by B. B. Hamel
I knew Tony wasn’t going to like this, but if I wanted to get out from under the mafia, this was my best chance.
Once we were done with therapy, I got my stuff and Taylor met me out front.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“I’m sure.” I kissed her softly. “I’ll call you later.”
“You better. The second you can.”
“Go home. Go think about me.”
“I will be.” She bit her lip, looked like she wanted to say something else, and then walked away.
I watched her go for a second. Briefly, I wondered if I could call after her and tell her how I really felt, but she turned a corner and was gone.
I walked back to my apartment. I nodded at the doorman as I entered, went upstairs, and went into my place. I didn’t bother locking the door.
I got a glass and my bottle of whisky.
I sat down at the kitchen table.
I dialed Tony’s number while I poured myself a drink.
“Owen,” he said, answering the phone. I could hear the smugness in his voice. The asshole thought he had won. “Good to hear from you.”
“Think you can make a house call?” I asked him.
“Maybe.”
“It’s important. I need to talk.”
He paused. “I can be there in a half hour.”
“Fine. That’s good.”
“I’m glad you came around, kid. You’re making the right choice.”
“I think so too, Tony.”
“See you.” He hung up the phone.
I hung up mine and leaned back in my chair, sipping my drink.
I couldn’t begin to guess how this would go down. Tony might flip shit and try to kill me, or maybe he would calmly leave and tell his superiors about it. Or maybe he’d just let me go and we’d be finished with all this.
I had no clue. That uncertainty drove me nuts, but I did know one thing: I wasn’t backing down, and I never would, not ever again.
I would never do another man’s bidding against my own will ever again.
I sat at the table, nursing my drink and playing through the conversation in my mind. I kept seeing the worst-case scenarios, and my anxiety kept building. I slammed back my drink and felt the warmth spread from my stomach. I poured another one and sipped it, trying to make myself relax.
I watched the clock slowly tick by. Soon, it was time for him to show up, but there was still no knock at the door.
I closed my eyes and finished my second drink. I poured a third and thought about why I was doing this.
I was changing for the better. I was becoming a better man. I just had to get out from under the mafia and then I could move on.
But that wasn’t the truth. I realized it then in that moment, powerfully and clearly. I wasn’t doing this for myself.
I was doing this for Taylor.
I couldn’t let her be with a man who was owned by the mafia. She deserved better than that, and I wanted to become better for her. That was what this was all about in the end.
I wanted to be the man Taylor deserved.
There was a knock at the door, clear and insistent. I stood up, feeling a new wave of resolve wash over me. I walked over to the door and opened it.
Tony looked in at me. “Okay, I’m here,” he said. “Why did you make me come all the way down to South Philly for this?”
“Come in,” I said.
He followed me in and smiled at the bottle on the table. “Drinking?”
“Have one.” I grabbed him a glass.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
We sat across from each other. He poured himself a shot and knocked it back before pouring himself a second.
“We need to talk,” I started.
“No shit. Can we skip the foreplay?” He glanced at his watch. “I have places to be.”
“This won’t take long.” I took my phone from my pocket. “You’re going to call your bosses and you’re going to stop fucking bothering me.”
He smiled. “Nah. Is that all?”
“Listen.” I hit play on the sound file.
I watched Tony’s face as he listened to his own muffled voice talking to Taylor. He went from mildly amused to confused to angry over the course of the two-minute recording.
“What the fuck is that?” he demanded when it finished.
“Should I play it again?”
“No. Don’t play it again, you fucking idiot.” He finished his drink and poured another. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You say some shit in that recording that I bet you don’t want out.”
He looked at me for a second and then burst out laughing. “Hot damn, Rack. I didn’t expect this.”
“You’re going to leave me alone, or I’m going to send my story to a journalist. Taylor will corroborate me and so will this recording.
Tony shook his head. “No. That won’t happen. We’ll just kill you.”
“My lawyer has a copy. If anything happens to me or Taylor, he releases it, along with your name and information.”
“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”
“Very serious.”
“Fucking hell, Rack.” He shook his head. “This simply won’t do.”
“You have my proposal. Make your decision. I’ll take your guys down or you let me go.”
“You can’t take us down,” he said, laughing. “We’re the fucking mafia.”
“Maybe not, but I bet I’ll cause you guys a lot of problems and lose you a lot of money.”
He processed that for a second, and slowly I could see his surprised amusement turn into anger.
