Graphite

by Anne Leigh

  “I didn’t say that you didn’t, babe,” Bishop said, his brows meeting in the middle. “I thought you wanted to wait til I spoke with them first.”

  “When’s your frat meeting?” The answer eluded me. What with class work, group work, and college life.

  “Next week.” Bishop stopped chewing so I took the black plastic spoon he’d set aside for me, and spooned a mouthful for him.

  “Open,” I said in a soft command and he opened his mouth. I had a light lunch already, the cheese stick and crackers I’d brought to class often sustained me for three hours since I had a big breakfast and was looking forward to dinner with him.

  Bishop opened his mouth and I scooped the food inside and proceeded to say, “As your girlfriend, I want to watch every game you play here and when you’re away, I wish I could go with you.”

  I put the spoon on top of a napkin and placed my hand under his moving jaw. “I don’t want all the other girls getting any ideas that you’re still single and I think it’s about time that someone wears your jersey, right?”

  Ian chose this moment to butt in, “A lot of women wear number 10.”

  Number 10 was Bishop’s number. I knew there were lots of women who wore his number because I’d seen his games on TV and I saw the female population wearing his number around campus.

  “But none of them had it given to them by Bishop personally,” I returned, this time my eyes locking on with my man who was regarding me with his secret smile. A smile that said if we were alone, I’d do you doggy style right now.

  It was my favorite position. Because he could penetrate me deeply.

  Bishop had a variety of favorite positions, but most of them were where he could see my face when we were making love.

  “I’d love for you to watch my game.” Bishop’s eyes sparkled with pride. “But I want to shield you from the fallout.”

  The fallout he was referring to was that Scott might take not take it so well, him and Bishop might not ever talk again, or Bishop would be kicked out of the fraternity he’d been a part of for all of his college life. A fraternity that he’d considered his brothers before I even came along.

  “I’m gonna be okay,” I reassured him. If there was anyone who had anything to be worried about, it should be him. “I don’t want you to suffer the consequences of me being with you.”

  “Man, this is like watching Romeo and Juliet, college edition,” Ian said, I’d totally forgotten he was there. “Props to the both of you. Just don’t take that stupid poison that those two morons took when things didn’t go their way.”

  Bishop chuckled and I scooted to his side, feeling the strength of his shoulders. It might be too soon, it might be too early for me to start revealing to the world how I felt about him, but I’d learned in life that there were risks worth taking and if there was one risk that outweighed them all, it would be Bishop.

  Bishop and Ian joked around for the rest of lunch, and while I was watching him take our empty food containers to the trash, I remembered that he didn’t respond to my statement.

  My brother respected Bishop and so did Scott.

  But after this, I didn’t know how they were going to feel about him.

  While I could take the ice that Scott might inflict over me, I didn’t know what kind of damages they would do to Bishop.

  I trusted Rikko and Scott to be civil about it.

  But sometimes emotions blinded civility and that was my biggest worry.

  It was Friday night and we were sitting side by side, watching the sun go down over the ocean.

  I’d forgotten to bring a sweater so Bishop had casually put his jacket over me when the wind started to get chilly.

  “I used to think that sunsets were the shittiest things.” His voice was ambivalent, but I felt the pain projecting out of him.

  “Why babe?” Sometimes I called him babe. Most of the times I called him genius. He aced every test we had in Quantum and Jose, one of his friends, had said that he was running for Summa Cum Laude in his graduating class.

  “Because sunsets meant darkness and the worst things are hidden in the dark,” he said, his tone flat.

  We’d gotten an early dinner at Bistro Chang’s, a local Chinese favorite, and from there, he’d taken me here.

  He tipped my chin up to his mouth and gave me a searing kiss.

  Anissa was out of the town for the whole weekend so Bishop would be staying at my dorm. I’d asked her and she was cool with it. He couldn’t sleep over when she was around and I thought it would bother Bishop but he’d merely shrugged and said, “We have to respect her beliefs.” The nights that he couldn’t stay over were spent at his truck with heavy make-out sessions. I couldn’t sleep over at his place because we hadn’t told my brother and Scott and it would be a catastrophe if they saw me somewhere in the vicinity of Bishop’s bedroom.

  “My dad…” Bishop started, “He wasn’t a good man.”

  I held my breath because this was the first time he was talking about his parents. I’d talked to him about my mom and her close-mindedness, and Bishop patiently listened through all of it.

  “My mother…” Bishop added, “She was only slightly better than he was.”

  His father was Beau Cordello, a Canadian hockey player, who held the all-time hockey records for goals and assists. His mother was Bettina Clarkson, a famous actress turned beauty mogul, who still ruled New York’s social scenes these days.

  I’d found all that on Google the day I searched his history after Bishop’s College Game Day interview. Mainly it was out of curiosity. I stopped digging any further because I knew the media distorted the truth.

  I placed my right hand his left hand and felt the roughness of his palm, grounding me to his presence.

  “My father used to make me practice drills before the sun rose and the only reprieve was the sun setting.” His voice held years of resentment underlined with strength. “He wanted me to be as great as him or even greater and the only way to do it was to run me down to the ground and break my soul.”

