“Get out of my way,” she repeats, her voice low and tight, and when I don’t move immediately, her eyes harden even more. “Now, Braxton.”
I hesitate for a moment, but when I see the look of hurt combined with the fury in her eyes, I know there’s nothing I’m going to be able to do to salvage this. I’ve fucked it all up, and there’s no coming back. Silently, I step aside and let her pass. Chloe storms past, not bothering to look or speak to me. I lean back against the wall and let out a long, frustrated sigh. I’ve always had a problem letting my mouth get out ahead of my brain.
And when I hear the door slam, I know I’ve lost my opportunity for anything with Chloe. Forever. My mouth and my temper have cost me yet again. And this time, they’ve cost me dearly. Standing alone, in the silence of my condo, my anger and frustration with myself – with her – bubbling over like a pot of water on a stove.
With a cry that’s more animal than human, I lash out, putting my fist straight through the wall.
Chapter Twelve
Braxton
Present Day…
He feints left, and I flinch in that direction. It’s not much, but it’s enough for him to cross me over and drive past me on the right. I try to recover, but he’s just too quick for me, and all I can do is watch him glide in and lay the ball up and in. It drops through the net, and the air is filled with the sound of his laughter.
“You’re getting slow, old man,” he laughs.
“You wish, kid.”
He grabs the ball, takes a few dribbles back, and pops a quick jump shot. Javier Ortiz – Javi as I call him – is my ‘little brother’. A few years back, I was partying pretty hard. After Chloe left, I tried calling her. For several months, I tried reaching out to her and never got a reply. Not once. I felt like a huge hole was inside of me. It was unexpected – even though I knew I felt deeply for her, it wasn’t until she closed that door, both literally and figuratively, that I realized just how deep that feeling actually was.
And so, I tried to fill that hole with booze and women – I even dabbled in a bit of coke, though it wasn’t my thing, so I left it behind. I spent most nights at the clubs, taking a different woman home with me every night. Vegas is great for drowning all your sorrows and problems in booze and pussy. Those things can help push your problems to the back of your mind. At least for a little while. As long as I stayed in that zone of constant pleasure and stimulation, it somewhat smoothed out the jagged edge. It never went away fully, but it made things hazy enough that the pain wasn’t so sharp.
I woke up hungover more days than not and went through the motions of the day, just waiting until I could get back out onto the Strip to indulge my base desires. My work suffered, and I know I disappointed my parents. My mother actually flew out to talk to me about what was going on, and over the several days she was here, the entire story came out.
After chastising me for being such a jerk to somebody I cared so much about – my mom has never been one who pulls her punches – she suggested I find something to fill that void in my life other than alcohol and meaningless one-night stands. She suggested I find something meaningful and reminded me that doing volunteer and charity work was something my folks had tried to instill in me from childhood.
My parents have always been big on giving back. They’ve got more money than God, but you’d never know it based on how they live. Their house is large, but it’s simple – they don’t live on some ostentatious grand estate. They don’t live a life of excess, and despite having amassed a fortune, they’ve managed to remain very humble.
It’s something they’ve done their best to instill in me – and something I haven’t done a very good job of holding to. Although I don’t think I’ve lived in an overly ostentatious or extravagant way, I haven’t exactly given back or been as humble as my folks – I’ll admit to having a fondness for nice clothes and cars. But I have never been over the top about the wealth my family has.
But she was right. After she knocked some sense into me, I decided that giving back and finding something a little less self-destructive to fill that hole inside of me might be a good idea. I knew that sitting on the board of some philanthropic organization just wasn’t going to do it for me. I wanted to find something different, and that’s how I stumbled across the Mentors program for at-risk youth.
The program administrators matched me up with Javi, and here we are a few years later, thicker than thieves. Javi has helped fill that hole inside of me and has given my life a purpose I lacked for so long. It’s probably the closest I’m going to come to being a father, so I’m doing the best I can to help set Javi on a good path in life.
He tosses me the ball, and I put up a shot that clangs off the back of the rim, prompting another fit of laughter from Javi. He grabs the rebound and backs out behind the three-point line, draining another shot with ease.
“I could watch this kid school you all damn day.”
I turn at the sound of the familiar booming voice that’s followed by deep, rumbling laughter. Noah Egan is passing the pool as he strides down the walk from the house to the basketball court in my backyard. I give him a smile and a middle finger as he steps onto the edge of the court and spreads his arms wide.
“This is new,” he comments.
“I figured the kid needed a decent court to practice on,” I explain. “The courts down at the park are atrocious.”
“Hey Noah, what’s up?” Javi nods in his direction.
“What’s up, Javi?” he responds. “Lookin’ good out there.”
“Yeah, I know,” Javi beams.
Noah chuckles. “Of course, the level of competition may have something to do with that.”
Javi waves him off and scoffs. “What? I got skills, Noah. You know that,” he chuckles. “You’re gonna see me ballin’ for the Lakers one day.”
Noah grins. “I don’t doubt that,” he says, then looks at me. “But to get there, you’re gonna need to start playin’ against somebody better than this broken-down old mule.”
