Ace: Sports Romance Novel

by Alexa Reign

  “Now nothing can take you away from me,

  We've been down that road before, but that's over now,

  You keep me coming back for more...”

  There was no escaping any of this. I felt like I was going out of my mind. Everywhere I went, it was like Brooklyn was planting all these signs for me.

  “Oh, once in your life you'll find someone,

  Who will turn your world around,

  Bring you up when you're feeling down...”

  I shook myself out of my daze. I gave the mutt a rub on the head, dropped a 20 into the open guitar case, and went on my way. I walked down the sidewalk, reaching for my phone in my back pocket.

  As my thumb hovered over the “Call” button, something across the street caught my eye.

  Nolan came out the driver's side of a battered blue pickup. The paint on the rusty truck had almost fully peeled off, and the back bumper was all dinged up. He circled around the car to the passenger side and opened the door, helping a mousy young woman to her feet. Curious, I continued to stare.

  When the woman reached behind her to retie her short ponytail, I spotted the small bulge coming out the mid-section of her long brown dress.

  “Yo, Nolan!”

  I ran up to them as they started up the front steps of the old red-bricked building.

  “Hey, man.” Nolan flipped his hair out of eyes. He seemed skittish. “What you doing out here?”

  “Was just at Lemon Pines, stopped by to say hi to a friend. Was just about to call you – I didn't know you lived around here.” I turned to the woman next to him, nodding at her politely. “Hey, how's it going? My name's Ace.”

  “Ah, yeah, my bad.” Nolan slid an arm around the woman, urging her forward gently. “This is my wife, Grace. Babe, you know Ace Warner. 'Member I told you I met him outside The Whistling Ox? We've been kicking it since then. Was just over at his place last night, had a couple of beers.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” said Grace, gripping the strap of her purse. She didn't sound the least bit pleased. Her round dark-brown eyes were too big for her small face, making her look permanently nervous.

  “Right.” I noticed the bag of fast food in Nolan's hand. “Looks like you folks are about to have dinner, so we'll just hang out another time –”

  “Ay, yo, T, Grace-cakes! What up?”

  Coming up the sidewalk was a weaselly dude in a baggy Fubu sweatshirt.

  “T?”

  “Yeah, that's me,” said Nolan, nodding at him. “T for 'Twiggy' – it's what they used to call me back in school. I was a fucking beanpole back in the day.”

  “Ace, this is my buddy, Buster. Buster, you know Ace –”

  “Oh, yeah. No shit, man.” Buster looked up at me, sticking out his hand. This dude's neck was crowded with trashy, colorful tattoos and a spider web that branched up to one side of his face. “I ain't too big on sports, but I seen you around on TV. Good to meet ya.”

  “Same here.” I shook his small, clammy hand.

  “You joining us for dinner?”

  Behind Buster, Nolan and Grace swapped worried looks.

  “I don't think that's a good –”

  “Naw, man, you should stay. Ain't everyday someone famous stops by for dinner,” Buster insisted, giving Grace a good hard slap on the back. “Grace'll whip up something extra – you guys don't mind, do you?”

  “I – I guess that'd be alright,” Grace agreed reluctantly. “We got some takeout from Planet Burger – we only have 3 burgers –”

  “But you can go ahead and have mine,” Nolan chipped in. “I'll be a'ight with some chicken wings –”

  “No, brother, that's cool. I ate an hour ago, so I'm good,” I lied. “But sure, I'll come up and chill for a bit, but I won't stay too long.”

  “No problem. Come on in.”

  We walked past an elevator crossed out with yellow caution tape and up 7 flights of stairs. When we reached the landing, the reason behind Nolan and Grace's reluctance to let me in was slowly becoming clear. Wheel-less bicycles, bags of trash, and old kids' toys littered the corners of the hallway. The floors were covered with muck and dirt tracks, looking like this place hadn't seen a broom in well over a decade. And as we walked up to their apartment, the sound of crying babies and TVs jacked up to their full volume bled out of the paper-thin walls. But shit, I was one to talk – if I didn't have Mrs. Weatherly, my own place wouldn't have been too far off.

