Kick Back Read online

  kick back

  KJ

  2020

  Kick Back © 2020 By KJ. All Rights Reserved.

  This Electronic Original Is Self-Published.

  First Edition: March 2020

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Sophia Lindstrom plays football for South Melbourne. She’s tall, focused, intense, and has some major trust issues, which she’s currently ignoring. Sophia just wants her life to stay exactly the same, which means playing AFL, running the boutique fine foods and wine store with her brother, and volunteering at the homeless shelter. The same.

  Cameron Weathers is smart, sassy, also has some major trust issues, and knows she is a great reporter if only she was given the chance to shine. Her sexist editor assigns her the job of shadowing some of the players from this season’s women’s Australian Rules Football League so she can write fluffy stories for the lifestyle page. Not exactly hard-hitting journalism.

  When Cam and Sophia meet, there’s instant chemistry, which is immediately put on hold when their everyday lives are shattered by misogyny, media manipulation, and tragedy. Cam, Sophia, and the other players discover that football games are not the only contests they need to win. Now they’re fighting for the entire league, their professional status, and even their lives. Sophia and Cam attempt to expose the sinister activities, come to terms with their mutual attraction, and eventually discover that kicking back at those who seek to destroy can open the door to love.

  Reviews for Coming Home

  Brilliant. I loved this book. It’s very well-written with a great storyline. I’d put KJ in the same league as Melissa Brayden which is praise indeed. ~ jils66, Amazon

  This is a great and proper romance. ~ SheSighed.com

  The book is extraordinary and made me laugh so much. I loved the humour, the plot and the characters. ~ LesReveur.com

  I want more from Abigail and Sam. I just need to know how they are doing now! Such an epic romance, and a total must read!!! ~ LESBIreviewed.wordpress.com

  So many romance books tell the reader how much characters love each other. So few excel at showing you them falling. Honestly, I can’t say I remember a book that did it better. This was full of moments. You could feel the adoration. Anytime Abigail observed Sam with Grace was swoon worthy. ~ Bookvark.com

  Coming Home is my favourite book of the entire year. I found myself having such an emotional reaction to this story. How could I feel so invested in two fictional characters? Exceptional writing, that’s why. ~ KittyKatWordpressCom.wordpress.com

  The romance is sweet, but what I liked the most was the talking and the interaction with each other. It is written very well with a great part of humour and witty comments, and with some great secondary characters as well. ~ lesreviewbooks.com

  Reviews for Learning To Swim

  More than people falling in love, this book is about finding yourself, loving yourself so that you can then love and be loved. It’s about taking charge of your life and taking care of yourself. KJ writes beautifully and even with such a sensitive topic as mental health (since that’s what it is), she manages to instil some measure of joy and a lot of optimism. ~ judeinthestars.wordpress.com

  Acknowledgements

  My acknowledgements page seems like the perfect place to show my gratitude to the women who play the physical, athletic, spectacularly breathtaking sport of Australian Rules Football, and in return for their skills and talents as professional athletes, receive little to no financial reimbursement, obscene levels of social media trolling, limited to no coverage in the media, and misogynistic attitudes from the highest levels of executive management of their own sport. While this is a work of fiction, AFL is a real sport and a quick search on YouTube will result in a plethora of videos demonstrating the ferocity of the game. The actual AFL Women's Football League (AFLW) is Australia's national AFL football league for female players. The first season of the league began in February 2017 with 8 teams, expanded to 10 teams in the 2019 season, then to 14 teams in the 2020 season. The league is run by the Australian Football League (AFL). Since its inception in 2017, the AFL board has been accused of lacking commitment to, and vision for the national women’s competition, and even at the time of this novel’s publication, they are yet to take any big or bold steps to ensure that the competition thrives. Public commentary recognises that the AFLW is not just a football competition, in which teams chase a premiership. It is actually a movement for social change. However, much of the structure of the AFLW seems to have been made up spontaneously as the seasons roll along, which has created huge waves of disenchantment with the AFL board. Hopefully, the AFL will hear the rumblings of discontent.

