Second Down Love: A Second Chance Sports Romance

by Kara Hart

  “Hey,” he says, head aimed down at the ground. “What's up?”

  “Nothing,” I groan. “Can't sleep. You?”

  He shrugs. He's wearing this old-school wife beater and it always makes me laugh to myself. I grew up with this guy and I know just how much of a little boy he still is to this day. Most likely, he's walking into his room to play another round of PlayStation. “Just dealing with business. Nothing you'd be too concerned about. Although, maybe you should be,” he says.

  “Yeah, well. I'm concerned about what happened,” I say, eyes still out of focus from too little of sleep. “I just don't jump to conclusions. You know, I use my head a little.”

  I can tell that I've struck a nerve when he scowls and says, “Fuck off, sister. This is a man’s game. Mind your own business.”

  “Gross.” I close my door and rest my head against the wood. Being in this house is like being 13 again. The fact that I'm even around my brother tells me I need to get out of the house.

  I quickly get dressed and practically run out of the old house. “Where you going?” My dad yells out at me.

  “Out!” I slam the door behind me and text Teresa, an old friend:

  I'm bored out of my skull. Please help. I need a drink!

  Teresa stayed behind when I left for college in San Francisco. She said she didn't want to leave her family, but I was always convinced she was pressured to stay. She texted me constantly, and she was always bored. I just knew she would be down for a quick morning margarita or something fancy.

  Two minutes later, I'm sitting on the curb outside, and my phone vibrates. She says:

  God, I just woke up and that sounds purr-fect! Wanna hit the Hideaway or what?

  Our favorite bar, the Hideaway, is a total fancy wasteland. It’s definitely not a place I would normally want to go, but they always have the best drinks and we’ve been going ever since high school, back when we had to show our fake ID’s. I immediately call the number for a cab. I text her back.

  Is that even a question, girl? See you in 10 minutes!

  Finally, my cab arrives and we head to the bar. When I get into the cab, I tell him the address and we speed off. “Having a good day?” the cab driver asks me.

  I’m about to answer when I glance out the window. The sun is shining, the weather is at least somewhat nice out, and I’m away from the house for a little while. So yeah, I’m feeling pretty good. But when I look outside a second time, I see him, that man again. He’s hidden in an alleyway, just standing and smoking. He takes one look at me and gives me a half-smile, and then quickly fades into oblivion.

  “What the fuck?” I say out loud, as we drive away. Was it really him or were my eyes playing tricks on me? This time, he really looked… handsome. Okay, it’s a weird thing to admit. Some unknown mobster that killed a fake uncle of mine, whom I never really knew, is hot? Yeah, I guess that’s a pretty weird thing to admit to myself, but the thought popped into my head nevertheless.

  The cab driver glares at me through the mirror. “I asked you how your day was. It’s disrespectful to curse at me in my cab, lady.”

  I immediately snap out of it. “I, uh,” I start to stutter, “I’m sorry. I just thought of something weird.”

  The driver just shakes his head and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath. What a tight ass, I think to myself. Maybe I am going crazy. It’s been a tough few days and I chalk the visions of that man up my lack of sleep and unbearable amount of stress I’ve had lately.

  When we pull up to the bar, I hand the driver the money. Only, he waves his hand at me and declines to take it. “No, thank you. It’s been paid for already,” he says. And when he sees that I’m confused, he adds, “By a man. Very well dressed. He gave me the money, don’t worry.”

  “Oh…” It’s all I can really say. “So the cab ride has been paid for? How? I didn’t see anyone do it.”

  He shrugs and says “It’s been paid for, okay?” I don’t budge and he sighs loudly like he’s annoyed with me. “Look, we’re not normally allowed to do this kind of a thing, but he paid me extra. Okay? The guy caught me a few roads down and flagged me down, holding a wad of cash. I couldn’t exactly say no to the guy. Could I?”

  “No,” I whisper, “I guess not. Um, have a good day.”

  “Yeah, you too,” he says, peeling away from the bar.

