Hard to Score

by K. Bromberg

  “Bookies? Are we talking about loan sharks and mafia—”

  “Yes. Drew. I owed money—a lot of it—to some very bad people.”

  Jesus Christ.

  I stare at the man before me and wonder how someone so strong could fall into that trap, how he could have been so weak, but it’s not like he’s the only one who ever has.

  “I was so in the hole, and I was convinced that I could make one more significant bet and win, and that would turn things around. But it never happened. The payout never came and they wanted their money back.” He falls quiet for a beat before continuing. “They came to the house one night. You were in the street playing catch with the Merriman kid, and they pulled in the driveway and let me know that they were done waiting. That I either pay up or they’d take my pride and joy away from me.” His breath hitches and he averts his eyes to stare at his hands. A tear drops onto where they are clasped as he takes in a shaky breath. “I’ll never forget that feeling when they threatened your life.”

  The words are deafening to hear.

  The memories faint. My dad in the driveway. Three guys talking to him. Me squinting from down the street trying to figure out who they were. The SUV driving away and my dad telling me to get inside. I asked what was wrong but he said nothing.

  “They made sure to let me know they knew everything about your schedule. When your practice was over. The name of the girl you’d been kissing at the party you’d gone to the night before. The route you jogged when you went for a run. Fucking everything, Drew,” he says when he finally lifts his eyes to meet mine. “And it terrified me because I knew they weren’t joking.”

  I move for the first time since I’ve come into his office, and perch myself on the edge of the chair across from him. I’m looking at a truly defeated man. One I barely even recognize. Have I ever seen that in this man?

  “They let their threat sink in for a few days before I heard from them again. That’s when they told me how I could clear my debt.”

  “Throw a game.”

  “Not just any game, but a game against the Colts. We were, by and large, a huge favorite, and a win against them would have put us in the AFC Championship.” His sigh sounds like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “They were going to bet on the long shot, the Colts, and when they won the point spread, they’d make back what I owed them plus interest.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the cops? The league—”

  “Because they told me you were the consequence. If I told the cops, if I didn’t throw the game . . . you were the consequence, Drew.”

  Chills snake down my spine. This conversation went in a direction I never expected it to go. I’m at a loss, trying to comprehend it all.

  “So I did it. I missed passes. I dropped handoffs. I threw the game even when every bone in my body revolted against doing it.”

  “You threw up on the sidelines during the game.” The memory comes out of my mouth without realizing it. I remember it though. The commentators wondering if he was ill and trying to play through it. The speculation afterward that he was using—his excuse.

  “I did. I was so sick to my stomach but I had no choice. It was you—my everything—or a game I loved. There was no question who to choose.” He shakes his head. “But I was naïve. I thought I could throw the game and no one would know. I thought I’d be able to pull it off. But weeks later, someone tipped off that a large bet had been made on the game. The gamblers were long gone with their winnings but their threats were still present while I took center stage.”

  I remember those first days after the accusations came. The yelling behind my parents’ bedroom door when they thought we’d fallen asleep. The press camped out on our lawn. Their sudden clinginess to Maggs and me and our every move.

  “I thought I could ride it out. I thought it would blow over. Kenyon was trying to tell me what to do, but I shut him out. I knew if he looked closely he’d know the truth. He knew me too well, and I couldn’t stomach letting him down either. So I went to meet with my team without telling him. They told me the NFL was launching a full investigation into the game and my actions. They told me that the NFL was possibly going to strip the club of our Super Bowl win the year before. They were questioning if I let the Colts get closer in points because I was betting the split.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I don’t expect you to believe me, but no. I didn’t. I told them it was a load of crap. They responded with their own offer. If I walked away from the game and never spoke of the situation again, they’d pay out the rest of my contract. They said they believed me that I didn’t do it, but they couldn’t risk the NFL taking the championship away or investigating all of our other games. They said it was a one-time offer and I had to accept right then and there or I could face the investigation.” Tears pool in his eyes again. “I took the deal, son. I was broke, I’d ruined my career, and if I took the deal I had a way to provide for my family.”

  I lean back in my chair and close my eyes as I replay his words over and over in my head. As I try to poke holes through things I have no knowledge of. But why would he lie? Why all these years later would he lie?

  But then I remember he had.

  “You blamed this on Kenyon. You even stood in my house last week and told me to kick Brexton out because she’s his daughter. You gave me the ultimatum—her or you. Why? Are you that weak a man you had to blame somebody else?”

  “Yes.” He nods and then shakes his head. “Do you remember that day I told you? You were so angry and I was more than devastated over what I’d done to my family and walking away from all I’d ever known. You yelled at me. You questioned and demanded and, for the first time in your life, you looked at me like you were ashamed. I deserved it. Fuck did I. But I will never forget that look in your eye and so when you asked if Kenyon was at fault, I took the chickenshit way out and ran with it. And I’ve sold the lie, protected it, fostered it, ever since because I needed you to believe that I was a good guy, son. I needed to know that even after I did all of this, you didn’t hate me.”

