Sere

All through my ride home, I cannot stop pondering Roman's situation and how my life has become increasingly difficult just on the first day at work.

Yet I conclude that if I am certain about keeping this job, I need to get close to Roman and find the causes for his performance issues.

Therefore, aside from observing the training sessions from the sidelines, talking with a few coaching staff, and beginning scheduled work with a few other players, I try to find ways to get closer to Roman over the next few days.

I search for all possible means to begin a friendly conversation with him, but the moment I do, he's off, going elsewhere.

So every observation I have concerning him is done strictly from afar.

Until the fifth day, during a sunny afternoon session, I finally have my chance. Roman misses a pass, and a teammate snaps at him.

The argument escalates fast enough that the head coach steps in and sends Roman to the bench. From where I stand, I watch him drop his head, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

And realizing this is my opportunity, I walk over and sit two seats from him. I let him sense my presence before speaking.

"How do you feel about missing that pass earlier?" I start.

"Don't bring that up," he replies, lifting his head.

"You know I have to discuss every issue. This is part of my job. It's not like I love checking up on you all the time." I lie through my teeth.

"What about checking up on me after the family dinner?"

Now it's my turn to borrow his own words.

"Don't bring that up."

I look ahead, thinking how a work-related issue ends up with mentioning family dinner.

Suddenly, at that moment, a white ball comes flying off the pitch, heading straight at me. My heart leaps into my throat. Every instinct tells me to jump off and run away, but my butt is glued to the chair.

Besides, my reflexes are nothing to brag about. Roman's hand shoots out and catches it cleanly before it reaches me. I let out a breath that's half relief, half leftover fear.

"You seem pale and terrified. Relax. It's just a ball," he says flatly.

"It might have caused a head injury if it had actually hit me. It isn't just a ball."

He looks back at the pitch without responding. When the training ends, he stands, heading for the tunnel without a glance in my direction. I chase after him.

"We're not done discussing, Roman."

"I'm done on my end. Keep discussing if you want to." He disappears ahead of me, insolent as ever.

I remain rooted, staring at the space he just walked through, my fists clenching and unclenching. Hitting him with the ball wouldn't be entirely unreasonable, would it?

I've been enduring his insolent attitude, and it's starting to wear on me.

While other players pass around me, the head coach suddenly appears and falls into step beside me.

"How's the assessment with Roman going? I saw the two of you talking on the bench."

"Roman? I think he'll improve with time. With more sessions, he'll open up. I believe that." I lie. I know I'm lying, knowing full well it isn't true.

Roman might not end up telling me anything till my job ends. But I have to keep trying.

"I believe you, Miss Serena. If he keeps spending time with you, his performance should come back. Keep it up. We're counting on you."

He taps my shoulder while I nod, guilt sitting low in my stomach. I smile like it doesn't cost me anything, but the words stay with me for the rest of the walk to my office.

We're counting on you.

If Roman doesn't improve, I already know whose name gets crossed off the staff list next, and I've envisioned exactly how fast it'll happen, because it already happened to the psychologist before me.

Back in my office, I pack up and decide to stop at the grocery store before heading home. By the time I reach the exit, the sky is getting cloudy.

Rain starts pouring heavily. I remember I have no car, and the walk out of the grounds is long.

Just then, someone steps up beside me beneath the covered doorway.

Roman.

He's holding a dark umbrella. He looks down at me, giving an amused expression, though it's gone before I can be sure it was ever there.

"Want me to help? Wanna come in?"

I'm still irritated from earlier, but I don't have much of a choice. I swallow my pride and follow him to the car. He starts the engine and pulls out toward the club exit.

"Were you planning on walking into the rain, Miss Serena? Catching a cold is a real possibility."

"I have no choice," I say, folding my arms.

A long silence fills the car. He starts taking a turn I don't recognize, heading somewhere else entirely, and I finally have to speak up.

"I'm heading to a grocery store. Not that way."

He redirects without comment, eyes fixed on the road the entire drive. I expect him to leave the moment I step out. He doesn't even flinch.

When I finish shopping and come back out, his car is still parked there, waiting. I stand there for a second, almost stunned.

I settle into the passenger seat and look at him.

"Why did you wait?"

He opens his mouth and closes it again.

"It felt like the right thing to do was to wait."

When he clears his throat, the awkwardness is written plainly across his face.

"Thank you," I say, sincerely. "I really mean that."

A heavy silence settles between us.

