Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Hello there, pretties. I can't thank you enough for your reviews and your pretty words. I had a lot of fun writing this so the fact that you guys enjoy it means the world to me.
Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).
Special thanks to Kristen for sharing her height-difference expertise! ;)
Chapter 7. Making amends.
The knocking on the door resonates through the silent hallway. It only takes three rounds of constant pounding for Seth to open the door.
When he does, I smile. "Wakey, wakey, Sally Sunshine."
His eyes are almost shut as he scratches his head. "What time is it?"
"Time to practice free kicks before breakfast. Get your shit, and let's go."
Seth drags his feet back into his room, and I wait outside.
Last night I apologized to Waylon for my attitude over the past couple of days. Said I was disappointed at myself for letting the nervousness, the anxiety, and my anger, get the best of me. It affected my performance. It affected my team. I owned up to everything, like Bella said I should. I promised to make it better, starting with Seth.
Waylon seemed convinced. He said he had faith in me and he wanted me to train with the team. We discussed his strategy against the Italians, and we agreed Emmett should be captain for that game.
I hope, if we make it through, he'll think I deserve the captain band back for our final game. When I asked to be present at the press conference, he eyed me suspiciously, but once I explained why, he agreed.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
Bernard drives Seth and me to the training field as we snack on some protein bars. It is still dark out when we arrive.
"The Italian's strongest suit is their defense." I start arranging the cones on the turf. "It will be hard to get through them, so you need to take advantage of every foul that could lead to a free kick."
"Am I going to be the one taking the free kicks?"
"Well, I'm not going to be able to take them from the bleachers now, am I?"
"Right..." Seth scratches his neck and faces down.
"Let's try twenty yards first, okay?" I set the ball down and glance at him. "The placement of the air valve is important. You want it to face where you're hitting the ball. For this angle, and to favor your left foot, you want to aim for the bottom left side of the ball. That way it will go over the barrier and into the top right corner of the goal. Okay?"
He nods, still looking down, twirling his fingers at his sides nervously.
"Listen, kid, don't think about it. Don't think about what the game means. It's just another game, okay? It's all in your head. You think about this ball and that net. That's it." I get up from the ground and smack his shoulder. "Top right corner. Give it all you have." I walk backward to the goal as a get the keeper gloves on.
Seth takes his five steps back, stops briefly for a deep breath before he makes the run and kicks the ball. He's got good technique but not enough force. I catch it easily.
"Come on, kid, my little sister could have put more power into that. Technique was good, though. Keep your leg straight like that."
When he tries again, it goes over the top bar — too much force and not enough direction. I hear him curse under his breath as I go get the ball.
"Again." I throw the ball back to him.
After several more tries, he's still not getting it right. I can see that he's getting frustrated, when I catch his last trial. It's almost time for breakfast anyway, and the rest of the team will be here in no time. I decide we'll practice again, later today, when Emmett's around.
"Sorry," Seth says when I approach him. The kid's a mess — hands on his hips, breathing hard, eyes down.
"You're overthinking it."
"I can't, okay? I can't not think about the game. It's a big freaking deal! And you won't be there. And I won't ever be able to kick that ball like you do."
"Being scared shitless is not gonna help either. If you can't get your shit together here, when it's just you and me on the pitch, how are you going to do it when you've got eleven cannoli on your back and millions of eyes on you?"
Seth sighs and gazes at the goal.
"Mind over matter, Seth. That's the main fucking point. You're the only one who can control what gets in there and what doesn't. But if you come out like a scared puppy, they will eat you alive."
Seth still seems tense and troubled, staring at the goal. With the realization that I'm not really helping him, I change my strategy.
"Here's how I do it." I pick up the ball and set it right in front of me. "I look at the ball, and I ask myself, what would Jesus do?"
Finally his eyes are on me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really?"
I'm laughing hard as I kick the ball, over the imaginary barrier of men, straight into the right corner. No keeper would have been able to catch that. Not even Gigi Buffon.
"Seriously, Seth? No, of course not. I don't ask myself, or Jesus, anything, I just fucking kick the ball." I put an arm around his shoulders as we head back. "Let's go. I'm starving."
Once training starts, I jog next to Seth, sharing every little detail I can think of about the Italians I have played with, their weaknesses, how to get through them, and who to avoid. I can see his fear slowly turning into determination.
During drills, he excels — kid's fast on his feet. If he plays like that on the field tomorrow, he could dribble past any Italian defender. Garrett notices too and pushes us harder, to meet Seth's speed. At the end of drills, we are all lying breathless on the turf.
"What's gotten into you, Speedy Gonzalez?" I manage to ask between pants.
"Mind over matter," he says through a snort, and I laugh.
