by Alex Wolf
“Everything okay? You sound sick.”
“Everything is completely fucked.”
“Want me to bury that son of a bitch? I totally know someone. Mafia guys come into the store all the time.”
I can’t even bring myself to laugh at her joke. “No. It’s even worse because I don’t want you to and I should.”
“Are you good to drive?”
I sniffle. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just need to breathe.”
“Okay, well come over. I have wine and cheesecake. We can cry it out of your system.”
“I’m getting in my car now.”
“See you soon.”
“Yeah.” I hang up the phone and see the screensaver I snapped of Deacon and me when I was over at his place. Everything filters up through my chest again. I dump my books in the backseat and lay my head on the steering wheel and try to breathe.
Fuck being in love. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever experienced.
Deacon
After the confrontation with Quinn, I came straight home. I couldn’t go back to the office and stare at her, sitting at her desk, knowing I can’t have her. She gave up, quit before we ever really began. In the beginning she always had one foot out the door, but it didn’t feel that way toward the end.
I guess I should be thankful it ended now before I got even more serious about her. Who the fuck am I kidding? I’ve been serious about her since the first time I saw her. She’s the only woman I’ve ever been serious about, that’s ever made me feel something.
I knock back a drink and stare out at the skyline from my patio, wondering if things would have gone differently had I talked to her sooner.
It was two fucking days! Two days and she quits her job?
I’m a grown child and even I’m more mature than that. Another thing she and Tate always get wrong about me. I bet Tate isn’t running off telling everyone how irresponsible and immature Quinn is.
I replay the situation from every scenario in my head, second-guessing every single decision I’ve made the past few days, including ambushing her at the coffee shop. Fuck, I was pretty mean to her. She deserved to know how I felt, but not like that.
That’s the kind of shit that happens when you bury thirty years of emotional baggage and hide behind practical jokes. Finally find someone I care about, have a real connection to, and I sabotage the relationship.
Most of all, I can’t stop thinking how good we were together. I was insane for her. Fuck. I still am. I don’t know what to even do right now. It’s like my skin itches everywhere and I don’t know where to scratch.
I hear footsteps behind me and turn around half expecting to see Quinn even though I know there’s no way in hell she’ll show up here.
“The fuck you doing out here? Looks like you’re about to have a mid-life crisis, buy a Harley, and marry a stripper.” Dexter laughs.
“Look, I’m not really in the mood. So...”
“What the hell did you do to Quinn?”
“What?” My jaw ticks.
“I was in Decker’s office and Tate busted in like Pontius Pilate, ready to crucify you. Decker kicked me out before I could hear the whole story. All I made out was something about a golf club and Quinn never came back from lunch.”
“What the fuck does it matter? She quit.”
Dexter shakes his head. “Sometimes I think you’re a bigger idiot than me. And sometimes you prove me right. Today is one of those days, bitch.”
I stand up. “I said I’m not in the mood. Please don’t make me be an asshole to you too.”
He nods and takes a step toward the patio door. “You do realize it was a letter of resignation that doesn’t take effect until after she graduates from school, right? She wasn’t quitting anytime soon.”
My eyes roam up to meet his, then I drop my head in my hands.
“You didn’t know, did you?” Dexter takes a step into my apartment, then seems to change his mind and walks back out. “Decker just wanted it as a formality so he could look for someone to train alongside her. Shit even I knew that, and I don’t pay attention to anything.” He stares out at the lake in the distance. “The way you look, I’m guessing she’s gone for real now, though.”
“Fuck!” I beat my fist on the chair.
Looking up at Dexter, my chest heaves in huge waves, and I try to just breathe. My face has to be redder than hell, but I know losing my cool is what caused all my problems in the first place. It’s not even anger, really. I just hate myself and it’s hard to breathe. I think I might be having a panic attack.
She just makes me so damn crazy. All I want is her. It’s the only thing I want in my life. I would give up everything for one more day with her. I want her so bad it physically hurts inside, an ache that runs bone-deep, everywhere at once.
“What’d you do?”
I scrub a hand over my face and pour myself another drink. A tear slides down the side of my cheek and I freeze when it happens. It’s something I’ve never felt before, not since I was a child anyway. I turn my head and wipe it away with my shoulder, so Dexter won’t see. I’ve humiliated myself enough for one day. “I found her at the coffee shop.”
“And?”
“You know those big machines that raze parking lots?”
“Jesus.”
“It was a little like that. I couldn’t stop myself. I was hurting so damn bad, man. I think subconsciously, I just wanted her to feel what I was feeling.”
“Well, that’s not good.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or hit him in the face for his nonchalant reaction. It’s just how we talk to each other. Nothing is off limits from a good joke. “I made her cry. Not a single tear sliding down the cheek, either. Like, the floodgates opened, and she’s tough as nails. Guarded. Called her a quitter, blamed her for ratting me out. Then I wished her luck with her career. I don’t even think it was so much what I said to her, but how I said it.” I shake my head. “Fuck, I even told her I loved her, but somehow twisted it into an insult in the same sentence. Like for her to save her bullshit for the next guy who loves her and crush his heart with it.” I exhale, now even more ashamed than I was before. “There’s no recovering from this. She’s never going to speak to me again. I wouldn’t speak to me again.”