  My gratitude to Laure who has been a super cheerleader for my work from the very beginning. When I wrote my first novel, Learning To Swim, Laure took one look at it and said, “This is a great novel. I love your writing style, but the editing is not good. I will fix it.” I have wanted to hug her ever since. So, thanks Laure. Here’s your hug.

  Thank you to the following wonderful people: Sophie who was prepared to tell me point-blank if anything in the book really sucked. Nothing did, but she was prepared, and I totally appreciate how Australian that is. Dor, whose insights were really useful and helped Kick Back live up to its potential. Sarah, who is always happy to tell me hard truths, and wave pom poms. You’re all amazing humans.

  Thank you to Lee for letting me annoy her with many questions about reporting and journalism.

  Thank you to Elaine and Shantel who donated to the #authorsForFireys appeal to raise money for the Rural Fire Service during Australia’s terrible bushfires.

  To the gorgeous readers of my novels who have purchased my books, written wonderful reviews, or dropped me a quick message on their social media platform of choice. I adore you.

  To my son Nicholas, who wanted readers to know that he helped choose the name of one of the characters.

  And finally, to my incredible wife Roanne, who opens my heart, sees through my walls, and knows how much I kick back at my own struggles. She is my love, my person, my one.

  There is a quick guide to AFL at the back of the book if you are new to the sport.

  Dedication

  For Roanne.

  Sweetheart, you have me with every string attached

  Chapter One

  Sophia was streaking down the boundary, the knobbly tread on the soles of her running shoes pushing and pulling across the grass. “Lindstrom!” Aaron’s voice bellowed her last name from the centre of the field, letting her know that he was about to send the frisbee ahead, just like they’d practiced. She grinned as her arms and legs worked fluidly. Not many players could match her speed, which was why her team sent her out to the wing. It was a position she loved. With a quick glance to her right, she made note of two things; the neon yellow frisbee was on its way, soaring through the air to then, hopefully, hover briefly over the end zone, and Tina was tearing diagonally across the field.

  Sophia judged its flight with Tina’s likely arrival, and launched herself across the invisible line created by the series of soft plastic markers. For a split second, she revelled in the Matrix-like slow motion feeling of flying through the air, before her hand clutched the disc and she landed solidly, pushing the air quickly out of her lungs, then skidding along the grass. Oh yeah. Game winner. That was epic. She leapt to her feet as the other six members of her team rushed up to congratulate her, eventually moving away for Sophia to find Tina leaning over her knees, and sucking in her breaths. Sophia,
catching her own breath, patted her on the back, and presented her with the frisbee. “You had me worried, T.”

  Tina grunted, looked up sideways, snatched the disc, and blew a strand of brown hair out of her eyes. “You are stupidly fast,” she groaned, then dramatically toppled onto the grass. Sophia laughed, and, with two fingers, hitched the band holding her ponytail in place and pulled it off. She shook out her sweaty blonde hair.

  “Well, this thirty-four-year-old granny needs to have something still going for her.” She reached down to haul Tina off the ground, who, once she was upright, thumped Sophia on the shoulder.

  “Oh, please. You’re hardly a granny.” Tina grunted, and bent to untie her shoelaces. “You’re only seven years older than me. Look at that catch you just made. You were flying, for God’s sake. Age is irrelevant, babe.” She tucked her fingers into her running shoes, held them in her hand, and stood, a smirk lifting one cheek. Sophia laughed at the tone in the last word.

  “Higher, further, faster…babe.”

  Tina laughed. “That’s it, Captain Marvel.” She paused. “Yeah…” A quick glance at Sophia’s face caused her to nod. “Yeah, Sophia Lindstrom. Brie Larson. Captain Marvel. I can see it, actually.” Sophia began shaking her head and chuckling.

