by Piper Rayne
“Is there something wrong?” She doesn’t take the keys.
“No, I just need a different car. A minivan.” I almost choke on the words. I never thought of myself as a minivan guy, but I always see families using them, so I guess they’re best.
She eyes me skeptically. “A minivan?”
“Yes,” I say, mustering confidence, as if I’m committed to this.
The guy who helped me a couple of days ago stares in disbelief from the other side of the counter. He was spitting out stats to convince me that the Camaro was the rental I’d want when I was in here the first time. Not sure why he cared so much, but he was a soccer fan and recognized me. Then I got the dreaded question of “where am I playing this year?” I hate that damn question.
“You want to exchange the Camaro for the minivan?” this employee of the month clarifies.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
She finally swipes the keys off the counter and enters the numbers on the key chain into the computer. “Not at all. I’m just surprised.”
I tilt my head. “Surprised?”
She types away at the computer. At first, I think she’s going to ignore me altogether, but then she finally speaks. “Most men would never make that swap.”
“Well, minivans are safer, right?”
She shrugs. “I’m not the editor for Consumer Reports.”
Good talk. I rock back on my heels as she processes the transfer.
“Same card?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Her printer whirs and she grabs paper with an angry pull. I’ve obviously caught this lady on a bad day.
She slams the papers on the desk. “Sign here. I don’t suppose you gassed up the car?”
“I did. I actually got it with three-quarters of a tank, but I filled it up at the station on the corner before coming in.”
She smacks on a fake smile. “Oh, would you like a hero cookie?”
What the hell is this lady’s problem?
“Gina,” the guy next to her says with censure.
Yes, Gina, how big is the stick up your ass?
“Do you need me to show you how to use it?” she deadpans, ignoring her coworker.
“I think I can figure it out.” I give her a saccharine smile. “I just need to grab something out of the car.”
“Fine. I’ll follow you.” She walks around the corner, throwing the keys to me.
I don’t catch them in time, and they drop to the floor.
“Good thing you never needed your hands,” she mumbles and walks out the door.
When I meet her at the car, I ask, “Is there a problem?”
She clicks the Camaro open and gestures with her hand for me to get whatever I want. “No problem.”
I grab the car seat box from the passenger seat.
“You have a kid?” she asks. “God help them.”
I drop the box to the ground. “What seems to be the problem here?”
“It’s stars like you who crush kids’ dreams.” Her eyes suggest she’s planning my death or trying to get me to disintegrate right in front of her. “Your posters used to be all over my kid’s walls. The local kid who made it to the MLS. You became his favorite player when he found out you went to Lake Starlight High. Then you go and mess up your opportunity with your little drunk driving stint. I’m not sure when you famous athletes are going to understand how much you’re idolized. How kids live and breathe to be you. And you guys just let fame and fortune go to your heads and forget that you’re subject to the same consequences as the rest of us.”
I let out a long breath. She’s not wrong. Though she’s so under my skin right now, I very much wish I could argue with her, but I’d prefer just to get the hell out of here.
“I’m sorry for that. I was—” I could tell her my entire story with the hopes she’d understand, but there’s no excuse for my actions and more importantly, there’s no reason to trust her with my truth. I had a responsibility to fans. It’s all on me. “I’m just sorry. I hope he found a better guy to idolize.”
She crosses her arms and nods. “The funny thing is if I told him that I met you today, he’d kill me for not getting your autograph. How sick is that? He still thinks of you as the best soccer player.”
“Good luck to him.” I pick up my box and head to the minivan the guy just pulled around to the front of the building. I wish I had more to say, but I’m a fuckup. What does she expect?
I climb into the minivan and look in the back. How fast life can change. I drive a block before pulling into a vacant parking lot and spend half an hour trying to install the car seat. Another failure in my life. I’m starting to get used to them.
I park the minivan in the fire station lot. Thankfully, I don’t see Kingston’s truck. I walk into the office and follow the signs. A female firefighter comes by and says someone will be right out to help me.
Pulling out my phone, I pull up Buzz Wheel and see a post about me watching Rome’s kids yesterday afternoon. He played me yesterday, but I enjoyed watching Palmer play with her cousins. They’re all so good with signs, and Calista asked me question after question about signs she wanted to teach Palmer. About what life will be like for Palmer. I’m not sure why she thought I was the person to ask—other than I can sign faster than any of them, including Sedona. It’s crazy how fast it came back to me.
I continue reading the article. Buzz Wheel says I’m doing good and how it’s proud of me for stepping up. I must know the person who writes this thing, otherwise how would they have all this information?
“Hey.” A guy’s voice sounds from behind me, and I pocket my cell phone. I turn to greet the firefighter, but he stops in his tracks. “No fucking way. You’re Jamison Ferguson.”
I nod at the same time as a black pickup pulls into the lot. Shit.
The firefighter laughs and looks from the truck back to me. “You sure you don’t want to escape now?”
What the hell ? I thought handling this in Anchorage would be easier, with fewer people who know me.
