Keeping Seven

by T. A Richards Neville

  “My dick’s been nowhere but in you,” Julian admitted casually.

  “Doesn’t make it any less difficult to hear. Alexis might be holding the gun to your head, but you gave her the ammunition.”

  “I’m dealing with her. She hasn’t retracted her bullshit by next week? I’ll come out myself and tell it how it is. Angela’s offered to represent me as my manager, but I can’t see that working out in the long run. She’s more eager than me to take Alexis down, though, and I trust her with this. Babysit when I address the press and prevent any foot-in-mouth situations. I know I did nothing wrong, Angel, and the only other person I give a shit about believing that is you. A phone call wasn’t enough to clear the air.”

  “You’re working with Angela after she tried to get you into bed?” This day just kept getting better.

  Julian huffed out a laugh, one patronizing eyebrow hiking up his forehead. “And you continue a friendship with Beau fully aware of how he feels about you?”

  I hardened my stare, though I knew he was right. Beau was my reasoning behind giving up the job offer and leaving to go where I should be. And I would fit in with the WAGs rather than judge and fight with them. Because when I said yes to Julian, I said yes to the NFL and all the extras it came with.

  Julian leaned an elbow on the table, resting his muscular arm across the varnished surface. “They say behind every good man is a good woman. I might not be good, but I’m a hell of a lot worse without you. And that saying’s nothing compared to what you are to me. I get it, why you keep Beau around. And I haven’t blown off Angela partly for the same reasons. She can temporarily take control of the shit I don’t have the time for. The shit I need done now to keep me sane. If I’m taking the Dolphins all the way this season, and I really think it’s going to happen, I need you for that. I’m just a football player, but you… you’re everything else. Don’t come to Miami because I said so. Come because you’re ready, and you’ve achieved what you set out to here.”

  Julian was telling me all the things I wanted to hear, and none of it made me less frustrated or unsettled.

  “I was ready to move in with you. I was ready to leave LA.”

  “Because you wanted to? Or because you’re picturing me adorning myself with jersey chasers who’ve lined themselves up outside my door? That doesn’t happen, Angel. It’s a far-fetched image. If I can’t have you right now, I’ll put the brakes on until I can. I’m sick of beating this dead horse.” Julian glanced out the window, his gaze staying there for a moment before looking at me. “Do you trust me?”

  I couldn’t lie or lend truth to any of my doubts. “Yes.” I trusted him until he gave me a powerful reason not to.

  “And I trust you. I trust that my ring’s on your finger and it stands for more than a bended piece of metal to you. I trust you’ll come back to me when the time’s right, and all this back and forth shit was worth it.”

  A tiny seed of doubt quickly blossomed and spread. “It feels like we’re breaking up.” Again.

  “Yeah, it does.” Julian sighed, leaning his head against the ingrained wooden booth seat, midnight-blue eyes reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart until I was scared it might actually stop. It was dangerous to love someone this much. Especially when you were both capable of inflicting so much unnecessary pain. We were volatile together, and even more volatile apart.

  If I went to Miami now, I would lose myself completely to Julian. And since surviving Jordan, my walls were strong, reinforced independence. I had to keep proving to myself I wasn’t reliant on other people if I stood any chance of becoming the wife I saw myself as. The problem with Julian came down to how visceral my reactions to him were. He consumed me. I was staying strong on the outside, but inside I was weak. Just like every other silly girl who lost their head and stumbled powerlessly into his hazing vortex. He should be ashamed of himself. I’d never stood a chance.

  “When did we become so complicated?” I asked, no interest in hearing his answer. I was more speaking aloud, not to be heard.

  “The minute I saw you,” Julian said. “We’ve been complicated from day one.”

  “Does this mean the wedding’s off?”

  Julian looked me over, a nervous flutter stirring in inside me from his unreadable expression.

  “For now. We weren’t in control of that, it was taking care of itself.”

  I glanced down at my hand on the table. “Do I have to give the ring back?”

