Final Score. Michelle Betham

shook his head. ‘Too tired, huh?’

      ‘You could say that.’

      ‘You sure that’s not just an excuse?’

      It was her turn to narrow her eyes as she looked at her best friend. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

      Ronnie looked down at the ground, his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t know, Amber. It’s just that, sometimes, I wonder whether you going back to Ryan… I wonder whether it was the right thing to do.’

      ‘He’s Rico’s dad, Ronnie.’

      ‘That doesn’t mean you actually have to be with him. Not if you don’t want to be.’

      ‘Who said I don’t want to be with him?’

      ‘Well, that’s the impression you’re giving off here, kiddo.’

      ‘Is it?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      Amber sat forward, pushing her hands through her hair again. ‘I never said we were love’s young dream or anything.’

      ‘No. I know you didn’t.’

      ‘But, I needed him, you know? I was pregnant, going through a divorce,’ She trailed off, absent-mindedly looking at her naked left hand. She still couldn’t get used to not wearing her rings. Even though they’d only really been there for the shortest of times.

      ‘And now Rico’s here?’

      ‘Hmm? Sorry?’ She looked back at Ronnie.

      ‘Now that Rico’s here, do you still need him? Ryan, I mean.’

      ‘Of course I do.’

      ‘You paused for a second there.’

      ‘I didn’t.’

      ‘You did.’

      ‘Jesus. I’d forgotten how irritating you could be.’

      ‘He’s here, you know.’

      She sighed again, throwing herself back against the couch. ‘Who?’ As if she didn’t know.

      ‘Manager of the Month, two months running.’

      She eyed Ronnie with a look of something verging on suspicion. ‘Shouldn’t we be doing something other than sitting here?’

      ‘Probably. But I quite like watching you squirm.’

      ‘You’re such a bastard.’

      He smiled, walking over to her and holding out his hand, pulling her up off the couch. ‘You need to sort out what you really want, Amber.’

      ‘I just want to get on with my life, Ronnie. As simple as that.’

      ‘There’s nothing simple when it comes to you getting on with your life, kiddo.’

      ‘Yeah. Thanks for reminding me. What about you, anyway? Any sign of a new romance on the cards?’

      ‘You’ve got to be kidding me! No time for any of that.’

      She couldn’t help smiling as she looked at him, cocking her head slightly. ‘Surely you’ve got women falling at your feet, Ronnie White. Good-looking bloke like you. You’ve still got it, even at your age.’

      ‘Yeah, okay, enough with the smart remarks. Come on. We’ve got work to do.’

      Work. The only thing that was keeping Amber’s mind off the one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about.

       *

      Jim Allen sat back in his chair, his eyes scanning the computer screen, but he was taking nothing in. His mind was on way too many other things, and for a man who was usually so focused and in control it was a feeling that didn’t sit well with him. But these past few months had been nothing short of crazy. Unpredictable. Painful.

      A knock on his office door broke into his thoughts and he looked up from his laptop. ‘Come in.’

      ‘Hey, Dad!’

      Jim smiled at the sight of his son. Brandon Palmer. Twenty-one years old, tall and handsome, and a player with the region’s rival top-flight team, Wearside Spartans.

      ‘Hey back. What you doing here? Spartans sent you over enemy lines to spy on what we’re up to before the big game?’

      ‘Well, if I’d wanted to do that I could have sneaked over to the training ground this morning, couldn’t I? No, I just came over to see how you’re doing.’

      Jim eyed Brandon warily, smiling slightly as his son perched himself on the edge of his desk. ‘I’m doing just fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’

      Brandon shrugged. ‘Dunno. You just seem to have been throwing yourself into your work a lot lately, that’s all.’

      ‘I’m the manager of a top-flight football club, Brandon. It isn’t exactly a nine-to-five kinda thing.’

      ‘You don’t take any time off.’

      ‘I don’t want to take any time off. Manager of the Month awards aren’t given out to just anybody, you know. You’ve got to put the work in.’

      ‘Is that all that matters to you?’

      Jim narrowed his eyes as he looked at his son. ‘Have you come here for any particular reason, Brandon? Apart from to give me a headache I don’t need.’

      ‘I worry about you.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I mean, Ellen and me, we asked you over for dinner the other night and you refused to come. You won’t even take a night off to spend a bit of quality time with your own son.’

      ‘I’m fine, okay? I’ve just got a lot on.’

      ‘Yeah. You seem to have had a lot on for a while now.’

      Jim fixed Brandon with a hard stare, which Brandon returned.

      ‘Ever since Amber became pregnant. Ever since she took up with Ryan Fisher. Again.’

      ‘She hasn’t “taken up” with Ryan Fisher, as you put it.’ Jim got up and walked over to the sideboard, pouring himself a small measure of whiskey.

      ‘So, you’re not bothered, then?’

      ‘About what?’

      ‘About Amber and Ryan.’

      ‘There is no Amber and Ryan.’

      ‘Oh, really?’

      Jim turned around, leaning back against the sideboard, his eyes once more locking with Brandon’s. ‘Really.’

      Brandon gave another shrug, sliding down from the desk and heading back towards the door, his hands in his pockets. ‘Okay. Whatever. Anyway, I just thought I’d drop by and say hi, see how you were. But you still look like the same old Jim Allen to me.’

      Jim said nothing to that, he just took a sip of his drink and remained silent.

      ‘Look, Dad…’ Brandon turned around and faced his father. ‘Have you thought about getting out more? Maybe meeting someone else, you know, to take your mind off…’

      ‘I’ll see you later, Brandon.’

      Brandon held up his hands as he turned to go. ‘I’m outta here.’

      Jim waited until he’d closed the door behind him before he took the letter from his inside jacket pocket, opening it up and reading it through. One more piece of proof. Another piece of a jigsaw he’d been trying to put together. But he had all he needed now. The ball was very much in his court. And it was up to him whether he chose to hit out or not.