by Mj Fields
I see her first. She has a little more ass than before, which would be great if it was a turn off. It’s not. When she turns, I see her smiling at London, and I see a baby carrier strapped to her chest, so I don’t know if the B’s have grown or not, but I’m assuming so. She looks good from here.
She kisses the hat on the baby’s head and bounces up and down a bit then starts to sway. I see the baby look up at her and see her mouth moving. The baby puts her hand in her mouth and seems to be chewing on it. Then she pulls it out, pulls something from the bag strapped to her, and wipes off its hand, a hand that promptly lands on the side of her face. Her head tips back, and she starts fucking laughing, right before she kisses its head a dozen or more times.
Fuck.
I sit down and watch her smile. She’s fucking beautiful and happy. If I weren’t so fucking insanely jealous of whoever’s kid that was, I would fucking walk over there. But fuck her for being that happy without me.
When I see her unstrap the carrier and London takes the baby, it pisses me off. Then she starts to hurry toward the exit, and I decide now is as good a time as ever.
I hurry down the stairs and toward where she exited. She must have gone to the bathroom, so I wait outside it, hoping I’m right. It seems like I’m there forever before she finally walks out, looking down.
I don’t say shit; just step in her way.
She doesn’t slow down, paying no fucking attention when she runs into me. Unlike every other time this has happened, I’m prepared to ensure she doesn’t land on her ass.
When I grab her hips, she laughs and looks up.
No words come out, but she shakes her head, looking fucking terrified of me.
“What’s up, Keeka?”
She does the open and closing of her mouth with no words a few times before I smirk.
“Not even gonna stutter for me?”
She’s frozen, stiff as a fucking board.
“You sent me the moon, yet I can’t even get a little sunshine, Ray? I haven’t seen you in … How many months has it been?”
She whispers, “Hi.”
I study her face. “You wanna tell me whose kid that was strapped to you out there? The one who made you smile bigger than I ever could?”
“Not-not-not—”
“There it is.” I smirk, and her face immediately turns red. “I’m not picking on you. It’s one of the many things I miss about you.”
“Trucker, this isn’t a good time.” She tries to push my hands off her hips.
“It could be a hell of a lot better if you’d just tell me. Then tell me he isn’t in the picture, and I could give you a private tour of the locker room.”
“He’s definitely in the picture.”
Her words knock the wind out of me, and she uses that to her advantage, pushing my hands away before running down the hallway.
“Truth or tale?” I yell after her. Then I lean against the wall and fucking try to catch my breath. But I realize it’s not going to happen, so I head out to face the other fuckers who hate me.
I see her hugging London and taking the baby as she says something to her.
London visibly tenses then hugs her. Logan is all over that shit, too.
I’m standing behind his ass when he asks, “Is Leddie okay?”
“She’s fine.” Keeka wipes away a few tears. “She’s got to be fine, okay? You have to promise that—”
She stops when she sees me.
“Links.”
Logan straightens up when he hears my voice and hands London a set of keys. “You get her home.”
“Yeah, of course,” London says, and then they take off.
When he turns around, he looks pissed, and all I can do is fucking smile. And not because of him, but because I’m looking at a hot piece of ass, and the chick who’s going to make this day even bearable.
Isabella Steel is helping with the fundraiser. She manages or does PR for a band who offered to play because they were friends with Brody and Maddox Hines, Steel Total Destruction. I messaged her an offer she couldn’t refuse last night.
“Hey.” I nod to her.
“Hello again.” She smiles.
“Isabella,” Logan interrupts, “what can I do for you?”
“Well, I won’t take up much of your time, but I wanted you to know that Trucker here boxed me on IG after seeing some of the live feed from last night and offered to help raise some money.”
“That’s great.” Logan gives a bullshit smile.
“Said he’ll do anything.” She winks at me. “He also said, knowing you, you’d do the same.”
Logan is fucked. He can’t say no.
“Great.”
She smiles. “We’ve decided to do closed bids for the bachelor auctions and have already calculated the numbers. We’re up to twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“That’s good news. The money will be put to good use.”
“He and I think that, announcing Trucker will be joining his best friend on his date, we could make a minimum of five thousand dollars more.”
“I don’t think—”
“I insist, brother.” I grin at his dumb ass.
“Wonderful.” She starts to tap away at her phone.
“I think keeping them separate will do more,” Logan says quickly.
She holds up her phone and smiles. “Already up eight hundred dollars, and it’s been under a minute. See you guys around.”
And … she’s gone.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses at me.
“Playoffs are over, bro. Season’s over. I’m here to do my part.”
“A week ago, you had no intention of doing shit,” he snarls.
“Season’s over.” I shrug.
“Huh, I didn’t even watch a game.”
Fucking stings, but I decide to give him a jab.
“Finally fucking the Fields’ girl, are you?”
“She’s none of your damn business.” Just like I thought—he’s seeing red.
“Well, she seems to be all up in some business I need to deal with, so how about you back the fuck off, stop giving that little bitch Keeka a fucking shoulder and a place to stay, and let me deal with her?”