  “I bought it for you, it’s yours. I won’t blackmail you with it.”

  Every second of this made me sick. I folded my lip between my teeth. “What will we tell people?”

  “That the wedding will happen when we are good and ready.” Julian’s solution came as casually as if I’d asked him what he wanted for dinner.

  “That Alexis girl will think she’s caused this.”

  “Maybe. But we know she hasn’t. More complications will crawl out the woodwork eventually. All we can do is be ready with the pesticide and learn how to ignore it. Rise above it.”

  I couldn’t help getting sucked into my own paranoia that Julian could end up falling for someone who didn’t have dreams that kept them away from him. What if he met someone without even trying? A love at first sight deal he had no control over. I would lose the one person I had planned on loving for the rest of my life. It was almost enough to make me stick to my original decision and go to Miami, unveiling my weakness to its full, deplorable extent.

  Angela was waiting for me at MIA. The paparazzi tipped off to my landing time, I pulled my snapback low over my eyes, flipped my hood up and barged through the noisy, invasive crowd and snapping camera lenses, ducking into Angela’s Mercedes. She peeled away from the curbside in record speed, giving Carlion and his Gallardo an easy run for his money.

  “So?” she asked, turning to glance at me.

  “She said no to the job. And then I told her to take it.”

  Angela visibly cringed. “Mmkay. Why, if she’d already said no? Seems like a waste of a round-ticket.”

  I tugged down my hood and lifted my cap. “Angel’s never complained about me playing football. Hasn’t tried to stop me or cause any difficulties. Who am I to do that to her? I want her here with me, but not if it means giving up doing what she loves before she even gets a real shot at it. I haven’t bullied anyone since middle school. I’m not starting now with the person I’m going to marry.”

  Angela dropped me off at my condo, the ride there vacant of filler talk while I sorted through the tangled anarchy from not just today but every day.

  My mom and Rebecca were sitting out on the balcony sharing a bottle of wine. Garlic-scented steam hissed from the seam of a covered pan, and I walked into the kitchen and lifted the lid on the neglected pot, jerking my head back to save my face from melting. I turned off the burner and put the lid back, my stomach rumbling now it was aware of the promise of food.

  Dog sprinted in from outside, paws slapping the marble floor before he skidded at my feet, yapping for my attention. He got it, and a handful of chicken bites.

  “Julian, why didn’t you tell me this girl is posting all these awful stories about you?” Alexis’s YouTube video played on my mom’s phone, the words I’d already heard grating on me.

  “Turn that off,” I said, frowning at the screen. “It’s people like you why she has so many views. You’re feeding her popularity.”

  “You’re right.” Mom closed the tab and locked the screen, placing the iPad on the floor. “Next time, though, put some extra thought into who you choose to be around.”

  “We talked, and not for long. I didn’t realize she was a snake until she’d shed her skin. From now on I won’t take the same chances.”

  “Julian,” my mom said in that lecturing tone I’d heard all through my childhood, “you shouldn’t have been talking to that girl. You’ll lose Angel if you don’t start putting her first.”

  What the fuck? Did anyone actually listen or pay attention around here?
>
  “What do you think I was doing in Los Angeles? Taking turns on the Haunted Mansion?”

  Rebecca laughed. “That’s funny. We should totally do that one day, though. I’ve never been to Disney. Have you ever heard such nonsense in your life? And here I am in Florida, and I still haven’t been.”

  I let the hint dropping go sailing over my head. I wasn’t touching that one.

  My mom’s smile was sobering, and I flickered a glance her way, reading the situation for what it potentially was. Rebecca was in the dark on her stepdad’s shenanigans, and that meant Julian Sr. hadn’t doubled-up yet and my mom hadn’t bowed down at his feet, rolling over for a belly rub.

  “Anyway, how’d the groveling go? Did she mention bridesmaids?” Rebecca clenched her teeth in anticipation.