I enjoy the silence for a moment until my mind drifts back to something Mara once told me: that Roman had a promising career before his transfer to Chestfield.

That he used to be cheerful and loving. The kind of person everyone gravitated toward. Before coming to this present club. And when he started playing below the standard, the hateful comments from fans grew.

Soon he became withdrawn and gloomy. And his parents didn't help matters.

Figuring out what actually made him lose motivation to play well is the real work here.

How do I find the root of his problem when he won't give me anything to work with?

And his father, who was a football star once, why would he choose to be so hard on his own son, who is walking the same path he once walked?

The car slows. We've stopped in front of my building. I look around, realizing I have never given him my address before. Shock keeps me still for a second.

"How did you know where I live—"

He doesn't wait for me to finish. The moment I step out, he drives away, the car disappearing down the street before I can even finish the question.

Serena.

I wake the following morning feeling strangely refreshed, a long yawn escaping my mouth as I sit up.

The night has been peaceful and full of sweet dreams. I walk into the kitchen in slow steps and stop short when the memory hits me.

Yesterday, I sat in the same car as Roman. My sister's brother-in-law. My patient. My long-time crush. In a car!

What if someone from the club saw us?

Why didn't I simply reject the offer? Why did I accept?

I should have remained under that covered doorway and turned down the offer plainly.

But I allowed my obsession with him to get in the way, knowing full well that getting involved beyond the professional line could cost me my career.

I could lose my license and be subjected to public shame.

I pour myself a glass of water, drink it in three long swallows, and sigh again. I still haven't told Mara about the new job. For now, I think it's better to keep it to myself until the right time. I fill the kettle and make tea.

After breakfast, I spend nearly an hour scrolling through my phone, watching reels without really paying attention to any of them. I'm just about to open a chat with my friends when Mara's name lights up my screen. I stare at it for a moment before deciding to answer the unexpected call.

"Hello?"

"Serena, hello, dear. Ethan and I have an appointment we can't miss. Kara can't come with us. Can you come over and babysit her for a few hours while we're away?"

I pause. "What? I cannot do that—"

"It won't be long. I promise you that we'll be back before evening."

I start to disagree. "It can't be today. I have things I need to do, including my sleep—"

But the line goes dead before I can finish. I stare at the phone. There is no point arguing with Mara. She always wins.

I dress quickly, pulling on a simple blouse and a pair of faded jeans. I tie my hair into a neat bun before grabbing my bag and leaving my apartment.

An hour later, I get out of the cab and stop outside Mara's residence. The sight that greets me makes me freeze.

What is he doing here?

Roman is standing near the front door, talking to Mara. Ethan is already seated in the car. Mara finishes whatever she's saying, gives Roman a brief nod, and joins her husband.

By the time the car pulls away, Roman turns his head. His eyes find me standing there, wide-eyed and still trying to process his presence.

I walk forward.

"What are you doing here?"

"My brother called me too. Asked me to help babysit Kara."

His voice is even, completely devoid of emotion. I stare at him in disbelief.

"That would never happen. Ethan wouldn't call you for that."

He raises an eyebrow. Then, to my surprise, he nods.

"I don't believe it either."

"Do you know how to babysit kids?"

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter. I mean, I'm here with you."

Before I can add anything else, a sharp cry comes from inside the house. Kara. Her voice is so high-pitched that it nearly hurts my ears.

Roman and I move at the same time. We rush through the front door.

In the living room, Kara has fallen from the sofa and lies on the floor, wailing. I reach her first, scooping her against my chest and immediately checking her over.

"Hey, hey. It's okay."

I pat her back gently, murmuring soft sounds as I hold her close. Roman stands a few steps away, watching us. His expression shifts as he looks at Kara in my arms, then at me.

"Make her some warm cereal," I tell him, realizing Kara needs to eat.

He moves toward the kitchen without a word. I stay where I am, rocking Kara and patting her back, but her crying doesn't ease.

After another minute, I begin searching the living room for toys while still holding her, opening drawers and checking behind cushions, wondering where Mara keeps everything.

Then I notice the silence from the kitchen, remembering Roman is supposed to be making cereal there.

Walking into the kitchen, I see Roman standing at the counter, slowly stirring a spoon through a bowl.

I step closer and look down. The mixture is watery and lumpy, looking nothing like the cereal Kara normally eats. I slowly lift my eyes to him.

"Do you actually not know how to make cereal?"