"Hey, Edward…" He sits up, holding his knees with his arms. "I don't think what happened at the club was your fault. I went willingly. I drank too much. I was the one who over-slept. I don't blame you at all."
"Good, 'cause it wasn't my fault," I deadpan.
Seth snickers, shaking his head. "Anyway... thanks for doing this."
"Oh, don't thank me yet, kid. You won't get rid of me until you get that kick right, and we haven't even started yet."
As we play our four on fours, it becomes clear that Seth was holding out on us. Or maybe his fear was holding him back. The kid's got some amazing dribbling style, and his runs are flawlessly timed. He knows when to shoot, when to pass. His finishing excels with placement over force. He's got that poacher instinct, and despite his size, he can get through tall defenders and manage to get the ball in. He's unbelievably talented.
Once training is over, we stay behind with Emmett and Coach Clapp, practicing free kicks and penalty kicks. Seth manages to get it down a couple of times, but it's not consistent. He still needs to find that balance between power and precision.
We stop after a couple hours — not wanting to overdo it or he'll be too sore tomorrow. The game against Italy is in the afternoon, so we'll get some more practice time in the morning.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
My hair is still damp from my shower as I enter the press room. Flashes go off and I squint my eyes looking for Bella. In the front row, wearing one of those devilish skirts and heels, I find her, legs crossed and her foot bouncing. She's not taking notes though — she's looking straight at me, and I can't or won't try to contain my smile.
I take my seat on the chair as I wait for the craziness to begin. Waylon announces the starting lineup for tomorrow, and then the questions begin. My Tiny Terror does not disappoint, and as soon as she gets the mic, she asks how I feel about what went on during the game against England. I take a deep breath and hide my fists under the table.
This is why I'm here...
"I feel like I've let my team down. I want to apologize to them as well as to all US fans. Our squad performed brilliantly and managed to see the game to completion for a winning result with only ten men."
"Do you have any complaints about the ref or the red card decision?" I know she's testing me. I know I have to say these words. Part of making amends and all… but it doesn't make it any easier.
"No, I don't have any complaints about the card." I hope my voice doesn't sound as strained as it feels. When I look at Bella, she nods encouragingly, so I think I'm doing all right. "I've watched the replay and it was well-deserved. I reacted badly at the beginning, trying to protect myself, but I can see now that I was wrong."
Bella frowns and takes her earpiece out, annoyed with what's being said to her. "You've trained with your team today, even though you won't be playing tomorrow. What do you think are your chances of making it to the finals?"
"Well, I don't have a crystal ball, Miss Swan," I snap back before I can control myself. I take a deep breath, and when I stare at her, her look surprises me since it's not defiant, but apologetic instead. The sincerity of her gaze grounds me, and I am able to find the words I want to say. "I am disappointed and saddened that I won't get to play, but I have faith in my team and that they'll do their best to pull through. When this started a couple of weeks ago, no one thought the US would be in semifinals... but here we are, and we have every intention to take it all the way to the end. I will be supporting my team both on and off the field."
She nods at me with a tiny smile on her face even though her look is still apologetic. She says she has no further questions, and they move on to the next reporter. I huff and relax into my seat.
That was close. I could see myself easily ruining my attempt at apologizing. I'm glad she didn't push me further, or I might have snapped… again.
Soon enough it's all over, and I'm being escorted by Bernard to our car, since the rest of the team already left on the bus. I'm trying to come up with excuses to contact Bella, to see what she's doing tonight, to talk to her even for just a little bit, when my phone vibrates in my pocket with a text from her.
"Sometimes I hate my job. I'm sorry. TT."
TT? I smile at the screen and then look at Bernard.
"Back to the hotel?" he asks from the front seat.
"I don't know yet," I answer as I type. "Meet me at your hotel? PAA."
The seconds tick by as Bernard watches me, waiting for my instruction.
Come on, Bella, come on...
Finally, she answers.
"Okay. Room 913. Still busy though, so give me an hour."
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
Bernard drives me back to our hotel for dinner and so I can change into my own clothes. Then we very stealthily sneak out — I'm breaking all the rules now.
Once I make it to the elevator at Bella's hotel, I press the number nine while my heart pumps in my chest. My palms are sweaty, and I rub them on my jeans. I don't even know why I'm so nervous to see her. I guess I'm just excited… happy.
Standing at the door of suite 913 hesitantly, I remove my hat and run a hand through my hair. I knock softly, and I'm surprised when it flings open wide.
"Oh my gosh, you're early." Her hands are on her ear, taking an earring off, I presume, while her leg holds the door open. "Come in." She gestures with her head, putting the earring between her teeth and going for the other one.
I walk inside as she steps out of her shoes.
"I just got here, Bella. You don't need to take your clothes off… yet." I waggle my eyebrows at her and smirk.