  “Wedding’s off for now. She’s taking the job with the Junior Kings.”

  “I’m confused.” My mom stood her wine glass on her crossed knee, covering the base with two hands. “Is the engagement still on?”

  “Yeah, it’s just on pause while she does her thing. No biggie.”

  The look passed between my mom and Rebecca said otherwise.

  “You can come to me if something did happen with that other woman. The one on YouTube. I’m your mother, I have to support you no matter what.”

  “That’s real helpful, you saying I fucked her.”

  My mom tucked a piece of blonde hair that had come loose from her hairclip behind her ear. “You’re young. Young men do stupid things without thinking. Not with their head, at least.” She gave me a multi-level look. “The head on your neck.”

  She should take her food for thought and go shove it down my dad’s neck. He could use that advice more than me.

  “Okay, Mom, just stop. Really. I’m going to bed. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

  “I cooked,” Rebecca boasted. “Want me to dish you up some tomato basil chicken? It’s the organic chicken you like, and I made everything from scratch. No salt, no carbs. Strictly no MSGs.”

  “I could eat. I’ll shower first.”

  “Won’t be a sec.” Rebecca took her wine with her into the kitchen, Dog tailing her to the promise land of food, and I was left alone with my mom.

  I stretched out in Rebecca’s chair. “Did you speak to him?”

  Mom sipped her wine, glanced at me, then lifted the glass to her lips a second time, this sip as deep as the contents. “Yes.”

  That was it? “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She swallowed, averting her head and her gaze.

  “Are you leaving Gary?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind. I’ve spoken to your dad and that’s my energy maxed out for one day.”

  Leaning over my knees, I slotted my fingers together as I stared out at the black Atlantic, white frothing trails from speedboats, and the golden glow from billionaire-owned yachts. Low-rise houses and towering cranes stationed over apartment buildings midway through construction. Miami was more of a mood than a way of life.

  “Stay here,” I said, “and leave Taj where he is for another week. He’s with his dad, and it’s about time his dad started living up to that title.”

  Five-thirty the next morning came too soon. And hitting snooze on my phone’s alarm was out of the question.

  The sun was only just beginning to rise over a sleepy Davie as I arrived at our training facility.

  After powering through forty-five minutes in the weight room, I sat down for a quick breakfast of oatmeal and fruit and mentally prepared myself for the first team meeting of the day. Wednesdays were usually long as fuck, but with the introduction of new offensive plays that would ideally steer the remainder of the season in a consistent, game-winning direction, I was expecting today to run even later into dusk than usual.

  We were facing the Buffalo Bills on Sunday, and we’d already lost to them in New York by six points. If we could avoid another loss, today was the day to knuckle-down and correct those mistakes from last time. Plus, I had Tuesday to make up for. I’d watched as much iPad footage of past games and practices as my flights to and from Los Angeles allowed, but I’d lost almost an entire day of game prep that I had to redress today. This wasn’t the season for slacking. We had past shit performances to make up for, and by rights, as quarterback, I should’ve have my head screwed on tighter.

  We headed out to the field for the first walk-through. Breathed in the clean air and loaded up on natural light. Situational football had been one of our main focuses this season, and we isolated first and second down, wasting no time on the field.

  Mental exhaustion had kicked in by the time afternoon meetings rolled around, and my ass was dragging to the locker room afterward to change into my practice jersey to get back out on the field against the scout team.

  Reconstructing sixty minutes of potential game scenario, two of our practice players imitated trouble-making defensive ends. With pretty accurate knowledge from the last meeting of where those defensive ends had been lining up, we used that info to mimic and plan the downs. On the one hand we were dealing with a behemoth pass-rusher who was a pain in the ass to every offensive side who went up against him, and then there was Joe Macavoy, known for guarding the tackle box and holding off blockers, he’d sacked as many quarterbacks as he’d forced into terrible, on-the-spot decision making.