  “Sure.” She smiled at the other players milling around behind Tina, and took the few steps to shake hands, offering words of gratitude for the great match. It was good, this camaraderie. It was why she loved Ultimate. Not only was it a terrific off-season sport for football, but its whole philosophy was something called the ‘spirit of the game’; a mix of self-refereeing, fair play, and a love of the sport. Sophia’s leg muscles grumbled in protest as she strolled down the end zone line, scooping up the markers, while some of the others walked the rectangular boundary to collect the remainder.

  It had been a perfect afternoon for their game. Not hot, not cold. Blue sky. One hundred minutes of running around a field in Melbourne with friends and teammates. Perfect. She tossed the markers into Leanne’s kit bag, and decided to listen to her grumbly muscles before she stiffened up completely.

  “I’m going around the oval a couple of times to warm down. Anyone joining me?” she announced in the general direction of the two teams. Leanne, a couple of the guys, and Tina bunched up with Sophia and they settled into a slow jog.

  “When does pre-season start?” Leanne asked, her voice husky from yelling instructions to her team. Sophia glanced at the tall redhead to her left.

  “Next week. Craig emailed the agenda for the first meeting.” A warm glow filled her chest. Playing in the inaugural season of the Women’s Australian Football League last year had been a dream come true. For over one-hundred years, the AFL had been a men’s sport—still is, kind of—until January last year when suddenly the executive of the AFL had announced a six-team women’s mini-season of eight weeks beginning in March.

  Despite an almost crippling panic attack—too many of those recently—that saw her nearly miss the try-outs, her confidence returned once she was on the field. Sophia’s skills had been honed through years of encouragement from her dad who’d basically shoved a football into her hands as soon as she could walk, and the two of them had played backyard and local footy all through her childhood. So when all of that passion and experience was coupled with her speed, she had been fast-tracked straight into the South Melbourne squad. There was talk this year of making the season longer, adding more teams, and actually paying the players, which meant they could call themselves professional athletes. Like we’re not already. That annoyed her the most, because the women trained just as hard as the men, and the tokenistic nature of the competition rankled her. At least we get to play the sport, I guess.

  She twisted her body mid-stride and skipped sideways for the last fifty metres, tucking her hands across her stomach. Perhaps all the talk would actually lead to something amazing for women’s football.

  After some quick goodbyes, and ‘see you laters’, Sophia slung her kit bag over both shoulders, and walked to the carpark where Flo was waiting.

  “Hey Flo, let’s go home. Shower, then dinner at Ben and Lin’s place.”

  She unclipped the open-face helmet from the lock, and started Flo’s engine. The motor idled quietly while she dropped the helmet over her shoulder-length blonde hair, then she smiled at her pride and joy. It was the same reaction she had every time she laid eyes on the baby blue Vespa Sprint with its chrome lines and tan leather seat. Flicking the indicator button, she steered the moped into the traffic, and smiled quietly at the reason why Flo existed in her life.

  Just before he passed away, her dad, Philip Lindstrom, had spent a lot of time with her reminiscing, advising, sharing, but most importantly he’d asked—just one request—or her to embrace life. To be the best version of herself, to step beyond her anxiety-driven limitations, and to place her trust in anyone special if and when she allowed them in. I’m doing the best I can, Dad. Buying Flo was one decision she’d loved making—one giant leap past the anxiety line there.

  Sophia knew that her participation in sport as a singular passion was honouring her dad's wishes. Making a success of Provender, the boutique fine foods and wine shop that she and her twin brother Ben now owned, was also on that list. She blinked at the few tears that had settled in her eyes, and was happy to feel the oncoming breeze whisk them away. Her dad would have loved to have seen her playing footy. Proper football, not just the kick around the local club stuff she played when he’d been alive. He’d been such a die-hard fan of the sport; attending a game every weekend, devouring the sports reports in the newspaper the following Monday, and analysing the team rosters at the beginning of each season. It had been somewhat of a religious experience for him and his café buddies. They’d called themselves the Football Authorities, which had never failed to make her smile.

