Boomer came back and the adoration and the autograph requests started all over again.
This went on for over an hour: us starting a conversation, us being interrupted.
It was…painful for many reasons. Then the band took a break and Susie took the stage. She insisted Boomer join her and the crowd went wild. I swear, I thought the roof would collapse from all the noise. And Boomer, well, he just ate it all up like he always did, with a huge grin and a lot of swagger.
Susie held up her hands for quiet. “I have an announcement! On Christmas Day…”
“I love you, Boomer,” some girl shouted from the crowd.
“Thank you,” he said with a tiny wave and a huge smile.
“I wanna have your babies.”
The crowd roared with laughter while Susie shook her head, and Boomer thanked the girl again.
“On. Christmas. Day,” Susie continued, “the dancehall will be open so we can watch Boomer and the Texans take on the Broncos.”
Insert cheering here. Also insert a headache, cause I had one.
“The fire department will be providing the brisket and ham—and the smokers,” she added with a laugh.
Yeah, more cheering.
“And the rest of y’all bring a dish and we’ll have ourselves a good, old-fashioned pot luck on Christmas Day.”
Pass.
Then she gave it over to Boomer. He stood on the dancehall stage and proceeded to talk about how humbled and blessed he was, about how important his community was to him, his hometown. When he said hometown, the crowd cheered like he’d scored a Super Bowl winning touchdown.
Frankly, the Boomer Kendall Fan Club Christmas Party was making me nauseous.
It took me ten minutes of nudging and stepping on people’s feet to reach the front door. The last thing I heard was Boomer saying, “I love y’all so much…”
I stepped outside to an Arctic blast. Welcome to Texas, where if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes. Or in this case, about two hours. We’d gone from cold and clear to a thick, damp wind blowing what felt like mist in my face. Also, no way could I drive. Not after that monster rum and Coke that Boomer had served me. A taxi would take forever.
Greta and I weren’t speaking.
Jeannie, my neighbor, was probably out on a date.
And considering Marsh and I were barely speaking to each other, calling him would be kind of an asshole thing to do. I knew he’d come get me, but he wasn’t exactly quick on the draw under the best of circumstances, and I knew by the time he finally showed up, I could be home making hot tea and watching Netflix.
Decision made, I zipped my jacket, shoved my hands in my pockets and cursed myself for not bringing a hat or gloves. Of course, I barely made it to the service road when Boomer caught up with me.
“What the hell, Mattie? Why’d you leave? Mattie! Wait up!”
I glanced over my shoulder, noted he was alone, and said, “Where’s your entourage?”
“Mattie, Jesus.”
I kept walking because, frankly, it was too cold to stand still for very long. Since Boomer’s legs were longer than mine, he had no trouble keeping up. “You should get back inside before they send out the cavalry. Or call the Sheriffs.”
“Mattie, you’re drunk.”
“I know. And thanks for that.” My face was getting chilled. But hell, this was Texas. Not like I could freeze to death on a three mile walk.
He trotted a few steps and jumped in front of me, forcing me to stop.“Let me take you home at least.”
“Here’s an idea. Let me tell you why this—” I pointed from him to me and back again, meaning ‘us’, “—will never work: You’re my brother’s best friend. And us dating could potentially ruin your relationship with him. That’s what he said earlier today. Don’t ruin my relationship with Boomer.” At that moment, I wasn’t one hundred percent certain of Marsh’s exact words, but I felt certain I was in the ballpark–or rather, stadium. “Two: You’re Boomer Kendall. Winner of two Super Bowls, underwear spokes-model, owner of fancy cars and a fancy house. And I want to be a farmer. Three: You’re an attention whore, Boomer Kendall. All that shit in there?” I pointed toward the dancehall. “You devoured it like…like Jupiter with one of her rawhides. And because you’re an attention whore, you can never go anywhere in this town, or even this state, and not be Boomer Kendall. You can’t date like an ordinary guy. Hell, we can’t even have a fucking conversation at the bar because you’re too busy giving autographs. Can you imagine if we tried to go out to eat?”
“Are you done?” he asked softly. His face was grim. A lesser person, someone who hadn’t shoved mud pies in his face when he was a child, would have been afraid. But I’d shoved more than mud pies in his face. I’d bloodied his nose once when he’d made fun of how short I was.
“Good.” He grabbed my arm and started dragging me across the parking lot.
“What the fuck, Boomer!”
“I’m taking your drunk ass home, Matilda.”
8
Boomer
This night wasn’t going anything like I’d planned when I’d dropped Mattie off the previous night. At least I’d gotten her into my truck and left the dancehall before anybody came looking for either of us—or more specifically, me. Which I was sick of. I hadn’t even gotten to dance with her. Unfortunately, she’d gotten at least one point right. There was no way we could have a conversation in or around the dancehall without being interrupted. Which was fine with me. I’d accomplished the two things I needed to. I’d talked to John Ramos and made sure he knew that he had other options besides playing college football—if he wanted. His and Bailey’s mom had been AWOL since Bailey was a toddler, and according to the coach, their dad worked the oil rigs and was gone more than not.