She picks up the shoes from the floor and points the at-least-five-inch heels at me. "These could do some damage," she threatens playfully.
"I bet..."
"I need five seconds to change." Shoes in hand, she heads for her bedroom.
She makes this too easy — I can't help but tease her.
"If you let me watch, you don't have to rush."
"Stop that... seriously." When she turns around, she seems a bit flushed.
Is she nervous like me? Excited perhaps?
"Okay... Okay... sorry," I say in surrender. "You've got five seconds."
She disappears into the bedroom, and I stand awkwardly in the living room of her suite, while I try really hard not to think about her getting naked behind that door.
Did I mention it was hard?
To try to distract myself, I take in my surroundings. Her suite is smaller than mine, but still a decent size. The living room is a bit sparse, with just a couch and two chairs filling it, combined with a small kitchen which has a minibar and a high-top counter with two bar stools.
I stand there awkwardly, a hand rubbing my neck, until I hear the bedroom door opening. When she comes out, she's wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her hair's loose, and she's barefoot. I can't help but notice how young she looks.
"How old are you?" I blurt out.
"Twenty-three."
"You don't look twenty-three."
"Do you need to see an ID?" Even though the clothes are gone, the reporter snappiness of my Tiny Terror is still in full effect.
"No, I trust you." I, however, am in full on mellow mode. I don't want to fight. I don't want to be angry. I just want to be here, with her.
She walks to the mini fridge and bends over. "Water?"
"No, thanks. I'm okay." I swallow hard at her curves in those tight jeans.
She walks over to the middle of her living room where I stand, turning the water bottle in her hands. When she stops in front of me, her face is at my chest, and she stretches her neck, looking up at me.
"Hey, Big Bird, would you mind sitting down? You're kinda giving me a neck ache."
"Big Bird?" I snort, dropping on the couch. "See, that's a nickname I'm actually okay with. As far as the size of my bird is concerned, I'm—"
"Shut up," she says with a laugh, kneeling on the couch next to me, sitting back on her heels.
When she struggles to open the water bottle, my hand reaches for it instinctively, and with one twist of my hand, I have the lid between my fingers and hand the bottle back to her. She smiles and takes a sip, before relaxing into the seat, setting the bottle on the side table.
"Okay... so I'm sorry about earlier, and even before—"
"You were just doing your job. I get it," I cut her off because I know it's not her fault — it's just how the media works.
"I know, but it still doesn't make me enjoy it. They want me to push people over the edge, to get a reaction…" she explains. "I hate that part." Her eyes are down at her hands intertwined over her lap.
"I'm sure your job has its perks." I smile teasingly, my hand itching to reach for hers but I secure it between my knees instead.
"It does..." She smiles, peeking up at me through her lashes. "Traveling to beautiful places, meeting interesting people. And it's also not always like this. Sometimes I get to interview normal, even-tempered people — like Emmett."
"See, it felt like you were apologizing, but then—"
"I was. I am. I'm sorry." She giggles. "You did really well today, by the way."
I can't get over the fact how happy her smile makes me — how contagious her laughter is. No matter how much she aggravates me, I can't be angry when she's close — I just can't. My hand reaches for her face, and in a moment of weakness, my body just gravitates to her, but before my lips can touch hers, she puts a hand on my chest and pushes me back.
I exhale loudly in frustration and run a hand through my hair. "Bella, please... just... let go, c'mon. I know you want this too," I whisper as I try to cope with her rejection.
"Excuse me? I don't." She moves back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.
"Yes, you do. You kissed me back, that day at the infirmary. You did. Your hands were in my hair. You were pulling yourself closer to me, pressing yourself on me."
"Did you forget about the part where I slapped you, right afterward? That was me taking the kiss back."
"You can't take it back. It's there. It happened. It's all I can think about." When my eyes meet hers, all I find is denial. How can I explain how I feel without sounding like a psycho who's completely obsessed with her after having met her only a couple of days ago?
Before I can say anything else, there's a knock on the door and she groans.
She rushes to the door and stretches herself on her tiptoes to reach the peephole, using her hands on the door to push herself up. When that doesn't work she takes a little jump. I think she might be the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my whole life. And just like that, my anger and frustration are out the door, and I laugh through my nose.
"Need help there, Thumbelina?"
She turns around and glares at me and, with a finger over her lips, shushes me.
She sighs and opens the door only just to peek her head out. I can't see who's there, since the couch where I sit is behind the door, but my smile leaves my face as I recognize his voice and his ridiculous nickname for her.
"Bells!"
"Hey…" Her leg crosses behind her as she pokes the carpet with her toes.
"We're going out for drinks. Wanna come with?"
"Sorry, Jake, I'm tired."
"Come on, Bells. It'll be fun."