  “Here we are...” Nolan shoved his key into the door. “Right, uh, before I forget – we're running behind on a few bills, so the power's out. We'll open up a couple of windows, but it could get a little hot in there.”

  “No problem at all, brother.”

  “Hurry up with that door, man.” Buster had a hand over his crotch, shifting his weight from one leg to another. “Daddy's gotta take a leak.”

  Before Nolan could even get the door open all the way, Buster bolted past and went straight for the bathroom. I stood around by the door, waiting to be let in. As Nolan set the food down, Grace fetched the lighter and began lighting up the dozens of half-melted white candles set up around the house.

  “Sorry about the mess.” Nolan pushed off the clothes on the couch. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.”

  I sat on the lumpy couch and checked out the small 2-bedroom apartment. There were a few Polaroids on the fridge, but the walls were mostly empty. There were huge chunks of paint missing from the walls, exposing the moldy gray concrete. Barring the couch, the mismatching furniture in the house was all plastic. The coffee table in front of me appeared to be a patio table with half the legs sawed off and a plain black tablecloth thrown over it.

  “You thirsty?” “Sorry, we don't got nothing too fancy – the fridge ain't working, but we got some powdered juices and some Kool-Aid.”

  “I'll just have some water, thanks.”

  While Grace pulled up some clean dishes from the dishwasher and plated up the burgers and fries, Nolan filled me a glass of water from the sink.

  “Thanks.” I accepted the glass and took a swig of the lukewarm water. “So, uh, you guys been living here long?”

  “What's it been – 2 years, now, babe?” Nolan glanced back at Grace for affirmation.

  Grace nodded, lowering her body to slide the plates onto her arms.

  “Let me help you with that.” I sprang off the couch and hurried over to her, taking the plates. My eyes skimmed over the bowl of keys on the counter, weighing down a thin stack of food stamps.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. She must have caught me looking, because she turned around and grabbed the food stamps, slipping them into her dress pocket.

  Nolan brought over the other 2 plates. As I set them down on the coffee table, I got a peek inside the 2 dark bedrooms. Nolan and Grace's room was just as barren as it was outside. I could see the edge of their unmade bed. Grace's dresser was dusty. It only had a small collection of makeup and one of those vintage perfume bottles with one of those squeezy things attached to it.

  The other bedroom, which I assumed was the baby's room, was easily the most furnished of the whole apartment. The walls were newly painted blue and the floors padded with foam puzzle mats. Under the candlelight, I could see the end of the new crib, still covered in plastic.

  The bathroom door flew open.

  “Looks like I read those signals wrong. Wouldn't be the first time, know what I mean?” Buster winked at me, picking at the scabs on his cheek. “Last time I did that, this two-bit stripper slapped me up across the face. Bitch was lucky I live for that type of shit. Anyway, you might wanna give it a minute. And get someone over here – think I might'a clogged that shit up.”

  “Great – just what we needed,” Grace spat. She glowered at Buster, pointing at the bathroom. “At least close the damn door.”

  “A'ight, Grace-cakes, chill.” Buster closed the door, jabbing a finger in Grace's direction. “Pregnant women, am I right?”

  “You're fixing that toilet before you lea
ve,” said Nolan. He gave Buster a dirty look.

  “Et tu, fam?” Buster raised his hands, backing up. “Okay, okay, I'll get on it. In a minute.”

  Now, I've seen some shit, but what happened next was just straight up wrong – not to mention, fucked up – on so many levels. Buster plopped himself down on the couch where I was sitting and busted out a meth pipe. He proceeded to sprinkle crack into the pipe and propped one leg up on the coffee table, lighting up the bulb. Fucking lunatic acted like smoking up around a pregnant woman and some dude he'd just met for less than 5 minutes was the most normal thing in the world.

  Grace folded her arms, turning away from us.

  “Excuse us.” Nolan hung his head, following his wife. “We'll be right back.”

  Nolan and Grace slipped into their bedroom, locking the door.

  “Wanna get in on this?” Buster slumped against the sofa, offering me his pipe.

  “Naw, man, I'm good.” I stared at him. “You sure it's a good idea to be doing that around Grace?”

  “She'll be a'ight – she's used to it. 'Sides, ain't like she smoking it.”