  Before I even have time to think about what just happened, Teresa jumps out from the entrance and screams loudly. “Bianca, you bitch! There you are!” I hated when she called me that. It was supposed to be endearing, but it was anything but. Still, it was really good to see her face again.

  “Teresa! I've missed you so much,” I say, throwing my arms around her.

  “It's good to have you back in the best city in America,” she smiles. I look around the barren street and shrug.

  “I'm not so sure about that, but it's okay,” I laugh. “Lately, I've just been going crazy at my dads’ house. I hate being back in that world, you know?”

  “Tell me about it. I live in that world,” she sighs.

  We both walk into the bar and grab a table. We quickly order our drinks and wait. “So what's your family going to do?” she asks me, tapping her fingers on the table.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, feeling a bit confused. My thoughts are still on that man. There's something about him that pulls me in. Maybe it's the mystery surrounding him. Or maybe it's just that I'm still in shock by the events at the funeral. I'm still not even one hundred percent sure that was him I saw this morning.

  “The thing that happened to Tony. Everyone knows what happened,” she says. “My dad says they're all waiting on Ricky to direct them what to do. Sorry I didn't go by the way.”

  The waiter gives us our drinks and we clink our glasses together. “To friendship and family,” she says. I simply smile. Yeah, friendship and family. The kind of friendship that gets you a bullet to the head, right?

  After I take a sip from my margarita, I ask her “Why are you talking to your dad about that?”

  “What?” She jumps in her seat and looks threatened. “I was curious. It's like I said. Everyone is talking about it.”

  That's when I remember. This is exactly the reason why I left Detroit in the first place. It's a big city, but a small fucking scene. If one thing happens, everybody’s talking. That includes my friend, Teresa.

  “Well, don't. It's weird,” I say, “Like, this is my family, remember? It's not some mafia television show.”

  She laughs. “I know, sorry. It's just… Well, you know my dad. It's all he cares about. You know what he's been doing lately? He's been running around the house, wielding his gun. He keeps shouting about how he's going to take those motherfucking New Yorkers down.” She snorts loudly.

  “Oh, God…” I groan, putting my head in my hands. I can just imagine her dad, with that deep Italian voice and fat belly, yelling about vengeance. “When will these men stop? They're like six-year-olds forever. I swear, I don't know how any of these women deal with their husbands. My mom’s lucky she’s not around for all of this.”

  “Seriously, my mom is like an eternal wreck. Fucking men, right?” She laughs and drinks about half of her drink awkwardly.

  “Speaking of that night,” I say, eyes lighting up. “There was this guy at the funeral…”

  Her face breaks out into a sly smile. “Did you fuck someone at your grandpa’s funeral?” I smile and for some reason she takes this as some kind of admission. “Oh my God, you did!”

  “No, it's not like that,” I explain. “The guy isn't even my type. It's weird, I've never seen him before, but the look in his eye said he knew all about me. It was kind of unsettling, actually.”

  “And that turned you on?” She squints at me. I can already tell what she's thinking. “I thought you hated Italian men.”

  “No,” I laugh. “I don't hate all Italian men. Besides, this guy was different. It was like he was thinking the same thing as me.” What I failed to tell her, of
course, is that he’s probably the guy who shot Tony. Oh, fuck. I start to realize how crazy I sound, so I try to change the subject. “Never mind about it. It's just one of those stupid fantasy type situations. I don't really want to fuck the guy.”

  “Bullshit,” she says. “You totally want to ride his face. Don't lie to me. This is the only reason I left my house today, to hear all the juicy shit you've been storing in that brain of yours.”

  Our drinks are nearly finished and I'm feeling a little tipsy. “Okay, fine. I want to ride him until he cums,” I say. “Are you happy?”

  “Only a little,” she laughs. “So, tell me. Who is our mystery man? We have to find him for you.”

  “Teresa, don't you dare start with that,” I groan. “He's just some man. And I'm pretty sure he’s dangerous, so I'd rather not see him again.”