“I should warn you, I’m Lou, Kingston’s buddy. I know all about you.” He can’t stop smiling and laughing. “I should kick your ass for Sedona, but honestly, Kingston would kill me. He’ll want to do it himself.”
I blow out a breath, hands on my hips.
Kingston presses on the gas, pulling into a spot, and slams on the brakes. He’s out of the truck in seconds flat. “What are you doing here?”
“Car seat check,” I say, gesturing to the minivan nearby.
He looks over to his friend. “I’ll do it, Lou.”
Lou taps his imaginary watch. “Technically, you aren’t on shift yet.”
“It’s for my niece. I’ll do the car seat.” Kingston opens the back door of the minivan.
“Should I referee?” Lou asks, holding up his hands.
“Get lost,” Kingston says, the edge to his voice growing.
Lou does the cross over his chest and puts his hands in prayer pose. “That was for your safety, buddy.” He laughs and walks back inside.
Kingston tests the half-ass job I did on the car seat. “Surprisingly, it looks good. You do this?”
I’m not blind. He’s adjusting it as he goes to make sure it’s done correctly. I’m not sure why he’s being nice to me.
He finishes up, climbs out, and shuts the door. “Nice van.”
“Thanks.”
“Decided the Camaro wasn’t the right fit?” Of course he knows I rented a Camaro first. “You went from one extreme to the other.”
“Well…” I shrug.
He pushes off the van and pulls his phone out before pocketing it again. “I have fifteen minutes before my shift. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Are you gonna take me out back and beat the shit out of me?” I raise my eyebrows. I’d probably let him kick my ass because I deserve it.
“I want to, I really do, but you’re making all the right moves. Just answer one question for me.”
“What?�
�
“Why’d you wait so long to come back?”
My shoulders fall. “I was petrified. My sponsor suggested not coming here until I had a handle on my disease. I didn’t want to make one step ahead for two steps back. You know?”
“But you didn’t even acknowledge her. A letter, flowers, a gift. Hell, money.”
His words freeze me in place while I try to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. What exactly has Sedona been telling people? “I gotta go.”
“Are you serious?” he says, but I’m already climbing into the driver’s seat.
I turn the ignition, then open the window. “Listen, King, I’ve always thought of you as a brother and a friend. I get what I did pissed you off, and I hope like hell you can forgive me one day. But there are two people I have to make this right with, and right now, I need to talk to Sedona. I hope you understand.” I roll up my window and pull out of the parking lot.
My anger only intensifies on the drive to Lake Starlight. Walking up to her apartment door, I try to talk myself down, but I can’t stand back and allow her to let people think even less of me than they already do. The truth is bad enough.
I knock on her door, and she opens it dressed in yoga pants and a big sweatshirt.
“Where’s Palmer?” I barge in.
“She’s with Phoenix and Maverick. They went to get ice cream.” She shuts the door. “What is your problem? We need to put some rules in place. You can’t just show up here.”
I hold up my hand to stop her from talking. “I’m done with being Mr. Nice Guy. I’m sick of the ‘forgive me for this and forgive me for that’ and talking to every one of your family members like their forgiveness means the world to me.”
She says nothing but stands in place.
“All I care about is you and Palmer. Everyone else is second. But for the love of God, tell me why you wanted to paint me as more of a monster than I actually was? What did you get out of it?”
She scowls. “What are you talking about?”
“I sent you money every damn month. I know it wasn’t the same as me being here, but I tried to help in the only way I could at the time. And you let your family believe that wasn’t the case. Kingston was just asking me why I never paid a dime for my child? Damn it, Sedona.” My fist comes an inch from hitting the wall, but I retract it, controlling my anger. I fall into a chair and my head falls into my hands.
I’m done. I have no more fight left inside me.
Seventeen
Sedona
The last time Jamison was this broken was when the doctor told him he’d probably never play again. I don’t know what to do. I take one step forward but stop. I tried to hug him when his career ended, and he pushed me away. Looking back on it now, that was the beginning of the end for us.
“I never thought it was their business. No one even asked.” When I got the first check from Jamison, I tore it up and threw it in the trash. By the time the second one came, I realized I’d save it all for Palmer. That if she couldn’t have her daddy, she could have his money.
“And you didn’t think to volunteer the information? Your family shares every time they take a goddamn piss, but not something that might cast me in a better light? That you keep to yourself?” He stands and walks across the room.
“I was hurt, okay? I didn’t want to see you in a good light. I wanted you here. With me.” My finger points at the floor and I stomp my foot, then I suppress the cringe since the movement hurt my incision. “I didn’t want your damn money! I wanted your arms, your heart, your hugs, your kisses, your love.” My voice rises as all the pain from the past rushes back.
“It’s all I could do at the time. I wasn’t fit to be a father or a boyfriend.” He runs his hands through his hair.
“And I came to terms with that, but the money felt like an insult. The first check you sent, I was knee-deep in dirty diapers and my nipples were so sore from breastfeeding, they could have been used as sandpaper. You have any idea how hard it was on me?”
He twirls back around. “No, I don’t, because you won’t talk to me about it, but yer sure hell-bent on making me pay for it.”