  “I don't –”

  I stopped. The closed door wasn't doing much for them. Fragments of their heated conversation leaked through the flimsy walls.

  “– babe, just calm down...”

  “Calm down? How can...live like this? … Can't take this anymore, Nolan –”

  “You have to tell him now, or I'm...”

  “Babe, just wait –”

  “No, I'm not –”

  Shit just got real, and way too personal. I rubbed the back of my neck, licking my lips. Man, this was uncomfortable.

  “Hey, Buster. I, uh, I just got this call, and I gotta bounce. Tell Nolan I'll hit him up later, will ya?”

  No response. Buster's head was already slacked against the couch, his glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling. Unbelievable.

  I turned around and let myself out.

  Chapter Seven: Victoria

  “Great – this is just what I needed!”

  Cailie and I kept our eyes on the TV screen, ignoring Rosaline's crabby mutterings behind us.

  “This adhesive's all dried up and clunky... Useless frickin' thing... Why does everything bad have to happen to me?”

  Sighing, I took the bait. I arched my head back, my arm dangling over the back of the couch. Rosaline was standing in front of the gold sunburst mirror over the console table, fiddling with her left eye.

  “Everything okay back there?”

  “Does this look like everything's okay?” Rosaline swung around to face me. Half of her false lashes were hanging off her eyelid. “Ugh – I have to leave in 10 minutes and I haven't even started with my hair!”

  “Wait, are you going somewhere?” Cailie looked away from the screen, her forehead rumpling. “I thought you were hanging out with us tonight.”

  “Sorry, Cailie, but Bianca bought these Dreamgirls tickets months ago,” said Rosaline, ripping off the lashes and starting over. “I can't cancel now. You can't just show up unannounced on a Friday night and expect me to drop everything for you.”

  “Geez Louise,” said Cailie, throwing her palms up. “It was just a question. You don't have to be such a b–”

  “I think I've got some glue in my makeup bag. You wanna borrow it?”

  “Um, this is real mink hair,” Rosaline scoffed back, as if this was common knowledge. “These lashes are way too sensitive for cheap drug store glue.”

  “Okay, well, then, I guess you'll have to go without,” I replied lightly, turning away from her. “Or, just go with them half on. Start a trend.”

  “I'm glad you find the struggles of other people so amusing.” Rosaline dampened the atmosphere with another one of her loud, shuddering sighs. “Great – I just put my lip pencil down – where is it?”

  “Why didn't you just get one of your makeup people to come over so we could've avoided all this drama?” Cailie pitched in lazily, flipping through channels.

  “Will you believe that all 3 of them are out of town right now? It's just my luck, too –”

  But Cailie wasn't listening – she pointed to the screen, screeching.

  “Victoria! Victoria, that's you!”

  I had to admit, seeing myself on the TV screen filled me with electric jitters – the good kind. Onscreen me was dressed in my favorite leather jacket with the quilted sleeves, and my wavy hair had been miraculously tamed by the girls from the makeup department. I held up a microphone to the mouth of Giants coach, Manny Castillo, the MetLife Stadium in the background.

  “You look amazing!” Cailie rattled on, bouncing up and down on the sofa next to me. “Holy cow, I can't believe it! You're there, and you're here – this is awesome!”

  “Yup, that's how a TV works.” I grinned at Cailie, shoving her playfully.

  “Shut up,” Cailie grinned back at me, whacking me with a fuzzy throw pillow. “Why didn't you tell us you were on TV?”

  “It's a 5-minute interview – they asked me to fill in for Michelle Akimoto – she suddenly came down with the flu. Didn't think any of you would even see it.”

  “Congrats, Victoria. Guess Trent was right. They didn't keep you behind the scenes for long,” said Rosaline sharply, butt-hurt. She turned back to face us, clipping the pear-drop diamonds onto her ears. “Cailie, why aren't you half as excited when you see me on TV?”

  “What do you mean?” Cailie's head slanted to one side. “I get plenty excited –”

  “And what are you doing here on a Friday night, anyway?” Rosaline harped, reaching into the front of her pink cocktail dress to mash her boobs together. “Isn't the Winter Formal tonight?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, why not act like a normal teenager and socialize with kids your age instead of hanging around us all the time?”