  Stopping to wait for oncoming traffic, including a ubiquitous tram, which made her lean over and check that Flo wasn’t likely to slip on one of the silver rails, Sophia contemplated his last request. Let someone take up residence in her heart? I’m working on that, Dad. Promise.

  Sophia turned into the alleyway behind the two-storey terrace building which housed Provender on the ground floor and her flat above it. The bike jiggled over the cobblestones, and she turned it off as she got to the gate which led into the back garden. It was just wide enough for her to push the bike through, and manoeuvre it onto the porch, where she engaged the wheel lock and threw a tarpaulin over it. She patted the handlebars. “Night, Flo.”

  Ben and his partner, Lin, a lab technician, lived only three streets away in a beautiful little 1920s worker’s cottage. The purple, dark blue, nearly black colouring in the sky that heralded the arrival of night was Sophia’s companion as she strolled along the footpath, passing through illuminated circles cast by the street lamps, like lily pads on a pond. She rested her hand on the black iron gate outside their little house, smiling fondly at the red brick exterior and the lead-light windows. It was quaint, with a tiny pocket-sized garden that proudly showcased a couple of well-tended rose bushes and a bird bath. She knew that inside the house, two bedrooms—big enough for a double bed and that’s all—sat side-by-side, a little black and white tiled bathroom was tucked around the corner, a one-person kitchen could be found towards the back, and a lounge room inhabited by a couch and a coffee table sat happily halfway. A hallway cut the house straight down the middle. It was delightful. A few quick steps up the path deposited Sophia on the porch, where her sharp knock on the door activated the security sensor light.

  “Alert the authorities! We’ve got another Lindstrom on the premises!” The deep male voice bellowed from inside, and Sophia rolled her eyes.

  “Let me in, you big idiot!” The lock clicked, and the door was opened with a flourish by Ben, who resembled a masculine, slightly taller, definitely wider template of Sophia. They were living versions of those face-swap apps where you can upload a photo of yourself and find out what you’d look like as the ot
her gender. He grinned at her, all wide mouth and white teeth. His blue eyes sparkled.

  “Hiya. How many times do I need to tell you to use your key? Anyway, I’m cooking. Can you handle it?” He pointed with both hands to the black apron encasing his upper body, and snapped a ‘Z’ in the air. Sophia laughed and pushed through the doorway into the entrance. Ben closed the door and held out his arms.

  “How’re you doing, Soph?” She leaned into his embrace, resting her chin on his shoulder. God, she loved her brother. He’d been her rock, her constant, since their mum had died when they were fourteen. Sophia wondered where she’d be now if he and her Dad hadn’t guided her through her teenage years with school, coming out, making good choices, and then into her twenties, where she’d somehow earned a degree in marketing. A not-great job in an advertising firm was only barely holding her interest when the cancer had finally taken their dad just after their thirtieth birthday. And again, despite his own grief, Ben had held Sophia together as the pieces of her life had started to become very frayed. She owed him everything. Running Provender with him was an honour.

  “I’m okay. Had a good game this afternoon.” She lifted her head, quickly kissed his cheek, and recoiled, pretending to spit out clumps of hair. “God, you’re taking the Scandinavian heritage a bit far with that scraggly mess you’re calling a beard. Who are you? Thor’s sad second cousin?” She grinned.

  Ben gave her shoulder a shove with his palm. “Piss off. Just because you don’t get turned on by face fuzz.” He smirked. “Lin likes it.”

  “What do I like?” The soft feminine voice was followed down the hall by a petite, very pretty Chinese woman, dressed in soft cotton drawstring pants, and a short-sleeve T-shirt. She raised an eyebrow at Ben, whose face softened as he turned to look at her. Sophia loved seeing them like this. Ben and Lin had been together for five years. They’d met six months before Philip Lindstrom’s death, and Lin had been the strong support that Ben had needed. They were delightful together—all five foot eleven of barrel-chested, blonde-haired Ben, and Lin who topped the measuring stick at five foot three, and was the epitome of elegance and grace. One of the wooden floorboards creaked as Sophia stepped towards her.