“Listen to me, you little punk,” he said. “I’ve been nice to you, a lot nicer than a lot of guys in my position would be. I’m done being nice. You do what we ask, or I will ruin your career, torch your grandmother, and fuck your pretty little girlfriend with a knife until she bleeds to death. Understand?” He stood up.
I stood up along with him. “You’re making a mistake,” I said.
He walked toward the door. “You dumb fuck.”
“Don’t test me, Tony. I’m done with you fucking pricks.”
He stopped and turned toward me. “Did that dumb bitch put you up to this?” He shook his head, amazed. “Before her, you were a decent guy. That fucking whore destroyed you.”
“Don’t talk about her that way.” I stepped toward him.
“Or what?” he said, laughing. “She’s a fucking herpes slut. She sucks donkey cock for change. She’s fucking worthless, and so are you.”
I punched him in the jaw. There was no thought in my mind but blinding, dark rage. I punched him so hard that his head snapped back and I heard his jaw crack. He stumbled backward and moved to come back at me, but I was already moving.
I punched him again in the face and then took him by the jaw and slammed him back into the wall. I smashed his head backward. He tried to knee me and punch me, but he was already too weak.
I was blinded with red rage. I beat him over and over before throwing him to the ground. I realized that I was bigger than him, stronger than him, and it was Tony who should be afraid of me.
I released all of my pent-up anger and rage on him in that moment. I beat him within an inch of his life, his face broken and bleeding, some of his teeth snapped from his skull. I shoved his face into the floor and got down on my knees next to him to whisper into this ear.
“We’re done,” I said. “Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” he groaned. “Okay. You’re not worth it.”
“Good.”
I released him. He rolled onto his back and spit out blood, groaning.
“Get the fuck out,” I said.
He slowly got to his feet, opened the door, and left without a word.
That had felt so fucking good. Maybe it had been stupid, but I knew it was the right thing. Tony needed to get his ass beat, and he needed to know that I wasn’t fucking around.
As I stood there, I felt
like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Tony was going to let me go. I knew they had other guys and still would, but they were going to leave me alone. I wasn’t worth it.
I was a free man.
Feeling elated, I called for a car. It showed up ten minutes later. I got in and told them to take me to Taylor’s address.
The whole car ride over, I just kept thinking about my fist smashing into that asshole’s face. My knuckles were bruised, but I should have done that weeks ago. I should have beaten his ass the second I first met him. I should have killed him.
I took a deep breath. There was no need for that. It was over.
The car pulled up out front. I climbed out and rang her apartment.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me.”
She buzzed me up right away.
I felt like I was floating as I walked up the stairs and headed toward her apartment. The door was already open, and she was coming toward me down the hall
“Owen?”
“It’s done.”
I threw my arms around her as she ran to me. I grabbed her and pulled her close, feeling her body pressed up against mine.
“It’s over,” I said in her ear. “I love you.”
She kissed me hard, so hard that my lip nearly bled, but I loved it. It was exactly what I needed. She didn’t have to say it back. I knew what she felt.
I loved her. I’d been falling in love with her since the moment we first met. I had known she was the one the second I saw her, and every second I was around her just confirmed that belief. She was right for me, and she made me better.
That was love. It lifted you up, made you stronger, made you want to move past all the petty differences we had in this world. Love made you want to transcend and improve.
Our kiss slowly broke apart. “I love you too.”
“I know you do.”
We walked down the hall together, hand in hand, and went into her apartment.
33
Taylor
A Few Months Later
The pulse in the stadium was palpable.
There was one minute left in the NFC Championship match. The Eagles were playing the Dallas Cowboys, and the winner of that went on to the Super Bowl.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot, nervous as hell. I glanced up at the clock for the hundredth time that minute. The Eagles were winning by a field goal, and they had the ball on the thirty-yard line, trying to keep possession in order to run the game clock out.
Owen was on the field as usual. He had scored twice this game, the most important scores to keep the Eagles in the game.
He’d had an incredible season. After his rocky start, Coach gave him his starting position back, and he worked hard every day to earn it. He went from a rookie with an injury problem to one of the top running backs in the entire league.
It was amazing watching him grow. He took everything he did seriously. He worked harder than I could have imagined, sometimes staying late after practice to watch more game tape.
We saw each other as much as possible. It quickly became obvious that we couldn’t keep our relationship a secret, so I voluntarily gave up my assignment with him in order to pursue the relationship. I was reassigned to the kicker, a smaller but still important role, and someone else was assigned Owen.