The look on his face answers the question for him. He doesn't.

Something breaks loose inside me. I laugh. I turn my head, nearly losing my hold on Kara as the laughter keeps coming.

After nearly a minute, I finally manage to calm myself.

"I'm sorry for laughing that way. For laughing loudly at you," I say between breaths.

I freeze when I look at his face.

The corner of his mouth is lifted. His shoulders shake, chuckling.

Roman Miller is laughing. I've spent years believing the man simply didn't know how to smile.

"You're laughing."

His eyes meet mine. Then the smile disappears. His face settles back into its familiar hard expression. As if he has just remembered that he's supposed not to smile.

I take the bowl from him and prepare a proper bowl of cereal.

Soon, we return to the living room. I feed Kara carefully until her cries fade and she eventually falls asleep against my thigh. Roman sits a short distance away, his eyes fixed on a sports show playing on the television.

For several minutes, neither of us speaks.

In a matter of time, the show eventually becomes boring, and my attention drifts back to the question that's been sitting inside me since the kitchen.

I look at him.

"Why did you stop laughing the moment I pointed it out? And why don't you smile? Why do you keep that straight face all the time?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course, I do," I reply, seemingly interested. If Roman will open up to me, my job at Chestfield will be less chaotic.

"I lied to you. I have anxiety. And sleep disorders."

I sit still for a moment, surprised that he's just admitted something personal in a direct way, not through sarcasm or even arrogantly.

I keep my voice gentle. "How long has it been happening? Weeks? Months?"

"Years," he replies.

I nod once, happy with the progression of the conversation. I was elated he could open up to me as his psychologist.

"Have you told anyone before? About your disorders?"

"No."

Just when I am close to getting more words from him, our short conversation gets shortened when Kara stirs and wakes with a restless cry.

Roman looks at the baby, then at me.

"I can take her and rock her to sleep."

I pass her into his arms carefully and watch him sway the baby gently. Her breathing evens out in minutes. Seeing her asleep, he lays her back on the couch.

The house falls into silence after that. I glance around the living room, suddenly feeling bored.

"Chess?" I ask him.

He gives a nod, eyes following my movements.

I find the old chessboard in Mara's side cabinet and bring it back to the center table between us. We settle across from each other and begin to play.

At some point, he disappears into the kitchen and comes back with two bottles of water, setting one down in front of me.

"Thanks." I thank him and keep playing.

When the match finally ends, I stand to carry my empty bottle into the kitchen. My leg catches the edge of the chair.

The floor tilts. I try to hold onto something, but I'm falling backward before I know it.

Roman moves faster, closing his arms around me to steady me on instinct, but that doesn't go as planned because the next thing I know, we land tangled on the couch, on top of each other, my mouth pressing against his.

Everything stills.

Shock ripples through me as I wonder if I should take a bold step and continue kissing him or simply push him away.

Serena.

I pull back the second our mouths get touched once more. The contact is more brief, electric, and feels completely wrong. I scramble to my feet at the same time he does, both of us speaking over each other.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean t—"

"You don't have to—"

We stop. Our eyes refuse to meet. The air between us feels thick, charged, almost unbearable. He returns to his chair without another word. I pick up the chessboard with trembling hands and carry it back to the side cabinet, setting it down carefully even though my pulse is racing.

The silence that follows is pure awkwardness. Every second stretches.

I am biting my lips in nervousness, thinking of anything but nothing at all.

The front door opens.

Mara and Ethan's voices spill into the house, and relief hits me so hard I nearly sway while trying to rise to my feet. I rush toward them, quickly taking the bags from Mara's hands and helping her pull off her jacket.

At least these are the things to keep me moving from dwelling on the past.

"How did it go? Did everything go smoothly? Who did you meet? Was the appointment tiring and boring?" The questions tumble out of me too fast for me to think.

Mara answers each one of them while already heading toward the living room to check on Kara.

"It did go well. We met with a certain specialist, and everything was clear. There was no traffic. The journey was a free one." She glances at her sleeping daughter, then her gaze slides between Roman and me.

Something shifts in her expression.

"Is everything okay here? You two look tense and are avoiding each other's eyes since we got in. Did something happen?"

"No," I respond quickly.

"Not at all," Roman answers at the same time, just as hurried.

Mara studies us for half a second longer, then nods and starts toward the bedroom. I follow her, leaving Ethan and Roman downstairs. Inside the room, she begins undressing, changing out of her clothes with an ease as though she has all the time in the world. She continues undressing without speaking for a while.

