Page 11 of Racing Heat

I chuckle. “I guess you want the whole story, huh?”

“Well, you could tell me, or I could just get the story out of you piece by piece.”

“Were you a journalism major?” I ask her.

It’s her turn to laugh at me. “Poli-sci.”

“What are you hoping to do with that?”

“Nothing, really. I’m hoping I’ll play soccer and then do something in the coaching or announcing world.”

“So, your degree is worthless then, huh?”

“Kind of. My parents weren’t too happy about it, but they’ll deal.”

“Are they the same amount of unsupportive as Mac’s?” I ask, and she looks over at me, her brow marred in confusion. “Danny told me about it.”

“You guys are worse than girls sometimes,” she tells me with a laugh.

“Give Danny enough alcohol and he’ll just ramble.”

“I see. I’ll have to remember that. Might come in handy sometime.” She turns to me and says, “You don’t have to tell me. I can tell you’re stalling.”

I sigh. “I’m not stalling. It’s just a story that’s not particularly interesting. We got married when we were young. I had just signed with Manchester. I traveled a bit for the team, so we didn’t see each other much. We tried to make the best of it when we did, but I could tell that we both preferred it when I was on the road. I know I did.”

“Charming,” she says, her tone full of distaste.

“We got married too young and too fast. And then I got injured. She took really good care of me. I was in a lot of rehab, so her help was desperately needed. But the other thing we discovered was with me not playing soccer, I wasn’t the person she wanted. We just didn’t have enough in common. The passion we once felt for each other was gone. I preferred to be gone; she preferred me gone. So, we split. It was amicable, or at least as amicable as two people can be when they can no longer stand to be with each other.”

“You didn’t try to make it work?”

“Sure, I think so. We gave it, as you Americans would say, the old college try. But it just wasn’t worth it in the end.”

“What did she do for work?”

“She’s a schoolteacher. And no, she didn’t enjoy coming to my games. She didn’t like sports.”

“Then why in the hell did you marry her?” she exclaims, drawing the attention of people passing us.

“We enjoyed shagging,” I tell her with a shrug.

She laughs and shakes her head. “And you wonder why I think you’re not marriage material.”

“Yeah, I wonder why,” I say more to myself. We walk in silence for a bit longer and I ask her, “Do you want to go back to running?”

The part of the run where we turn around and head back has already passed. We’re almost back to the cars. I can see her bright yellow Jeep in the distance, where my black Audi just blends in with the rest.

“Nah, this is nice.” She looks over at me and smiles. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair for me to say you’re not marriage material. After all, I don’t really know you. But you don’t do much to help me or anyone else get to know you. Don’t you notice that when we’re out with everyone, you’re the most quiet and reserved?”

“Well, I always figure I’ll let August have the attention or let you ladies do all the talking. I like to listen.”

“But what if we all prefer your voice?” she asks me.

“It’s the accent,” I remind her. “If I didn’t have it, you wouldn’t care too much to hear me talk.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s nice when you open up and talk to us. I like learning more about you.”

“Even if I’m not marriage material?” I tease her.