believed my team could restart the match and find a winner... But I didn't believe it. All I wanted was to bury my face in my hands and sob.
And sell. Although nobody had made me an offer.
DeShaun looked angry as he took the kick-off, side-footing the ball to Leo Martin and then going on a run into the opposition's half. He didn't look like he stood a chance of scoring, as Elgin's players quickly made sure to cover him.
We looked so depleted coming forward.
Stephen MacKenzie was on the sidelines with Drew, ready to come on for the dying seconds and play as a second striker. It looked desperate. Hell, it was desperate. But it was probably the right thing to do. Kyle appeared alongside his assistant, nodding profusely.
Broxburgh were still in possession, the ball now at the feet of midfielder Lennox Milne.
He ignored DeShaun's futile shouts for a pass, and laid the ball on for the overlapping wing-back Fergus Graham.
Graham cut inside. He beat one Elgin player.
Then another. He looked forward to DeShaun, then saw Lachlan Williamson steaming forward in the middle of the park and drilled the ball to his feet.
Williamson took the shot first time, launching it high and curling towards goal.
It started to dip, just in time. Elgin's goalkeeper sprung from his feet, finding it with his fingertips and touching it onto the inside of the post. The ball bounced into the six-yard box.
A defender swung a leg at it and hoofed it over the bar.
Stephen MacKenzie was swapped for Graeme Crawford, reducing the defence from five men to four and bolstering the attack to a front two. He charged into the Elgin half like a man on a mission.
Martin was on corner duty, knowing it was likely to be one of the last kicks of the game.
McQuillan came forward too, leaving our goal exposed.
I crossed my fingers.
Martin hit the ball.
I crossed my legs.
The football, hindered by the strong winds, floated out of the 18-yard box.
McQuillan was out of position – he'd no way of getting back in time – but McKay wasn't and first took one touch, then a second, inviting the Elgin players to come at him and scurry out from the box, before passing out left to Graham, who cut a cross into the box first time.
The flag stayed down. Ricky McQuillan swung a foot at the ball, miskicking it, only for it to fall at the feet of substitute MacKenzie.
“Shoot!!!”
He came. He saw. He took the shot.
The goalkeeper saved, then spilled the ball. It was free again in the 6-yard box. The strongest, most muscular leg on the pitch struck it at such velocity some people behind the goal tried to duck as the ball rocketed into the back of the net.
“Our King!”
DeShaun ran to the corner flag, celebrating with the home support as his team-mates sprinted after him and surrounded him.
“Our King! Our King! Our King!”
Elgin restarted the match, with the referee allowing play to continue for considerably longer than the fourth official had indicated for.
However, Broxburgh stood firm and when the full-time whistle was blown, we'd taken the 3 points we needed and everyone from the team to the coaches to the crowd seemed united in their determination to take our promotion bid to the wire.
A couple of clubs in front of us had drawn, leaving us now 7 points behind the play-off positions with 12 points left to play for over the remaining 4 matches.
Yet my own determination and belief wasn't in unison with everyone else's.
I still felt beaten.
I still felt abused.
And, not so very deep down, I was still as broken as ever.