On the other hand, I stand near the door, heart still hammering from the sudden kiss whilst also fighting the urge to tell her about the new job at Chestfield.

The words sit on the tip of my tongue, and in the end, I decide against saying anything at all, for reasons unknown to me.

Mara glances over her shoulder. "Did you feed baby Kara while we were away?"

"Yes. She ate and went straight to sleep."

We return downstairs a few minutes later. Ethan is already now in deep conversation with his younger brother. They stand in front of the couch, a bit far from where baby Kara lies, speaking in hushed tones.

Seeing that I have nothing else left and I cannot stay anymore, I force a small smile and announce, "I'm going to head home now."

However, Mara tilts her head as though I have said the most ridiculous thing ever. "You are in such a rush. Like you have other things to do at home. Tell me I am wrong."

"No, nothing. I'm just tired. Need some rest." The denial comes out awkward and unbelievable again.

Ethan then looks at his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder in brotherly confidence. "Roman can take you back home."

"No, I can manage just fine." I decline rather too quickly, the rejection sounding a bit clumsy on my tongue.

The words seem to mean nothing when Roman nods his head in agreement, his feet already moving to the door.

"It's fine, Serena. I'll take you." Then he looks over at the others. "I'll take her, guys. Have a wonderful day." He heads toward the door without waiting for my opinion or any sort of argument from me.

By the time I wave back at Mara and Ethan, she asks me to call whenever I get home, which I promise to do.

Outside, Roman's luxurious car closes behind me with a soft and final sound. And suddenly, when I'm inside, the space feels too small. The tension is thick enough to be cut with a knife.

I can barely find my voice. By the time I reach for the seatbelt, my fingers brush his, not excluding when I shift my bag on my lap, causing our hands to graze again for unexplainable reasons.

I cannot explain every accidental touch from him. Heat starts to crawl up my neck shamelessly.

Unable to bear it anymore, I decide to force the words out before I die in silence.

"I think we should forget that we kissed. Forget about the kiss. We should think of it as an accident. We are all adults." I am clearly quivering as I say this.

He glances at me with that annoying smirk that curves his mouth in a taunting manner.

"Was it really an accident, or something you long orchestrated?" he asks lowly, like he's teasing and mocking me at the same time.

Annoyance flares hot in my chest. "Your thoughts don't matter. I don't care whether you believe me or not."

He laughs, the sound filling the entire car as he tilts back his head. "Stay calm. I'm only joking."

The laugh doesn't die down after that, and it stings my pride badly. I feel exposed. I stare out the window, jaw tight, a deep frown across my face because there is an atom of truth in what he said. I have wanted to kiss him for years, ever since I had known him.

And now that it has happened, even by accident, the wanting feels sharper and more dangerous. But I know suppressing it is the best for me.

He pulls up in front of my residence but doesn't speed away the way he did the other time. As soon as the engine dies, he turns slightly toward me.

"I'll come up for a minute."

"Never will I allow that. I don't want you inside my apartment." I turn to him with every strength I can muster, feeling every fright in me.

He chuckles cockily, clearly savoring the expression on my face.

"See you tomorrow, then."

I step out. The door closes. I stand on the outside, appearing pale, staring after the car longer than I should and wondering why my pulse still hasn't settled after what occurred over an hour ago.

Inside the flat, I drop my bag and immediately press the palms of my hands against my forehead, hitting rapidly and continuously as if I can knock the memory out.

Why did I let that happen? Why hadn't I seen my way well and avoided the couch so I wouldn't fall? Why did it have to be him I fell on, of all people in the whole wide world? Why did I stay longer, savoring the taste of his lips during the accidental kiss?

Now everything is awkward and contaminated.

How was I supposed to look at him tomorrow across the training pitch, in the corridor, or in my office during psychoanalysis assessment without replaying the exact second our mouths touched?

I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, letting the water run for a very long time. Afterward, I change into soft, breathable clothes and go downstairs to the kitchen. I decide to cook something simple, forcing myself to eat even though my appetite is thin, then pick up my phone.

Instead of calling Mara the way she asked, I decide on sending a short text about my safe arrival at my residence.

Once done eating, I realize I need a distraction, something to clear my mind. I put on a C-drama and try to lose myself in it by giving it my uttermost attention. For a while, it works.

An hour later, I climb the stairs to my room and fall into bed, extremely fatigued from the day.