  I shove up out of the chair, brace my hands on the back of my neck, and walk to the windows, looking out at the pitch-black beyond the panes.

  “But you blamed somebody else,” I say, my voice rising in pitch. “Couldn’t you just once, own up to something? Couldn’t you just—fuck!”

  Frustration eats at me. I understand why he did one thing but not the other. I understand making a reckless, split-second decision in the moment, but I can’t comprehend carrying it on for ten years.

  “Son—”

  “Please, don’t son me right now. Please don’t . . .” I scrub my hands over my face and blow out a breath. Fuck. I lost the Kincades due to my father’s selfishness. I lost two good men in my life, and look how that has screwed with every aspect of it. I lost respect for a man who still deserves it. And Kenyon then lost Claire. And Brex . . . My mom should have been there for Brex and her sisters when they lost their mom. But because of this man in front of me, she lost my mom too. Fuck. So fucking selfish. That’s what I can’t reconcile. He could have made this play out differently. “So even if this is all true—”

  “It is true.”

  “Even if this is all true,” I repeat, “it doesn’t make any sense why you kept me at arm’s length. If I was threatened, if you did all of this to save me, why did it feel like you didn’t love me anymore? Why did it feel like you wanted nothing to fucking do with me?”

  And isn’t that the goddamn question of the year? Because even if I believe all of what he said, I can’t bring myself to understand why he acted like he did.

  “They picked you because you were my world. Yes, I love your mother and Maggs in their own ways, but you were a carbon copy of me. Right or wrong, Drew, the sun rose and set with you. I thought, I figured, if I stepped back and didn’t outwardly show that it did—that you’d be safe. That they’d know nothing mattered to me and therefore there was nothing more they could threaten.” />
  My chest aches beneath my breastbone and my head swims with all of this.

  “But your debt was paid. Life moved on. At some point that no longer became a valid excuse.”

  “At first, they left notes letting me know they were still watching, that they would know if I told anyone the truth . . . but you’re right. Everything moved on except the fear I lived with every day that someone wanted to hurt you because of me.”

  “I don’t buy that. I can’t. I spent every goddamn game looking in the stands at all the other fathers cheering their sons on praying there’d come a day when I’d see you there. Even if it were in the shadows with a hat hiding who you were, I wanted you there. I still do.” It kills me to admit it but it’s true. “I spent week after week trying to make you proud, trying to make you feel anything when it came to me other than indifference. Maggie could overdose and have a kid and fuck up time and again and it was okay, but I played a game you walked away from and you hated me for it.”

  “I never hated you for it, Drew.” He shakes his head frantically. “Never. I was so proud of you but I was terrified you’d fall into the trap I fell into. I was worried that you were so like me in every other aspect that—”

  “That what? I’d be weak like you and fuck up my whole life?” my voice thunders. “Well, guess what, you still fucked it up.”

  He nods. His shoulders sag and his posture is defeated. “Until the one thing you love the most has been threatened, until you are in my shoes, you have no clue the lengths you’d go to, to save your kids. Even if that means being hated when all is said and done.”

  “I think it would make you hold on tighter to the things you love.”

  “Perhaps.” He nods and meets my eyes with a clarity I haven’t seen in some time. “I only hope in time you’ll be able to forgive me.”

  I stare at the man I used to idolize and wonder if I’ll ever be able to forgive him, or if the years of hurt and what felt like neglect are too powerful to overcome.

  I think of the endless unknown we lived with, the lies we were covered in, and wonder how different things could have been without them. For Maggie and Charley. For my mom. For me.

  “I don’t know.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said in the moment and when he meets my eyes, I can’t stand the sadness I see. The hope is erased. The realization that even though he told his truth, it might not be enough.

  My mom has been in hiding, rather than the socialite she loved to be. Maggie lost a present father all those years ago, and all it took was some asshole showing her attention, and we lost her too. Did his addiction foster hers somehow? Or would we have eventually lost her anyway? And my story is just as disappointing.

  Until now.

  But I refuse to let it be.

  I need to turn this around.

  I will turn this around.

  And without another word, I walk out of the house. Emotions and realizations spin and whirl and own every part of me.

  At the end of the day, I’d been right.

  My father’s selfishness destroyed our family. Our lives . . . to a point.

  Hell yes, I’m doing well, but it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. I think of Brexton and smile.

  I cannot right the wrongs of my past, but I can make better decisions going forward.

  I can be the man I want to be.

  I can be the man she deserves after all.

  DREW

  I DRIVE.

  With no destination in mind.

  With no direction predetermined.

  I just drive.

  To consider the consequences that now I know the truth to.

  To clear my head.

  To quiet my restlessness.

  His story makes sense but it infuriates me at the same time.

  Hours pass. They feel like minutes one moment and infinite in others.

