Save Me, Sinners

“Are you okay, David?” Shauna asks, massive concern dripping off her face.

“I thought you were gonna beat him up right there,” Scott chuckles and then gets a stern look from Shauna.

“It’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll beat him up where it matters. On the football pitch.”

Carrie’s words had really made a mark on me. A few months ago, I really would’ve picked up a fight with Javier in front of everyone. But this time, I kept my cool and did the right thing. Carrie was right. I have to let my performance do the talking. I wish I had someone like her to talk sense into me six months ago. That hurt feeling of losing the World cup final comes back to haunt me again.

Although I want to go back home and be by myself, Shauna refuses to let me, and the three of us along with Willie go out for dinner. Their company cheers me up quite a bit as we don't talk about work or soccer but about random things.

After a fantastic meal, I slowly cruise in my Ferrari, lazily making my way home. I plan to sleep right away as there’s a training session scheduled for early morning. Now that the coach is finally looking at me in a favorable way, I want to remain in his good books. Especially since I have to make sure that I play every game better than anyone else, especially Javier.

That stupid wanker, Javier. No way I'm losing this, no way! I’m in high spirits, a new resolve building inside. I turn on the radio and am switching around to find something worth listening to when a car pulls up toward my left side. It’s a silver Maserati. I feel a pair of eyes on me, as if someone is looking at me from inside the car.

As I squint to see clearly, I see a woman, a rather good-looking woman, sitting on the passenger’s side and next to her, in the driver’s seat, is Javier Romero. He rolls down the window and grins at me. Then he points his index and middle fingers to his eyes and then on to the road, as if telling me to keep my eyes on the road.

The engine of my car roars as I put my foot down on the accelerator. Fuck, he wants to race me. The traffic light is still red and I know that I should not let Javier bait me into this. I keep staring at Javier, that stupid grin permanent on his face. Again the sound of a roaring engine breaks through.

“You’re a coward!” Javier shouts. Just then the light goes green and he speeds off.

Fuck it!

I put the pedal to the floor and chase after Javier, through the streets. Thanks to the late hour, there’s not much traffic on the roads but I’m sure that sooner or later, the cops will catch on to us. Still, a man has to do what a man has to do.

It’s not long before I catch up with him and soon enough I leave Javier behind. My car is simply more powerful.

“Fuck yeah!” I throw my fist in the air in triumph. Javier is still trying to catch up and I can see him in the rear view mirror trying his best, but failing miserably.

“Get used to losing, you wanker. From now on, I'm going to hand you a beating every time we face each other.” I laugh, my eyes still on the rear view mirror. I even ran a couple of red lights but I don't care. All that matters is that I beat Javier. This adrenaline rush is what he live for, what he work so hard for. Winning feels amazing, even if it’s something as silly as an impromptu street car race.

I’m heading downhill, when from the corner of my eyes, I feel as if I see something rush across from the other side of the road.

The first thing I notice is the young woman on the pavement, shouting in panic. All she has in her hand is a leash. Why the hell would anyone walk around with a leash? In a moment I know why as my peripheral vision widens to notice a dog rushing across, right in the driving line of my car.

In a split second I turn the steering and dodge the loose animal but the speed I’m driving is way over the legal limit. The car slowly goes out of control, my head spins and I crash head first into a tree by the roadside.

Chapter 91

Soccer superstar David Adams involved in a car crash. Possible DUI, reads the headline.

My breath gets stuck in my throat. I texted him last evening, before he was about to go on stage. What happened after that? I thought he was with Shauna and Scott.

I've to go see him.

Picking up my bag, I dial Shauna’s number on the way out of the office.

Within half an hour, I’m parking my car at the medical center in Santa Monica that David is at. There are a bunch of sports journalists camped outside and I have to make another call to Shauna, who sends in one of her assistants to get me in. There’s a crowd of people in Anaheim Knights soccer shirts waiting in the hallway and as I enter the room where David is staying, another man in team uniform storms out of the room.

The mood inside the room is glum as Scott, Shauna and David sit motionless with long faces. David looks at me and smiles grimly. His leg is in a full cast and a pair of crutches lay on the left side of the bed, Shauna and Scott on sofas on the right. My heart sinks. For a soccer player, an injury to the foot is the worst thing ever. I’m lost for words and if it weren’t for the presence of the other people in the room, I would rush up to him, hug him tightly and do my best to comfort him.

“How bad is it?” I finally muster the courage to speak.

“The doctor is still checking the reports,” Shauna says as she stares down at the floor.

“You should’ve laid low man. This is not good,” Scott shakes his head.

“Well, then, you shouldn’t have sent me to that damn event then,” David shouts back.

&nbs