  Caught in the cross-fires of the sisterly shouting match, I could do nothing but sit in discomfited silence.

  “It's not like you ever listen to me, anyway,” Rosaline hammered on. “If you stopped insisting on that troll-doll hair and wearing all that metal on your face, I bet guys at school would totally –”

  “FYI, 2 guys asked me to the Winter Formal,” said Cailie, leaping to her feet. “I just didn't want to go. Thought I'd hang out over here instead, but I guess I was wrong.”

  “Cailie, c'mon, you don't have to –”

  “Don't be so melodramatic, Cailie,” said Rosaline, sniffing loudly. “I'm just looking out –”

  “Forget it. If I wanted to get ripped on for what I look like, I would've stayed home with Grandma.” Cailie grabbed her backpack and swung it over her shoulder roughly. “I'm just gonna go to Zoe's. I'll see you later, Victoria.”

  Rosaline seethed, her eyes tailing Cailie as she walked out the door. There were no fun times to be had within a 5-ft radius of Rosaline's wrath. I switched off the TV and got off the sofa.

  “I think I'm gonna go out and stretch my legs, too.” I reached for my phone and keys. “Have fun at the concert.”

  “My night's already off to a nightmarish start, but I'll try... Where did you say your glue was again?”

  “My makeup bag – look in my purse.”

  I left the apartment and climbed up the stairs to the 11th floor. I ambled down the hallway, checking the silver numbers on every door until I found 11-B. I gave it a hard knock and stepped back, waiting.

  The door opened.

  “Oh, hey. It's you.”

  I breathed out softly. Ace was topless, one arm raised as he dried off his wet dark hair with a towel. I smiled, deliberately looking away from his hard nipples and the sexy track of hair on his stomach.

  “I'm in the mood for some empanadas. Wanna come?”

  “Nah, I'm alright. I think I'm gonna stay in, chill out with a couple of beers.”

  “Oh, okay.” I paused, detecting the pink in his eyes. “You wanna share those beers?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  Ace let me in.

 
“Make yourself at home. I'm just gonna go grab a shirt.”

  As Ace disappeared into his room, I gave myself a little tour of his apartment. Everything felt warm and bright, from the ivory and wood paneled walls to the mocha-brown sofa sets and the checkered marble flooring. But what really made me swoon was the grand kitchen. There was a spotless curved kitchen island, stuffed red and gold stools, a massive stove top, 3 wall ovens, and a built-in grill. The entire red, white, and gold motif was coated with shiny lacquer.

  “No plans tonight?” Ace returned from his room, heading for the fridge.

  “I was going to hang out with Cailie, but our plans sorta fell through.” I sat down on the sofa, sinking into the heavenly cushion. “This place is beautiful, by the way.”

  “It's usually a war zone in here, but the cleaning lady was just here.” Ace handed me a beer, joining me on the sofa. “She does some pretty incredible work.”

  “Thanks.” I set my beer down on the end table. “Okay, now, you want to blame it on allergies, or do you want to tell me what's up?”

  “Don't worry about it. It's nothing. Not getting enough shut-eye, so my head's been on the fritz.”

  “No new letters, huh?” I placed one arm against the armrest, holding my head up with my fist.

  “Nope.” Ace jerked his head back, draining half his bottle. He lowered his beer, burping. “I was checking my messages this morning, and I accidentally deleted the outgoing message on our machine. I sat in front of the thing for 2 hours, trying to get it back. No bueno.”

  “I'm sorry. That sucks. You'd think we'd be able to undo something like that with the tech these days.”

  “I hear that.” Ace took another drink, turning away from me. “Shit's rough, man. I feel like I'm in limbo here. Just when I thought I was making progress, this comes at me out of nowhere.”

  “You're gonna figure this out.” I sat up, inching closer to him. “But you'll burn out if you keep going on like this. Are you seeing a therapist?”

  “I have you, don't I?” Ace smirked. “Nah, I'm alright. I've been to a session or 2. Not really my thing.”

  “You know, you're gonna have to give it more than just 'a session or 2.' Change doesn't happen in 2 hours.”