  Tears started to form under my lashes. I knew the pressures that parents could put on their children, but no one really knew the pain better than the sufferer.

  “By the time I was nine, I had broken more bones than kids who had been beaten up by their parents.” His hand tightened over mine, “You think he did it by beating me up with a hockey stick? Nope. He was more cunning than that. He’d make me skate until my feet bled and my knees could barely stand on the ice. He’d chant, ‘The greatest players aren’t born, they’re trained.’”

  “I handled the pain but when the sun set, another pain took over.” Time lessened the pain, but from his voice, I knew that it never really went away.

  “I have a sister,” he said, as his eyes grazed over the dark orange settling over the Pacific Ocean. “Her name’s Bridgette, I call her Bridge. She’s got the IQ of Einstein and the social skills of a woman left in the forest to be raised by wolves.”

  “Bridgette. It’s a beautiful name,” I said, running my hand over his arm; trying to give him comfort.

  “Before she was a year old, my mother had my sister billed to become America’s rising star. Her face was all over magazines, baby products, you name it. But my mother quickly dropped her out of the spotlight when my sister started acting ‘not normal’ compared to other kids her age. See, Bridge didn’t talk. She didn’t chatter like two year olds did. She never said the words mommy and daddy. She’d just sit there and stare into space. The only thing she did was paint.” Bishop’s shoulders heaved and I sensed the love he had for his sister. “I begged my father to send her to a school that would cater to her needs because even at a young age, I knew she was different. I asked my mom to give her the attention that she needed because while I could handle pain, Bridge was breakable.”

  “My father used Bridge to get to me. When I didn’t obey him, he’d threaten to pull Bridge out of the school she’d finally been enrolled into. A special school for kids with special nee
ds. What kind of father did that? A monster.” Bishop’s face tightened in anger and I felt the ripples in the words that came out of his mouth. “My parents told the world about me. They introduced me to their social circles. I met Hollywood A-list actors and actresses when my father was handed trophies for his achievements and contributions in sports. My mother brought me to her tapings and interviews. They talked about me, their son, the one who they passed on all of their excellent genes, but not once did they talk about my sister.”

  Tears dropped from my face and they felt cold against my skin.

  Bishop’s hand slowly cupped my face and his eyes held the hate and anguish he’d harbored all these years. No wonder he never talked about his parents on camera. No wonder he didn’t want to get involved in hockey. No wonder he kept to himself.

  “There are many types of abuse. There are those that physically batter your bones and cripple every cell inside your body. Then there are those that slowly chip away the light in your eyes and the next thing you know, you’re a collection of shattered, hollowed pieces. And you don’t know if you’re ever going to be whole again.” He was so young yet his soul had suffered so much.

  “Oh Bishop…I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what the right words were so I said the only words I could.

  “It was easy for me to do everything he asked because his genes were embedded in me. The hardest thing was watching my sister fade away in the background. If I could turn back time, I would have asked for more for Bridge, I would have fought for her more…” His voice was laden with regret.

  I placed my hand behind his back. “You were also a child. You did what you could.”

  He nodded his dark head, “When he died, six months before I graduated from the boarding school he put me in so I could be trained by his former coach, the first thing I did was quit the hockey team. Can you imagine how livid my mother was?”

  “But the thing is, I knew that she couldn’t control me nor my sister anymore. Because the day my father passed away, my sister and I became the holders of our destiny.”

  Bishop didn’t stop, “I was fourteen when I drafted a proposal for my father. I’d become bigger than he was, smarter than he was. I’d taken pictures of all the bruises I’d acquired throughout the years, all the nights I’d suffered without being brought to the hospital because going to the hospital meant he was going to be questioned about what happened to me, that he let happen to me, and the last thing he wanted was for the media to label him as a child abuser. My father thrived on his fame and he had it in spades when he was playing. But the minute he got old and retired, there was no longer a space for the limelight. He was going to use me to gain back the fame he’d capitalized on for so long. I doubt he even married my mother for love because they seldom talked during dinner, but she was famous so he latched on to that.”

  Dear God, how did this man emerge unscathed and remained so strong from the emotional horrors he’d been through?

  “I made him sign it. I made a deal with him that I wouldn’t report him to the authorities or to the media as long as he kept my sister, Bridge, in the special school she was at, where I could see that she was happy and starting to gain some friends. It was a legally binding contract, notarized and all that legal shit, and it also said that if anything happened to him, his fortune would be divided between Bridge and I. At that time, I said it would be to pay for the pain he had put me and my sister through and boy did he want to punch me. He knew though that I’d be able to beat him if he had because I’d gained seventy percent body mass and I was almost as tall as he was. He didn’t figure he’d die young so he’d signed it. Without my mother’s knowledge.”

  “You were seventeen when he passed away right? It was all over the news… The plane had an emergency and it caught fire and exploded somewhere in the Colorado rockies,” I said, still trying to piece his revelation together.