  “You're no fun,” she says. “A little danger never hurt a girl. Take my last boyfriend, for instance. He just got out of prison when I met him and he was wild, girl. Ugh, God, we had the craziest sex.”

  “It's not going to happen. First of all, I don't know who he is or where he's from, or what,” I say. “Second, I'm not about to try and fuck a made man. Who knows what kind of baggage the guy has buried deep inside.”

  She waves her hand at me, flicking her wrist. “Pfft. Your loss.”

  When I finish my drink, I start to regret even mentioning seeing the guy in front of her. She could go run her mouth to her family and then I'd have to deal with getting questioned for hours. As much as I love Teresa, she can be a little gossipy.

  With her, it's always boys, boys, boys. But I was interested in other things, like my studies and my life back in the Bay Area. Besides, she doesn’t know that I just got my heart smashed by some idiot tech guy from the Mission District. I'm not about to unload that mess on her.

  We spend the rest of the time reminiscing and bonding over old memories. Three drinks in and I'm practically falling over myself. When a few hours pass, she walks me out. “Are you going to be here for a while?” she asks me.

  “Just for a couple of weeks,” I tell her. “I can't say I'm excited about it.”

  She frowns. “Oh, come on. It's not that bad. I know you're a West Coast girl now and you're too good for us, but try and have some hometown pride!”

  I give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You're the only good thing in this city, Teresa. I've got all the pride in the world for our friendship.”

  “Me and that guy, right?” She laughs.

  “Oh, God. Why do I tell you anything?” We say our goodbyes and promise to call each other, although I know how that’ll turn out.

  Instead of calling a cab home, I decide to walk the path. I’m drunk and feeling happy enough. The weather isn’t terrible, and the exercise could probably do me some good. Any time away from my crazy house sounds good to me.

  The streets are different in Detroit now. I left home at the height of the madness in this city. My family actually profited off of the crisis through organized crime, but other families didn’t do so hot. I had friends who lost their homes. In what seemed like an instant, the whole government turned their backs on the people of Detroit, leaving them to scramble to pick up the pieces.

  It wasn’t good when I left. If you wanted to, you could get away with murder. Plenty did. As for me, I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. And since my family isn’t exactly picture-perfect, nor law abiding, they were all for it. “A lawyer for the family business?” Ricky would ask. “Sounds great. I’ll hire you in an instant.”

  But I didn’t want to work for people like Ricky. Instead, I wanted to make a difference. An actual difference. Too many, for far too long, have been profiting off of the corrupt justice system of our country. I should know. It’s men exactly like my cousins and uncles who run for government positions so they can swindle and steal legally. It’s a smarter bet than being a low-level thug like Ricky, because even if you are the Don, you’re bound to leave the seat with a bullet in your head or a darkened jail cell. Needless to say, I’ve been studying hard.

  Now, walking home on these streets, things are looking a little different. The potholes have been worked on, construction is up and running, and every so often I pass a group of nice cafés. It’s actually not too bad. I guess with the price of homes being so low out here, people are starting to flood into the city. I smile at the thought of this city becoming great once again. I just hope this time it’ll be without the corruption of big business and shady government action.

  When I turn the corner, I hear a voice hiss at me. “Hey, miss. Spare a quarter?” I nearly jump, until I see it’s just a young man who has fallen on some hard times. I’m not one to give away heaps of money, but I’m also not about to let someone go away empty handed. I figure he probably needs it. Maybe he can grab a burger or something and feel good, at least for one night.

  “Yeah, of course,” I smile, reaching into my purse. “Let me just find my wallet.”

  “No worries,” he says, opening his hoodie up. “I’ll just take the whole thing, bitch.”

  I freeze in shock and my blood runs ice cold. He’s got a loaded handgun pointed at me and the safety isn’t locked in place. “Now, bitch! Hurry the fuck up.”

  I can’t move or breathe, and I feel myself start to grow faint. He rips the purse from my hands and before I can yell for help, I fall to the sidewalk.

  Oh, what a beautiful day in Detroit.