I laugh at the backhanded swipe. “There a reason for you being here?” I chuckle. “Or did you fly all the way out from Briggs just to bust my balls?”
Noah shrugs. “I’m a multitasker.”
Javi and I drift over to where Noah is standing, and I pull him into an embrace. He and Javi give each other a complicated handshake that ends with them wiggling their fingers at each other as they laugh together.
“How old are you now, Javi?” Noah asks.
“Fifteen.”
“That makes you what, a sophomore?”
Javi nods and bounces the basketball between his legs. “Yep.”
“Thinking about colleges yet?” Noah questions.
“I wanna go to UCLA.” He grins. “They’ve got a great basketball team.”
“Yeah, but he’s going to need to get those grades up,” I note.
Javier scoffs. “My grades are good.”
“They’re better,” I correct him. “We’ve got a little way to go before we can call them good.”
Javier rolls his eyes but laughs because he knows I’m right. When I was first paired with Javi, his grades were in the toilet. He was putting all of his eggs into one basket – playing pro ball. The kid has talent; I can’t deny that. But I want him to have a fallback option just in case it doesn’t work out the way he hopes. I mean, making it to the NBA is a million to one shot at best. I’ve been doing my best to make him understand the importance of an education. It’s been a tough sell, but I think he’s starting to come around.
“And speaking of your grades,” I say as I look pointedly at my watch. “You better go clean up – Angel should be here soon.”
Javi groans dramatically, but he can’t hide the small smile on his lips. His tutor is a cute girl named Angel, who’s a year or two older than he is and clearly finds intelligence an attractive quality – which means Javi does his best to impress her. Hey, whatever it takes to get his grades up.
“You gonna be i
n town a while?” he asks Noah.
Noah nods. “We’ll make sure we get together for dinner or something.”
“Sounds good.”
Still dribbling his basketball, Javi jogs toward the house, leaving Noah and I standing on the court. His home life isn’t the best, so I gave him a room of his own here that he can crash at if things ever get too bad for him. He has clothes here so he can take a shower and get himself presentable before Angel arrives for their tutoring session.
Noah and I got to be friends over a decade ago. We went to college together in New York before our we all went our separate ways, but we never lost touch. He’s a fire investigator in Briggs, Vermont now where he lives with his wife, Nadine, and their son, Jackson. He asked me to draw up some blueprints for a house for them to live in after theirs was burned down by an arsonist a couple years ago. If you had asked me ten years ago who I thought would be my closest friend from college would be in ten years, I would have said Roman. But we lost touch when he moved on to medical school, and Noah and I kept talking. If anything our bond is stronger now– probably stronger than my bond with Roman was back in college.
“He seems like he’s turning into a pretty good kid,” Noah notes. “Clearly, your influence on him is limited.”
I laugh and punch him in the shoulder. “Screw you.”
“Always the eloquent one.”
I grin. “Come on, let’s get out of this heat,” I tell him. “I need something cold to drink.”
Noah follows me into the small bar I have set up just off the kitchen. The room is done in dark oak and deep, rich colors. A long bar runs along one wall with four tall stools set in front of it. There’s a pair of large, plush recliners against the far wall with a large flat-screen TV mounted to the wall in front of them. Three large double-paned windows run the length of the back wall, looking out onto the backyard.
I step behind the bar and walk to the end, relishing the feel of the air conditioning on my skin. As I pull a couple of bottles of beer out of the refrigerator and pop the tops off, I sigh contentedly as my body cools down. Noah takes a seat on one of the stools across from me and grabs one of the bottles. I pick mine up and tap it against his with a high-pitched clink.
“It’s good to see you, brother,” I tell him.
“You too, man.”
I take a long swallow of beer and set the bottle back down on the bar. “So what are you doing in Sin City?”
“Just passing through,” he explains. “I had a conference this weekend, so I thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”
“Glad you did,” I respond. “It’s been a minute.”
“Yeah, things have been busy.”
I nod. “I hear you, man. How’s Nadine doing?”
“She’s good. Keeping herself busy with Jackson and the bakery,” he says, then takes a drink of his beer.
“And how’s the hometown? Still growing?”
“By leaps and bounds. It’s amazing how fast it’s grown in just the last year,” his voice carries a strong note of pride. “I shudder to think what it’s going to look like in five years.”
“Probably not nearly as good as your gym is going to look in five years,” I note.
“Probably not,” he grins. “We may open up another site in town if we get too many more members.”
“That’s great stuff, man,” I tell him. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Braxton. I appreciate that.”
“You and Nadine have been married what, two years now?”
“Almost,” he nods.
“I still can’t believe you got married without any of us there.”
Noah laughs ruefully. “We didn’t see the point in waiting. We already had Jackson.”
I take a long swallow of beer. “For whatever it’s worth, I think you two are great parents.”
“Thanks,” he replies. “But you’d make a great dad too, you know.”
A wry grin touches my lips. “Pretty sure that’s not in the cards for me.”