Dexter stares at me blankly for a while and pours a rocks glass for himself. He takes a long sip and groans. “Fuck me.”
“What?”
“Are you a hundred percent sure you love her? That she’s the one?”
My eyes narrow on him for even questioning my feelings for Quinn. “What the fuck do you think? Of course I’m crazy in love with her. What else would explain all that shit I told you? Does any of that sound like me?”
“No, actually. I’ve seen you take ass chewings from the meanest coaches in the country and just smile like you could do it all day.” He sighs loudly. “Jesus. I mean, I could fix this for you. Quinn’s such a great girl and could do so much better, though.”
I start toward him and he laughs and holds his hands up in surrender.
“Look, I got you, man. You’ll get her back. You just have to do every fucking thing I say, exactly how I say to do it.”
I stand there, shaking my head, not even believing I’m considering whatever he’s about to say. It’s so absurd, and yet, at the same time I know I’d do anything for just ten more seconds with Quinn. “What exactly do you know about romance, Sir Fucksalot?”
He pretends to clutch his heart. “You wound me.” He laughs. “I watch romance movies.”
I snort. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”
His face tightens. “I’m fucking serious. Haven’t you ever had to watch chick flicks to get pussy? You know Netflix and chill stuff? Hallmark channel?”
“No way. I draw a hard line on girl movies. I can’t handle them. Even the comedy ones suck.”
“No wonder you can’t keep a woman.”
I roll my eyes.
“Okay, fine. It’s whatever. I was just trying to help bu
t if you don’t need any…” He starts to walk off.
Before I know what I’m doing, I spin him back around by the forearm. “Let’s not do anything hasty now. You have a plan or what?”
He pretends to brush some imaginary dirt off his sleeve where my fingers touched it. “Unlike you, I do watch those movies, and I pay attention to that shit, making notes in my head as I go along. In case I need to talk a chick into ass to mouth, dirty sanchez, the donkey punch, you know? The regular.”
I shake my head at him.
“But to answer your question... yes. To fully understand, you have to grasp the big picture, then work out the details. You have to break down the romance into its basic structure. There’s the meet-cute in the beginning. You know? Some over-the-top way in which the two people bump into each other that’s a nearly impossible coincidence. Then they date for a while. That’s when the first problem comes in. Something to throw a wrench into their lives to push them apart. They come back together. Another bigger problem pushes them apart. This repeats, amplifying in intensity, until the epic conflict arises, usually where the man does some shit that seems unforgiveable in the audience’s eyes. Because the target audience is female, the guy has to be the problem. It’s like a law of romance. He has to get on his knees and grovel to win her back. Women go insane for it.” He pokes me with a finger. “And that’s where you are right now.”
I can’t help but shake my head that he thinks about this shit. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so damn desperate. What’s even worse is he’s actually making some sense. “So how the fuck does he fix it? The guy in the movie?”
Dexter holds up his index finger and his eyes widen. “Ahh, this is the part I call the over-the-top redeeming gesture.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Well what the fuck does that entail?”
“Take a seat, rook. I’m gonna need some markers and a dry erase board to map out something spectacular after your epic fuck-up.”
Quinn
I pull out my study guide. It’s Sunday, and it’s been the longest week of my life. Four days have passed since Deacon ripped my heart out and stomped on it. I feel guilty for leaving everyone at the office hanging all week. It’s not like me to not show up.
I managed to call Tate later on Wednesday, after the coffee shop incident, and told her I wasn’t feeling well. She saw right through it, but she was nothing but kind and said she understood.
It’s not even so much the words Deacon said but the way he looked at me. It was like he loved me and hated me at the same time.
I can’t focus. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.
Finally, I give up on studying and join Dad in the living room. He’s watching the early football games.
I collapse on the couch. “The Bears play tonight?”
“Oh yeah. Primetime.”
I don’t get to ask who they’re playing against because the doorbell rings. It’s probably Heather coming to check on me. She invited me out last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to get off the couch. Not yet, anyway. It’s too soon, and last time I went out with her I ran into Deacon. I need a few days to mope around and feel sorry for myself, then I’ll brush my shoulders off and get back to life. “I’ll get it.”
I open the door without bothering to check the peephole. I damn near have a heart attack as rage, humiliation, and then relief all wash over me within approximately two seconds. I blink and realize it’s Dexter. “What the hell are you doing here?” The sound of a diesel engine lands in my ears. I move to look around him and see a white transport van parked out front. There’s a small ramp lowering off the side for a wheelchair. I shake my head furiously, right at Dexter. “No.” I wave a hand out at the van. “Whatever that is the answer is no.”
I turn around to shut the door in his face, but he breezes past me like I’m not even there.
Ugh! Collins brothers!
“Mr. Richards, you’ve been watching games on this TV for far too long. That changes today.” He tosses a Bears jersey in Dad’s lap.
I stand in the hallway, dumbfounded, staring at the living room.