"I'd rather stay in."
"Want some company?" Instead of dejected, his tone is eager, suggestive… it makes my blood boil.
Dude can't take a hint. Maybe he is deaf after all.
"Jake, I'm just going to head to bed." Even I can sense her annoyance. She wants him to leave, and so do I.
I'm getting close to the point of standing up and personally removing him from her door when he finally desists. "Oh... okay... I'll see you tomorrow then."
She says goodbye and closes the door behind her as I try to get my rage in check.
"Very unprofessional to be dating someone from your crew, Miss Swan," I say with a tsk, tsk, tsk, mildly joking, once she's sitting next to me.
"What are you talking about?" She thinks I'm joking, but I'm not.
"Wasn't that your cameraman, who you're clearly dating?" I don't think I succeed in hiding the irritation from my tone. I don't care though. The image of his ugly hands on her turns my stomach. The thought of her hands on him makes me livid.
"What?" Finally her expression turns serious. "Yes, it was Jacob, but no, we are not dating."
"Good."
"What's it to you?" she snaps back warily.
"What is it to me? Have you not been paying attention, Bella? I want you. I... fuck... I need you."
Well, there goes trying not to sound like a psycho.
"Edward, stop." With a hand out she stares at her legs again.
"Why? You're not with the cameraman, right? Is there someone else?"
"No, there isn't anybody." Her hand falls on her leg and she gazes at me. "But I'm not looking for anything either. I want to be by myself right now."
I don't buy it. I really don't. I see the way she looks at me. How she bites her lip and blushes around me. Her touch can't possibly ignite this fire within me without her feeling something... anything.
"When I agreed to that lunch," she continues, "I... It didn't mean that... I just... I wanted to help you. You looked so lost."
"So you're saying you took pity on me?" I can feel the anger simmering beneath my skin. My hand shakes in a fist next to my leg, begging for some contact.
"No! I wanted to get to know you too."
I grab her hand, my thumb rubbing her palm. "Tell me this doesn't feel right. Tell me you don't feel it, and I'll leave you alone. I won't try to kiss you again, unless you want me to, I promise."
She sighs, looking at our hands. "I do feel it. But…" she trails off.
I wait a couple seconds, but as she doesn't continue, I lose my patience.
"But what?"
"I just don't trust you." Her voice is so small as she stares at our hands. My heart breaks a little.
"That's because you believe the lie — the camouflage. That person the media puts out, the one that dates models and buys expensive cars. That's really not me. I don't want to be that person anymore."
"This from the guy who was out with prostitutes less than a week ago." Her tone is cynic, one eyebrow raised as she glares at me.
Oh, for fuck's sake!
I wrap my fingers tighter around her hand, my eyes never leaving hers.
"Bella, I wasn't. She was just there. I had nothing to do with her."
"Whatever. It really is none of my business."
Her words feel like a bucket of ice water down my spine. Of course she doesn't trust me. She barely knows me. And all I've been so far is a temperamental asshat — a pretentious, arrogant asshole as she so kindly put it.
Fighting with her is not going to get me anywhere, so I take a deep breath — keeping my rage in check — and try honesty instead. "Okay. I understand why you don't believe me. Can I at least try to earn your trust? It's just that, I feel good when I'm with you. I don't feel angry, I don't feel anxious... I just... it just feels right. And that hasn't happened for me in a long time, Bella… or even ever… with anyone."
Her eyes search mine, but she doesn't speak. "Why don't you sit with me tomorrow for the game? I'll have to watch it from the bleachers, and I know it's going to drive me insane. I could really use some company."
"I'm working tomorrow." She sighs.
"Oh, okay." I look down in disappointment, taking little comfort in the fact that we are still holding hands.
"I… um… I only have to cover the pre-game, half-time, and after-match. So… I can watch most of the game with you. Would that work?" she offers timidly.
I peek over at her, the hope in her words making me grin. "Yes, that's perfect."
She smiles coyly, and I let go of her hand awkwardly, instantly missing her touch, as I get up.
"I should probably go." I rub my hand on my chest as I walk to the door. I shouldn't stay out late anyway, and the more time I spend with Bella, the harder it seems to let her go. I turn to give her a little smirk, one that says I'm not going to be an asshole about this — that I'll take whatever she can give me. "See you at the stadium then?"
She gets up from the couch and walks over to me. "Okay."
My hand reaches for her face, and I run my thumb over her cheek. I keep my grin in place and nod at her, before I gruelingly tear my hand away, turn around, and leave.
T-minus fifteen hours until semifinals against Italy.
A/N: Awww… TT and PAA… How much longer do you think Bella will resist him?
Can't wait to hear your thoughts!
See you guys Thursday for the semifinal game,
Ronnie.