  Hunter

  I can’t help myself. I know I’m a fucking creep. I don’t give a damn. Ain’t no one out there who’s man enough to criticize me about it.

  She knows I’ve been watching her. It’s in the way she looked at me at the funeral. It’s that same look she gave me from the cab window. There is longing in her eyes. Maybe she doesn’t know it yet. But I can tell. She wants to be saved.

  “…bitch!” I hear the words from a distance and I just know that someone is begging death to come take them away. If they didn’t want to get a bullet to the chest, they wouldn’t call that beauty a bitch. If he knew any better, he’d fall to his knees and kiss the ground she walks upon.

  This thug doesn’t have any fucking clue what he’s gotten himself into. As soon as I see her faint, I run and catch her. The look in her eyes is total shock, but I make sure she’s set on the ground lightly. That’s when I turn to catch that asshole.

  I don’t even run after the guy. I simply hold my gun out and scream at the top of my lungs, “I’d stop if I were you. You wouldn’t want a bullet in your head.” He slows down to a walk, turning his head at me, and weighs his options. “Then again, maybe you do. It’s your choice, compadre.”

  He comes to a halt, breathing quick and irregular. I walk towards him with my revolver pointed directly at his back and I can tell he’s still weighing his options. “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you,” I say. “I know you think you can get out of this with a quick move or two, but I’ve been killing people for a living for over 15 years now. I do love a good chase.”

  “Shit!” He whispers under his breath. “Man, I didn’t do shit to you. Why are you over here caring about some dumb cunt?”

  I shake my gun at him, getting closer to his body. “Wrong choice of words, pal.” When I’m close enough to him, I knock the butt of the gun against his thick skull. He falls to the ground. “Now, let’s try this again, shall we?”

  “Fuck,” he moans, spitting onto the pavement.

  I pick him up by his collar and lift him back off the ground. “Drop the purse and give me all your money,” I tell him. “And don’t argue with me again or I’ll knife you in the gut. Got it?”

  “I got it, man,” he says, clutching his head. “Jesus. You didn’t have to come at me like that.”

  “I did,” I say angrily. “Otherwise, you could’ve shot me with that pistol of yours. By the way, it’s a nice piece. I’m grateful for you sharing it with me.”

  “Shit. My dad’s gonna kill me,” he moans.

  I reach into my po
cket and grab a zip tie, fastening it tightly around his wrists. “You’re damn right he is,” I mutter. “Truth is, you’re better off getting lectured. A kid like you shouldn’t be out on these streets with a gun. I bet you’ve never even fired the damn thing, have you?”

  He squints hard and tries to save face. “Whatever,” he says. “I don’t need to prove nothing to you.”

  I laugh. “Sure,” I say. “Fine. But you see that pretty girl over there?” He looks her way, ashamed he let himself get caught, and she dusts her dress off and rubs the side she fell on. “That pretty woman deserves some respect from you. Now, go apologize.”

  Before he responds, the woman I’ve had my eyes on walks up and grabs her purse from me. She’s pissed, although I don’t have any idea why. “I’m fine,” she growls. “I can handle shit myself.”

  “Hey, wait up a second,” I shout, as she walks away. Her backside looks fine as hell. I could sink into that like butter…

  She stops and turns around at the corner. She takes a deep breath and says, “I’m grateful for your help. I really am. But it’s been a long weekend and I’d like to get home.”

  I scratch my head. “Fine. I’m not stopping you,” I say.

  “Good.” She turns around again to walk away but I put my hand on her shoulder. “What the hell? I thought you said you weren’t going to stop me? Why are you touching me?” The way she blushes tells me she’s thinking what I’m thinking. Still, I act respectful towards her. I don’t want her thinking the wrong things about me.

  “Why are you acting like you don’t know who I am?” I ask her. “You saw me. Yesterday, at the funeral. You know what I did. Why haven’t you told anyone about me?”

  “How do you know I haven’t?” she asks. “Anyway, I don’t need any more drama in my life. Thank you very much for your help, but I think I can take it from here.”