“Call her a bitch one more time, and you’ll be shitting teeth.”
“You fucking them both?” I laugh. “Damn, Links, we had a code. We don’t swap cunt.”
He draws back his arm to hit me, and I fucking want him to. I want him to lose his shit.
“Not here.”
I look to my left and see Maddox.
“Hey, Maddox, long time, no—”
“Go fuck yourself,” Maddox snaps at me.
What the fuck? I think, and then look at Logan. “Wow, you and that little skank have pissed all over my name, haven’t you?”
“I truly hope, for your sake, you aren’t talking about one of my sisters,” Maddox growls at me.
“I haven’t changed that much, man.” I laugh, still trying to keep it light. “I was talking about the little bullshit artist London left with.”
“Then you are speaking of my sister. One more word, and you’ll be lucky to wake up in time for the fundraiser.”
“I said—”
“She’s London’s fucking sister,” Logan interrupts.
“Stay away from her and her daughter.” Maddox points his finger an inch from my face.
“Daughter?” I swallow hard, still trying to wrap my brain around what I just learned.
“Get the fuck out of here.” Logan shakes his head. “Just fucking go.”
I take a deep breath, still trying to process it all, then turn and walk away.
I see Coach Brown waving me over and nod as I walk toward what was once Jones’ team.
Lying in bed at the Crown, I take my phone off the charger and send her a text.
Trucker
Your dad Troy Fields or Brody Hines?
I wait forever to get a response.
Keeka
Troy.
I
hit call, and she answers with, “I can’t talk right now, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay.”
“They’re all here, and I need to-to-to—”
“Breathe,” I say then yawn.
“How can I, Trucker? How can I when you’re suffocating me?”
“Haven’t seen you in months; how the hell am I suffocating you?”
“I have no idea what you want from me, but—”
“Asked for the truth, and all I get is a no, from you and the worst treatment from everyone around you. So answer me this, Ray: am I or not?”
“No.”
“You’re telling tales.”
“I’m not playing games, Trucker. My child isn’t a toy or a pawn. She is going to be loved and happy and—”
“Let’s discuss a game, shall we? Let’s talk about the game of custody.”
“Trucker, just shut up.”
“Let’s talk about the fact that whoever the father of the little shit you were all fucking gaga over today possibly having enough money to fight for something that is his, even though you’ve landed yourself in the middle of real life fairy tale. Let’s talk about the fact that the little shit may have to—”
“My child is not a little shit! She is sweet and innocent—”
“Well, you better make damn sure you surround her with some of those new family members of yours, Keeka, because that child sure as fuck doesn’t have a sweet and innocent mother, now does she? She has a lying, half-fucking-crazy—”
I stop spewing anger when I hear the line go dead.
I wake up angry, so fucking angry that I physically ache. My fucking knees have been bugging me, too. That hasn’t been an issue all fucking season. As a matter of fact, it hasn’t been an issue since I fucking fell on my knees before a girl who I was pretty damn sure I was in love with.
Hell, when I got the moon the other night, I felt something … Hope? And then today …
How fucking thin is the line between love and hate?
That question stays with me all day, and as I sit across the Dome, watching all the things going on around me, all I can see is her. She’s with the man who was my best fucking friend for damn near all my life. She’s found out who her father was, seems really close to her sister, and is hell-bent on making every motherfucker hate me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. It’s showtime. The bachelor auction.
I stand up, sigh, and decide Isabella Steel could be one hell of a distraction.
I watch as some of the girls who were, moments ago, hanging around London and Keeka take the stage and start talking about the night of the shooting. Apparently, they were there.
“Hello, everyone. My name’s Jamie, and I’m a student here at SU. We would like to thank y’all for coming today to help raise money for the victims’ families and the survivors of the horrific events that happened on January 27th.”
Another girl steps up, and I fucking can’t take it. Can’t stop wondering if they saw JJ. If he went fast. How …? Fuck!
“Hi, I’m London Fields—”
I look up and see her standing there, looking like a nervous wreck.
“I’m a student here and was at Chaos on January 27th when hell rained down on us.”
“You’re a hero, London!” someone in the crowd yells.
“I’m no hero. I … I just … I’m a theater student, and I can promise you it’s so much easier to be on stage when I’m not expected to be me. As I said, I’m no hero. I just reacted.” She holds her hand over her heart. “I reacted the way I felt I should, without second-guessing myself. I reacted because that’s what I have been taught to do in times of need and in times of tragedy.”
When the crowd claps again, she looks at Keeka, who smiles at her and nods.
“Looking over this crowd, I know that so many of you would have done the same if you were in the same situation. Looking beside me, I know they would have done the same if given the chance. I know this because two people’s courage are the only reason I’m here.”
“Number forty-two!” someone yells Logan’s number.
“He was one of them. Another was the woman who stood beside me, helping me boost people up so they could escape.” She looks down. “When he came through the bathroom door, she tried to reason with him.” She pauses and puts her hand on her heart. “I don’t know her name, but I wish I could thank her for all of those who survived because of her courage, including myself.”