  I end up at the beach where I stare at the stars above and listen to the waves crash against the sand.

  Finally, I find the courage to pick up my cell and dial.

  “Drew?”

  Every part of me sighs at the sound of her voice. I fucking miss her. I miss everything about her. Her contagious laugh and her no-nonsense attitude. Her quiet advice and astute observations. Christ, I could name a million things about her but what it comes down to is that I just miss her. All of her. Completely. And it’s time to fix that.

  BREXTON

  MY HEART POUNDS IN MY chest as I sit up in bed in my Chicago hotel room and wait to see what Drew called for.

  “Hi,” he finally says.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m going to be.”

  “I’m so very glad to hear that.” I close my eyes and breathe for what feels like the first time in a week.

  “I’m at the beach.” He pauses. “Want to stare at the stars with me?”

  My smile is slow but steady at that simple question. “I’m in a hotel in Chicago,” I say, repeating his phrasing. “I’d love to stare at the stars with you.”

  And we sit in silence on the phone with the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing to keep us company.

  I think of the utter loneliness I’ve felt over the past week with his absence and marvel how a simple phone call, the sound of his voice—his breaths—has erased it and then some. I can imagine he’s hurting, but I’m more than thrilled he turned to me when he wanted to process whatever happened.

  When he wanted to wish on the stars.

  When he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

  The silence feels a little less lonely with him to share it with.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly after some time has passed.

  “I finally got answers, Brex. I’m not sure how they make me feel, but I finally have answers.”

  With a pillow hugged to my chest, a tear slides down my cheek. “It took you ten years to get answers, so it might take ten years to understand them,” I whisper.

  “I need to tell you about it, but later. Right now I just want this. I just need this.”

  “I’m here, Drew.”

  “I miss you.”

  That one tear turns into more at those three words. “I miss you too.”

  I love you, but then again, I always have.

  BREXTON

  Dekker: Where are you?

  Me: On my flight back home. Why?

  Dekker: Buy the Wi-Fi.

  Me: WTF?

  Dekker: Trust me. Buy the damn Wi-Fi. Turn on the Raptors game.

  My pulse begins to race when I read my sister’s text. I scramble to grab my laptop and power it on.

  Me: Okay. Why?

  Dekker: You’ll know the minute you see it.

  It feels like it takes forever for my computer to turn on and to navigate the slower-than-shit process to get Internet on the plane.

  But when I do, when I pay the extra fee for faster Wi-Fi and finally get the game to stream, I’m vibrating in my seat in anticipation.

  The score is seven to nothing in the Raptors’ favor as their defense tries to stop a fourth down-push from the Steelers. They succeed, and I stare at the screen expecting Hobbs to be running on the field and am surprised when I see Drew.

  He’s starting. Again. Oh my God. This is huge. Two starts in two games.

  Two starts in two games leading into postseason.

  My eyes are glued to the screen as Drew runs onto the field with the rest of his offense. They huddle together for a moment and just before they break, the camera swings around to Drew’s back.

  It’s then that I see it.

  Dekker wasn’t telling me Drew was starting.

  She was telling me I needed to see this.

  She was remembering a conversation way back when just like I do right now.

  “Like I’d ever put that shit on my helmet.” He snorts and crosses his arms over his chest in annoyance.

  “Not even if you were madly in love?” she asks.

  “Nope,” he says and emits
an exasperated sigh.

  “You’re telling me if it was the only way to profess your undying love for someone that you wouldn’t do it?”

  “Dekker.” Her name is a frustrated warning.

  “Well?” she asks.

  “Sure. Yes. Of course. That’s exactly how I’d profess my undying love for someone. A public statement for everyone to see, because I especially enjoy the guys razzing the shit out of me over it just like I am to the dude on the TV right now.”

  “I’m serious,” Dekker adds.

  “So am I. Better yet, I think that’s the way I’ll propose to the woman I plan to marry. Nothing like ridiculous fucking gestures to make the whole moment that much sweeter.”

  “But you’ve always said you’re never going to get married.”

  “Exactly,” he says with a definitive nod and a chuckle as he drops the remote control in mic-drop fashion before striding out.

  I gasp out in surprise and then cover my mouth when my seatmate glances my way.

  But I can’t help it.

  How can I?

  Not when I see the ILYBK in big black letters on the back of Drew’s helmet.

  Letters he swore he’d never put on a helmet unless it was a woman he wants to marry.

  “Oh. My. God.” It’s Dekker’s voice in my ear, but it’s my heart that I’m listening to.

  The one that is so full of love for the man I’m madly head over heels for.

  The man I’m going to marry.

  Wishes do come true after all.

  BREXTON

  I CAN’T GET TO MY door fast enough when the knock sounds. I fling it open to see Drew standing there, his grin wide, but his demeanor nonchalant as can be.

  “Hi.” I breathe the word out as it takes everything I have not to launch myself at him. “Great game. Congrats on the win.”