  “I was. Seventeen. But I turned eighteen three months later,” he sighed, letting out the heaviness of his past go by breathing deeper. “At the time of his death, his lawyer had contacted me and my mom and after he read my father’s will, she was furious. He was worth thirty-five million, and she got left with the houses in Canada and New York and fifteen percent of his net worth. Everything else was left to me and Bridge. The time between his funeral and before I turned eighteen, I talked to my Aunt Nina, my mother’s sister who had visited us in New York a few times after we’d relocated from Canada, and she was the only female figure, aside from our nannies, that Bridge had gravitated towards. I told my Aunt Nina that I wanted to move to California and maybe when the time came, Bridge would move there, too.”

  I couldn’t say anything.

  I doubted he’d ever said anything, maybe bits and pieces to Ian, to anyone other than me.

  His voice was mellower, softer when he spoke up again, “I’m telling you all of this because I want you to know all of me. Who I was before you. I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

  He gave himself a short pause then said, “You tell me not to give you flowers anymore since we’re together…You tell me not to bring you gifts anymore since I have you…You tell me to stop ‘wooing’ you.”

  What was he leading to?

  I did text him to stop sending me flowers since I was already in his bed, and to save his money instead of buying me gifts.

  His face was impassive, the dark set of his jaw uncompromising and solid against the backdrop of the beautiful scenery against us.

  “I’ve never felt this way with anyone before you, babe,” he said, his voice settling on a peaceful tone. “I don’t welcome sunsets, but now I look forward to them because I know that when it starts to get dark, it’s when the day is done and I get to spend time with you. I send you flowers because whether or not you’re in my bed, I want you to know that you make me happy. I send you gifts because I want you to know that even when I’m not with you, I’m thinking of you.”

  I climbed onto his lap and faced him, blocking his view of the sun setting down in the horizon, and since I was wearing his jacket loosely, I enveloped him in it with my arms.

  “What did I do to deserve you?” I asked, my eyes reflecting awe and respect for this man who had endured so much yet was still standing, living, and never letting the broken pieces of his past engulf him.

  His mouth burgeoned into a smile, his white pearly teeth blinding against the darkness slowly settling around us, his minty scent coming out of his breath, “You defended me in Quantum.”

  “I doubt you needed any defense but I’m so thankful that I did.” I touched my lips against his full lips and felt the welcoming touch of his tongue.

  My fingers touched his cheeks and I felt the heat emanating from his body between my legs, legs that were covered with thin tights as my skirt had slowly lifted from his roaming hands to caress my butt.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?” He said in a concerned voice.

  If there was anyone who needed to worry, it should be him.

  “What if they kick you out of Tau?” I asked, my eyes lifting up to meet the dark irises that glowed with warmth and so much affection.

  “Then they kick me out.” He answered with a shrug. He was trying to seem unaffected by it but I knew better. “I’ve been through worse. Being kicked out of my frat during my senior year can’t put a cap to what I have with you. And if the time comes when you’re done with me…”

  I pushed a finger to block him from saying more, it wasn’t like him to voice out his insecurities, but somehow I felt that Bishop was more vulnerable that he let on.

  His eyes trapped me with profound sadness, “If at any time you feel like you need an ‘out’ with me…you just have to tell me.”

  “Bishop.” I warned, shaking my head in discord, “I’m yours.”

  “I don’t want you to be unhappy.” He finished his thoughts. “You always make me feel like I’m on top of the world and I want you to know that if you want to be free of me, just be honest with me…I’d never hold
you down. I’d fight through hell for you, but I won’t ever hold you down.”

  I stopped him from saying any more, not wanting to hear any more negative stuff coming out of him. “You’re the only one I want to be with and I don’t want to be free of you. I know we’re just starting out, but what I feel for you is something that I’ve never felt with anyone else.”

  His response was to caress my face with his knuckles and as he traced my forehead, I said, “I love my brother and I will always love Scott…”

  I paused when I saw a slight wince on his face. He didn’t like Scott’s name on my lips.

  “But if they kick you out, then they’re not the men I thought they were, and I won’t be speaking to them anytime soon.”

  “Why can’t I tell them now? Before tomorrow? Maybe it will be better if it came from me?” His brows furrowed and he’d asked the same questions since I brought up the idea of watching his game for the first time as his girlfriend. He’d never had to ask if I was his girlfriend. We were walking from his rugby practice one day and one of his teammates, Jonas, passed by us. I’d introduced myself as Bishop’s girlfriend and Bishop’s smile was plastered on his face the whole time I was talking.

  “Because I don’t want this falling on you. It’s not their decision who I want to be with. It’s mine.” I pressed my forehead against his, suddenly feeling tired. Bishop had revealed so much to me tonight and I knew how much I meant to him.

  “I want them to know that you mean a lot to me,” I said, unwilling to bend and have Bishop change my mind. “And I know that it’s not easy for you to let me do this but I want to. Tomorrow, you play the way you always do. Your best. Beat the crap out of Berkeley and then when you’re done, I’ll be waiting for you on the sidelines.”

  His eyes were intent, “I can give you a kiss?”

  “I won’t forgive you if you don’t give me a kiss.” I challenged back, “I’ll be waiting there until I’m blue in the face waiting for my rugby star to plant one on me.”

  His shoulders shook in laughter and his deep chuckles made me want for more. I pressed my hips down against his jeans, knowing that in a second, his cock would respond in earnest.