Logan walks on stage and puts his hand on her shoulder.
When the crowd begins to chant his name, he sighs.
“For several days, we’ve mourned those we lost. We’ve questioned strangers, we have grieved, and we have been angry because we will never know why that son of a bitch walked into a place of celebration and good times and opened fire on complete and total strangers to him. Those people were not strangers to us. They were family, they were friends, they were coworkers, neighbors.” He looks at London. “They were the person we love more than we could have ever imagined.”
He turns back and looks at the crowd. “What I did wasn’t heroic. It was fucking stupid.”
The crowd erupts in laughter, while Logan shakes his head and looks down.
“Like London, it wasn’t a choice. It was a reaction. I’m sorry I didn’t hit the son of a bitch when I drove through the window. But the truth is, I can’t change the past. None of us can. What we can do is live for them and make each moment, every moment count. Today, we celebrate life and the lives lost. Today, we come together with love in our hearts and hope for a better future.”
The crowd erupts in applause, cheers, and whistles, and then Isabella Steel stands at the mic.
“Hello, Syracuse! I am Isabella Steel. I’m here today with Steel Total Destruction.”
Applause erupts.
“I kind of forced my way into being part of one of the many fundraising efforts held today. I mean, who wouldn’t want to take over the Ten Most Wanted Bachelors auction?” She laughs.
The crowd whistles and applauds her.
“While we wait for the amazing volunteers—many students here at Syracuse University and many more from the community—to take down everything you have enjoyed throughout the day and get ready for the show—”
More applause.
“—let’s see who won the silent bids for an amazing date with some of SU’s Ten Most Wanted Bachelors?”
The screen behind Isabella lights up, and an old wanted picture pops up with Mitch on it. Fucker.
“Our number ten most wanted is Mitchell Westcott. Mitch is a senior at SU. He’s six-foot tall and plays the defensive line. Come on up, Mitch!” Isabella introduces, and he walks out. “Mitchell’s date paid over five thousand dollars for a night on the town. Big Boy Limousine service will pick him and his date up and take them to Dinosaur Barbeque where they will enjoy a meal for two. After dinner, they will be taken to Destiny USA to Wonder World, where they can play laser tag, conquer the rope course, and then watch a movie at IMAX theaters.” She hands Mitch an envelope, and he opens it.
“And the winner of my date is … Tonya Ports!”
I tune the whole shitshow out, wondering how many have fucked Keeka.
When I get a text telling me I’m up, I stand and make my way closer
“Logan Links is our number one Most Wanted Bachelor, and it’s no wonder. Who wouldn’t want a sexy football star who turns into a superhero when needed?” Isabella Steel smiles at him as she hands him a similar envelope. “But wait!” She smiles. “Logan has a best friend who reached out and wanted to be a part of tonight, as well. Trucker Cohen is part of this … package. Trucker, come on up!”
I walk on stage, smiling and waving at the crowd.
“Well, this is quite the package.” Isabella Steel walks behind us. “Two men, one offense, one defense, but both seem to have tight ends.”
She walks around the front of us and stands between us. Then she looks up at Logan and smiles. He looks at
her out of the corner of his eye.
“Hi,” she says flirtatiously.
He raises his hand and gives a sharp wave.
“You must be the quiet one,” she notes before turning and looking at me. She does the same flirtatious, “Hi.”
“Hey, baby.” I wink, making everyone laugh.
“And this one”—she steps forward, thumbing over her shoulder at me—“is not the quiet one.”
Everyone laughs again.
“Must be why they’ve made such a great team for …” She looks at me. “How long did you say you two have been best friends?”
“Seventeen … No, sixteen years.”
She laughs. “One bad year, huh?”
I laugh, thinking, you have no clue.
“Logan and Trucker’s shared date paid over fifteen thousand dollars for her date with the number one Most Wanted and the number one draft pick last year. The winner of this date will be flown to New York City, where she will spend two nights in a luxury suite in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, compliments of Gold Crown Resorts. They will spend one evening on Broadway, having dinner and watching a production. The second evening will be spent in the Resort’s spa, where they will enjoy a couple’s”—she laughs—“or triple’s massage and being pampered the entire night, ending with room service for three in her suite.
“Logan, the envelope?”
I watch as he opens the envelope, hoping it’s her, knowing it won’t be, and cursing myself for even thinking it.
“The winner is … Madison Brown”—he flips the card over—“who can’t be here tonight but is excited to meet us in New York on”—he shakes his head—“February fourteenth.”
“Perfect.” I clap. “Valentine’s Day is for love.”
I decide to eye-bang the Steel chick, hoping it pisses Keeka off. She throws her head back and laughs before looking off stage.
“Looks like we’re about fifteen minutes from the start of the show. Take a look at your tickets and feel free to start finding your seats, and be prepared to get rocked!”
When I walk off stage and see Lucas, I decided fuck it. Let’s see how deep this hate well runs.
“Hey, Lucas.”
“Trucker, how’s it going?” He smiles a genuine fucking smile. “Great season you had, son.”