  We paused for a water break before going our separate ways. I had more footage to watch and the rest of the playbook to read before I took it home to memorize until my eyelids peeled back from my face and I couldn’t take it any longer,

  I stood off to the sideline, rehydrating with streams of water I squirted into my mouth from the plastic sports bottle.

  “What’s the good word? That loud-mouth ho making any more noise?” An intense frown crimped Carlion’s brows, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping down his face. “I called the damn bitch’s friend, but once I mentioned your name, she lost the use of her fucking brain. She’s playing dumber than a rock.”

  “Not a peep. I’ve already spoken to a lawyer. She either clears my name or I’m suing the fuck out of her.”

  “She’s riding your coattails. From this point on, no-camera gatherings only. Bitches can’t be trusted when it comes to the D and the green.”

  From two meters away, Tate Ross’s head lifted to side-eye our conversation. When our gazes met, his lingered before he slowly looked away, bending at the waist to scoop up a water bottle and jog back onto the field.

  “What’s your sister doing with a fuckboy like that?” Carlion spat on the turf and hung a towel around his neck. “Little prick.”

  “Not a fan? And she isn’t my sister.”

  “He’s played what, two games? If he put as much energy into his offense as he did fucking around, I might take him serious. Have you seen how often the kid gets turnt up? Shit, I’m no one to advise anyone how to live their life, but when you’re fresh outta your senior year? Naw. You gotta act right. You’re bringing your A game every fucking Sunday? No problem. Do you, homie. But Ross hasn’t even been bringing his C game. What happened to the D1 player we drafted? I dunno who this waste man is, but he’s dropped in from a parallel fucking universe. I’ve got a wager going with some of the other boys that he won’t last the season.”

  “Outstanding example of team spirit right there,” I deadpanned.

  “Rook, listen to an expert. Fuckboy’s bad news.”

  “I’ve told Rebecca to back off while he’s playing. He sent her a fucking dick pick in the locker room. In front of me.”

  Grabbing onto the ends of the towel hanging over his chest, Carlion shook his head, one side of his mouth curling in an inflated smirk. “Just watch this space.”

  The heavy week of practices paid off. The same day we got that W against the Buffalo Bills, I took my mind off the other shit that wasn’t going quite right for me and agreed to go with some of my teammates to a club down at South Beach.

  Rebec
ca dumped herself, belly-down, on top of my bed, cupping her face in her hands. “Whatcha doin’?”

  I swear to God, she had that irritating kiddy voice down pat.

  “Going out.” I fastened the last button on my pants and padded across my bedroom floor to the closet to look for a shirt to wear.

  “’Kay,” Rebecca hummed, her head twisting to follow me. “Who with?”

  “Same old. You harassing Tate tonight?”

  “No.” Sounded like a scoff. “He’s going out, too. I wasn’t invited. Guess he doesn’t want me there cramping his style.”

  “He’s been all over you. A night apart won’t do you any harm.”

  “You’re only saying that because you never get to see Angel. Don’t hate on my relationship, Julian.”

  Relationship? I held in what I really thought of that and filed through the hangers on the rail, pulling a black T-shirt loose and putting it on. A few squirts of cologne, my watch, and I was set.

  “Cheer up, Rebecca. It’s one night. No girlfriends are invited out. Get used to it.”

  “Does he ever talk about me? Like, in the locker room and stuff?”

  I gave her a sideways look, quirking an eyebrow at her reach for aloof. “No. Just lobs his cock out in your honor.”

  She sniffed. “It was one picture. Get over yourself.”

  I grabbed my keys and wallet and kissed my mom goodbye. Rebecca was still sulking, but that was just too bad, because while my teammates were cutting loose tonight, I had other business to take care of. I drove myself to South Beach since I wasn’t going near any alcohol. Not even one beer.

  Females were spread around the club like decorations, the finest of the crop on display. I caught up with the rest of the boys and stayed vigilant to the H2o. The women eventually arrived at the table, but posted up between our kicker and Masters, trouble couldn’t reach me over here.