All the frustration from months of wanting to hash this out with him comes tumbling out. “You think what happened to you didn’t break me too? Do you think I didn’t weep for you when the doctor told us your professional soccer career was over? I might’ve put on a strong front for you, but it broke me as well. I knew what soccer meant to you, but I thought we were strong enough to get through it together. But you just pushed me aside. Do you know how badly that hurt?”
“I handled it the only way I knew how. It stripped me of everything. How was I going to support you? Support our baby? I felt like a fucking failure. Because I’d had control of the situation. Maybe if I’d waited longer to come back or wouldn’t have been so aggressive on the pitch. The what-ifs plagued me like a bad nightmare. I was embarrassed. Ashamed. I could barely face you.”
“We were a team! We’d always been a team. If you’d have just let me be the one to boost us up, to see us through the bad times—”
“That’s not how I was raised. I’m the man. I’m supposed to take care of what’s mine, and you and Palmer are mine.”
His declaration silences me. I can’t lie and say hearing those words from him doesn’t make my heart float, but that fact alone gives me pause.
So instead, I say, “Well, this isn’t the nineteen fifties. I’m not going to stand around with an apron on at five o’clock, waiting to serve you dinner.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not saying I expect that. I’m just being honest about what was going through my head. Now I’m back, and every time I think we’re moving forward, you push me away. You make sure I know exactly all the things I did wrong.” His voice rises again.
“What do you expect me to do? Sing your praises for finally showing up?”
He stares for a moment and I swear his nostrils are flaring. “I didn’t expect that you’d keep rubbing it in my face every second. I’ve been here for a week, and though I didn’t think it would be an immediate fix, I thought you’d see me trying and maybe cut me some slack.”
“I see you trying, and I’m trying too. I’m trying to let you form a relationship with Palmer, but it’s so hard to be around you.”
He turns around and waves. “Yeah, yeah, ‘cause you hate the sight of me. I get it. You’ve been clear.”
My bravado fails and my shoulders fall. “It’s not that I hate you. I’m just so hurt. It’s hard to be around you because I’m still attracted to you. I still want you and I want to feel the safety you always offered me, but that idea terrifies me. What if you check out and leave me on my own again? You were my best friend and my boyfriend.”
He slowly turns around, standing in front of me like a defeated child.
“Don’t take me struggling to mean that I don’t want you in Palmer’s life. I do. I just can’t decide if I want you in mine.”
“Lass,” he says, and I close my eyes. “I want to hold you and promise you that I’ll make up for the last eighteen months every day, if you’ll have me.” He steps closer. “I want to wake up next to you, feel the way you’d slide your nose up and down my jaw while you get more comfortable. I want lazy Sunday mornings where we watch Palmer play and promise to get dressed but never do. I want it all.” He takes another step closer.
“When you’re with her and she’s in your arms, it cuts me open.” I swipe a tear from my face. “All the hatred for you runs out because seeing you clean again reminds me of the Jamison I loved. The man who would lie down and die for the ones he loved. When I reflect on the precious way you treated me all those years, I know how great you’ll be as a father.”
He steps a foot closer. “Then why don’t we try to get back there? If it’s what we both want?”
Before I realize it, he’s in front of me, toe to toe, his hand reaching to brush away my tears. My body yearns for his touch. Just to allow his hands on me o
ne more time. What harm could it do?
“I love you, Sedona. You’ve always been my girl.”
I close my eyes. His hand cradles my cheek, and I press my face into his palm, allowing shivers to wrack my body. His touch feels so good, so comforting. I’ve wondered for so long whether I’d ever hear those words from him again.
“Let me, and I’ll spend a lifetime making this up to you.”
My body desperately wants to shove all this under the rug. One thing is for sure—I have to admit my feelings for him. Fighting them so hard is only making me miserable.
I cover his hand with mine, and a small smile lifts his lips. “I won’t stand here and lie and say that I don’t want you so bad that I’m breaking my own heart with what I’m about to say, but I need time.”
“Time?”
I nod. “I need to build trust between us again.” He draws back, and I step forward this time, gripping his hand. “I’d bet on you. I know we’re going to get there, but I’m not ready. Not yet. You’re a great guy. You always were, and now that you’ve committed to sobriety, you’re going to be a great father. I have no doubt about that. I’ve been so set on putting you in your place after all this time, but I’ve been hurting myself by doing so. So if we’re going to do this, let’s do it. But let’s start slow—as friends.”
“Friends?” His voice cracks as if he can barely stand to say the word.
“We’ve always been great friends.” I grip his hand harder.
He nods reluctantly. “Okay.”
“And I promise no more mention of the past. I’ll talk to my family.”
“Can I hug you?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
He nods as if he’s okay with my decision. “Want to see my new car?”
He drags me by the hand to the window looking down on Main Street.
I open the blinds and look up and down the road. “Which one?”
“The black minivan,” he says proudly.
I turn toward him and narrow my eyes. “You went from a Camaro to a minivan? Oh, Jamison, I have been putting too much pressure on you.”