“You’ve got a brass set of balls showing up here, son!” Dad stares at Dexter for a second. “Who the fuck is this clown, Quinn? He looks just like Deacon, but it ain’t him.”
Dexter doesn’t miss a beat, like he’s a high-pressure marketer. “I’m the goddamn clown who’s going to make all your dreams come true today, sir.” Dexter pulls tickets from his pocket and fans them out in front of Dad.
Dad’s eyes go wide. Fast. “Well okay then. Tell me more.” He looks over at me and shrugs, then points at Dexter. “I mean, he’s not Deacon.”
This is going downhill fast, past the point of recovery. I might as well just not even be here.
Dexter looks like he’s on The Price is Right, rattling off a prize package. “Well, tell me how this sounds, sir.” He pauses to flash a smile right at me, and I swear to God his tooth sparkles.
I have to be in a dream right now. This can’t be happening.
“Tailgating on the upper level of the Waldron Deck. You’ll hang out with Mike Ditka and Brian Urlacher for one hour. We’ll float a keg together then have a meal at The Chicago Firehouse Restaurant. Followed with a VIP suite to watch the game.”
I know Deacon put him up to this but why? The things he said to me at the coffee shop made it sound pretty final. Why the hell is he going out of his way for my dad?
None of this makes sense.
“I know it sounds amazing, Dad, but there’s no way you can handle all that.” I hate to crush my old man’s heart but it’s true.
“No worries.” Dexter smirks at me. “Sir, I have a nurse waiting outside with a fully handicap-accessible van to provide you with transportation and healthcare should the need arise.” He leans down to Dad and whispers something, but then holds his hands out in front of his chest suggesting the nurse may be well endowed too.
These assholes thought of everything.
Dexter walks over to the window near Dad and pulls back the curtain. Dad leans forward slightly and sees the same thing I do. There’s a blonde girl dressed in tight jeans with a Bears jersey tied up at her waist showing off her midriff.
I pull Dexter back by the collar. “That’s Abigail from the Dallas office.” I hiss the words at him.
He shrugs. “She went to nursing school for a semester. It’s totally fine and she’s hot. Look how happy he is. Don’t be a dick. You’re ruining his moment.”
I scowl at him. He thinks I’m being a dick. He came over here and got my dad all excited about this game.
Dad stares at Abigail then looks back at me, raises his eyebrows, and says, “Oh, we’re going to have some fun today, baby girl.”
“Excellent choice, Mr. Richards. Please allow me.” Dexter moves past me and grabs the back of his wheelchair.
Dad pats him on the arm as they head to the door. “You may just be my new best friend.”
Dexter looks back at me and says, “You comin’?”
I sigh and grab my bag. It’s not like they’re giving me much of a choice. There’s no way in hell I’m turning Dexter loose with my dad for the whole day.
The driver loads Dad into the van, and I yank Dexter back by the sleeve of his shirt. “I know Deacon put you up to this and it’s not going to work. Even if you get my dad to the game and he has the time of his life…” My heart stutters in my chest when Dexter smirks at me. He looks so much like Deacon it’s painful to see his smile.
Dexter puts his palms on my cheeks, and I wonder what the hell he’s doing until he pinches both of them and grins wider. “Well, aren’t you adorable. I see why Deacon likes you. But guess what?”
“What?” I put both hands on my hips, but I can’t even look at him.
“It’s already working.”
My confidence falters a little as he steps away. I inhale a deep breath and get my shit together. God, every one of those brothers is so damn cocky. We’ll see if it works.
Before Dexter
can climb in, I tap him on the shoulder, less forceful this time around.
He spins around but doesn’t look annoyed. “What’s up?”
I look down at the ground because I don’t want him to see the shame I know is plastered to my face. “Is he going to be there?”
Dexter puts a hand on my shoulder, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t actually look sincere this time. “When the time is right. Not before.”
I nod and climb into the van. Dad’s smiling so big it’s kind of contagious. It’s freaking impossible to be upset when he’s having possibly the greatest day of his life.
Abigail has her paws all over him, helping him get his jersey on.
Dad’s in heaven and it feels like a little piece of my heart might have stitched itself back together.
Dexter lives up to his word. The day has been amazing so far. Dad got to hang out with Mike Ditka and Brian Urlacher, and they talked football the entire hour. They didn’t even act embarrassed at all Dad’s questions. They all just sat there like they’ve been friends their entire lives.
We had great food. God, the food was incredible. It hits me in the chest how much Dad needed this, and I’ve never had the time or the financial support to do it for him.
Deacon made this happen. He did this for me. It means more to me than he’ll ever know, and my heart feels like it’s slowly coming back together again, because he really does pay attention to every little detail and knows every little gear and pulley that makes me tick. I know somewhere in my heart I have it in me to forgive him, but I’m still not sold on the idea. He hurt me so bad, even thinking about him right now is painful. If I just give in, what kind of precedent does that set for any possible relationship? That he can just walk all over me when he feels like it, then stroll through the front door the next day?
No, he needs to beg and plead. I need to look in his eyes and see if he’s sincere or not.