Invisible To My Sister's Brother In Law

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.