The truth is, I used to think about settling down and raising a family. Unfortunately for me, those thoughts always revolved around Chloe. And the day she shut the door on me – on us – she shut the door on those thoughts for me as well. Just as I had to abandon my feelings for Chloe – locking them away in a deep, dark place inside of me until they withered and died – so too, did I abandon any thought of having the kind of life I’d once wanted.
“You don’t know that man,” he says. “We’re the same age. It can happen for you too.”
I chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not that lucky,” I tell him. “There’s a reason I don’t go to the casinos very often. No point in it really.”
“Come on now,” he presses. “Don’t throw in the towel just yet.”
“Too late,” I respond. “I threw it in long ago, man.”
He gives me a rueful grin. “Just – don’t close the door on anything. Keep an open mind,” he says. “That’s all I’m asking because you never know what might happen.”
We both fall silent for a moment and drink from our bottles. I hear the doorbell sound and then hear Javi’s footsteps pounding down the stairs, obviously eager to see his tutor. I hear him clear his throat, and then his steps are more measured as he walks to the front door – obviously not wanting to appear to be too eager. I hear the door open and then their muffled voices as he greets her. Angel’s giggle echoes down the hallway to us, and Noah grins.
“The kid is smooth,” he observes.
“He likes to think he is.”
“You should take some lessons.”
I chuckle and shake my head. Despite his incessant need to marry me off, it really is good to see Noah again. We have another couple of beers and talk for a while, getting caught up on each other’s lives. When Javi and Angel are done studying, the three of us head out for some dinner, but my enthusiasm for being out and about is slightly diminished.
For years now, I’ve done a good job of keeping the door that keeps all my memories of her locked away closed up tight. But Noah has managed to open it a crack, letting them all come rushing back into my head again. And with that flood of memories comes the flood of emotions that’s never far from behind, fueling the desire to get blind drunk tonight.
But I won’t. Instead, I’ll simply find a way to stuff all of those memories back behind that door in my mind, then close and lock it tightly again. Just like I always do.
Chapter Thirteen
Chloe
“I hate to say I told you so, honey –”
No, she really doesn’t. In fact, I don’t think there’s anything she loves saying more than ‘I told you so’. She practically lives for it. Especially when it comes to anything having to do with my dad – her ex-husband.
“– but I told you so.”
And there it is. It’s what she’s been dying to say ever since I called her from London a couple of weeks ago to let her know I’d be coming home. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that she stood in front of the mirror, practicing just how she was going to say it when the time came.
I roll my eyes and try to keep the scathing reply on the tip of my tongue from spilling out. The last thing I need right now is to get into a blowout with my mother. After all, it’s not like I have any other place I can go at the moment. At least for a little while, I’m going to have to suck it up and deal with her crap.
“Is my old room still open?” I ask.
“Of course, dear,” she responds. “I made sure to have it cleaned and readied for you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Without waiting for her to respond, and not wanting to give her a chance to say she told me so again, I pick up my bags and trudge up the stairs. I head down the hall to my room and kick my door shut behind me – and immediately wish I hadn’t. My room is hot and stuffier than hell. It feels like walking face first into a hot, wet blanket.
After adjusting the thermostat to get some cool air flowing into my room, I step over to t
he window and look out at the backyard. The sun glinting off the pool is almost blinding, even through the tint on my window. It looks inviting though, and I briefly consider going out for a dip but quickly reject the idea, not wanting to spend more time with my mom than I have to right now.
She and I have never been particularly close. She was never really cut out to be a mother – she’s more of a party girl – and preferred to have my nannies and tutors raise me. We seem to get along better when there’s some distance – like say, the Atlantic Ocean – between us. It’s not that I don’t love my mother – I do. I just don’t necessarily always like her as a person. She and I aren’t even close to being on the same page about most anything. Never have been, really. Our values and priorities have never aligned. Still, she’s my mom, and I accept those things about her.
I sigh and flop down onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, still trying to process everything that’s happened. Still not able to wrap my mind around it all. I know my mom is loving this. Her divorce from my father was pretty acrimonious. Although, she got a ton of money, healthy alimony payments, and this nice house in a chic gated community in Vegas out of the bargain, so I don’t really know why she’s still so pissed off about it.
But having to leave London in disgrace and not even being able to return home to New York has been humiliating. Humbling. I did nothing wrong, and yet I still feel as if I did. As if I’m a criminal or something.
“How could he do this to me?” I groan. “How could I have not seen what was happening?”
I hear my mother’s voice echoing through my head. I hear her high-pitched tone and the forced refinement in her voice – she always did try sound more cultured and educated rather than like the woman from Baltimore without a college degree that she actually is.
It’s not that my mom is stupid. She’s not. She just doesn’t have a formal education. She never went to college, never got a degree. But she talks as if she’s got an advanced degree in – well – everything. She knows just enough about a lot of different subjects to be dangerous, as they say. She’s able to carry on at least a surface conversation about most anything and does it well enough that it almost sneaks up on you. It’s actually kind of impressive.
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