I missed those therapy sessions with him. During that time together, we had fallen in love, deeply and insanely in love. I’d always cherish those moments, even though they were over.
Still, we managed to see each other all the time. I’d be lying if I pretended like we never disappeared into a broom closet almost every day to do unspeakably dirty things to each other.
That was the kind of man he was. Owen was insatiable in everything he did, and he made me a better person because of it. He made me want to work harder at everything I did.
Out on the field, Owen got the handoff. I held my breath, staring intently as he bashed into the line, breaking free. He managed to pick up five yards, getting tackled just short of the first down.
My heart was hammering in my chest, the same way it had been when Owen first told me that the mafia was done with him. I had been sure that they were going to try to kill him, but they hadn’t. In fact, after that night, we never heard a single word from Tony or the mafia ever again. Some of the guys on the team suddenly weren’t interested in being friends with Owen, including Raylon, but that didn’t matter to him.
He was playing it clean, and I respected him so much for it.
It would have been easier to stay involved with the mafia. They could have helped him in ways he probably didn’t even realize. But it wasn’t the way he wanted to do things, and nothing would change Owen’s mind once he made it up.
The team lined up for their next and final play. If Owen couldn’t get another two yards, then they would turn it over and give the Cowboys a chance to tie the game.
Owen took the snap. He pushed up against the line. The defenders surged, their powerful bodies trying to grab Owen, trying to tear him down.
He moved forward, his legs churning, pushing against the pile of men. He was a beautiful beast, a monster on the field, crushing and destructive. He was an angel of death come to take what was his.
He dove forward. The ref blew the whistle dead.
Everyone held their breath.
The ref signaled for the first down, and the stadium went insane.
That was it. The Eagles were going to the Super Bowl, and there was nothing stopping them now. All they had to do was take a knee, and then it would be over.
As time ran out, I kept thinking about everything that had happened. I went from hating that man to loving him with every ounce of my being. I couldn’t imagine living without him, and I never would. I was his, for as long as he wanted me to be.
We had come through adversity together. There was going to be more in the future, and we’d get through that, too. Nothing was perfect, but perfection could come from hard work and dedication.
He worked me hard. I was dedicated to him.
We spend most nights together. After practice, he would send the car over and I’d stay with him, letting him do whatever he wanted to me for as long as he wanted to do it. He made me feel things I had never imagined.
Sometimes we did workouts to help with his strength. When he ached, I rubbed him down and made him feel better. When I was stressed, he took off my clothes and made me feel right.
That was all I needed.
The stadium exploded again when the clock wound down. People spilled out onto the field as the guys shook hands, and the media began to swarm them. I stood off to the side, smiling, feeling blessed and amazed by everything that had happened and would happen.
We were going to the Super Bowl. We were going to the most important, biggest sporting event in the whole world, and it was all because of Owen.
He was going to win it for us. There was no doubt in my mind.
As I stood there, I suddenly spotted him. Reporters were hounding him, but he ignored them all and walked right toward me. I smiled and laughed as he threw his arms around me, lifting me off the ground. I kissed his sweaty mouth and loved the salty taste.
“Taylor,” he said.
“What?”
“I was thinking about waiting to ask you this, but I can’t.” He put me down and took my hands.
“What are you doing?”
He dropped down to one knee.
“Owen?” I asked. There was a huge crowd around us. Cameras were running and pictures were going off. He reached down into his sock and pulled out a small, black velvet bag. He opened it and took out a ring.
My heart nearly stopped. I covered my mouth. “Owen?”
“Marry me,” he said. “I want you. Marry me.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Of course.” He slid the ring onto my finger, and the crowd began to cheer. He stood up and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me hard.
The reporters all tried to get an interview with him
, but he waved them all away.
“Later,” he yelled. “I want a second with my damn fiancée.” He scooped me up and we walked off into the locker room together.
“You had that with you the whole time?” I asked him.
“I’ve had it with me at all times for the last month.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ve known since the second we met.” He pressed me up against the wall of the hallway and kissed me.
“I knew, too,” I said.
“Liar.” He grinned. “You hated me.”
“I still do. Asshole.” I hit his chest and smiled. The light reflected off the absurdly large diamond on my finger, and I knew that this was what was supposed to happen.
I was Owen’s. I was going to be his wife, and I was going to have his babies. I was going to have a lifetime of him, days and nights and minutes and hours of him, moments of him. Owen waking, Owen showering, Owen laughing, Owen slowly stripping my clothes off and kissing my skin.
That was all there was for me and all there ever needed to be.
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