“I want to play college ball. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get to go pro,” John had said. “But if not, there’s always engineering. That’s the one thing Coach Weiland pounded into me, to get an education.”
“Knees don’t last forever,” I said with a chuckle.
“The odds ain’t in my favor.”
“—and you gotta get what you need before the machine chews you up and spits you out.” Some things, like coach’s advice, never changed. And for good reason. Then I got serious. “This conversation, it’s just between the two of us, okay?” I’d waited for John to nod before I continued, “I don’t want to get in your business, but I talked my mom. I know your grandmother’s not young and not well. So my mom and a couple of the church ladies are going to keep an eye on things for you next fall when you go off to college. That way you don’t have to worry; you can focus on football and your classes. And I’ll be checking in on Bailey whenever I come home.”
He’d swallowed hard, the disbelief and surprise clear in his eyes as I’d stuck out my hand and we’d shook on it. “Thanks—”
“No thanks necessary. This is what you do.”
I thought that, of everyone I knew, Mattie would understand. But I hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell her before she’d taken off in a drunken fit.
Now here we were, sitting in front of Marsh’s house again, except this time I was the one doing the yelling, not Mattie. “You think this is fun? You think this is easy? Do you think I enjoy going to the grocery store for my mother, only to spend an hour signing autographs while she’s at home waiting on her chicken broth or flour or whatever the hell she sent me out for? Do you think this is what I wanted, Mattie?”
She opened her mouth to speak but I jabbed a finger at her direction and shook my head. “Do you think I enjoy hearing underage girls, let alone any woman, yell things like I want to have your baby?” My mother’s face had turned beet red, and she wasn’t alone. “Did you ever stop to think about how hard it is to stand there and say something as lame as ‘thank you’ in reply to a comment like that? No matter what I do, especially in this town, I’m either grandstanding or I’m a snob.
“I know—” I threw my hands in frustration, “—I
won the fucking lottery. What right do I have to complain? Right? Do you know what I do for a living, Matilda? I let men hit me. I get hit for a living! I’m tired of the bruises, the ice baths and the cortisone shots,” I shouted loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood, but I wasn’t done, “I’m tired of the strained tendons and pulled muscles and waking up with the aches and pains of a man ten years older. Worst of all, I’m sick of not being able to say anything about it because I won the mother fucking lottery! Isn’t that what you’re thinking? ‘Boomer, you’re filthy fucking rich. What the fuck do you care what people think?’ Guess what? It’s not that simple.” I unhooked the seatbelt and turned to face her, the steering will clenched in one hand. “I care because this is my hometown, this is the place I always come back to, and these are the people who always supported me. This is where the people who mean everything to me live: my parents, Marsh, Louisiana and Moses.” I took a deep breath and exhale, counting to five before I added in my calmest voice possible, “You.”
“Marsh—”
“I don’t give a fuck what Marsh thinks. Not anymore. He’s happy, and now, it’s my turn. I paid my damn dues.”
“I didn’t realize Marsh’s happiness was so important to you,” she said as she turned away and reached for the door handle.
I snorted. “He didn’t tell you?” I asked as she slipped out of the truck and turned to face me, her expression unreadable.
“That Louisiana’s pregnant again? Yeah, he told me earlier today.”
I ducked my head and laughed. I laughed till my sides hurt, until I couldn’t catch my breath and tears ran down my face. I guess that explained Marsh’s squirreliness the last couple of days. “No, Matilda,” I finally said as I shook my head. “That I never wanted to go pro. Your brother did.”
9
Matilda
For Christmas Santa brought me coal.
At least, that’s what it felt like, and the sweet baby Jesus knew that I deserved it.
Boomer had pulled away from the curb so quickly the other night, I hadn’t gotten a chance to even respond to his painful and pointed revelations. For that matter, I’d barely gotten the door slammed. His words had hit me like a bucket of ice water. I looked up at Marsh’s darkened house and briefly considered banging on his door and demanding explanations, but I was a little too drunk, and I knew if I woke up the baby, Marsh and Louisiana would take turns skinning me alive. I consoled myself with the knowledge that I’d see him after church the following day when we handed out the kids’ gifts.
I should’ve known better.
According to Irene, Boomer had gone back to Houston. The news, coupled with my hangover, made my Sunday even worse, and it was all downhill from there. Trying to hand out gifts with just Marsh and Boomer’s dad hadn’t been the same. Especially since Marsh and I were barely speaking. Every time I tried to talk to him, he blew me off. And when I sneezed during our Christmas Eve gift exchange, Louisiana suggested maybe I should go so I didn’t make Moses sick. I’d gone home and cried myself to sleep, resigned to spending another holiday alone. I probably could’ve crashed Irene and Bud’s Christmas Eve or even Christmas Day plans, but that just didn’t feel right; not after how I’d left things with Boomer. I could’ve even gone to the dancehall on Christmas Day to watch the football game, but I didn’t. Instead, I stayed home and cooked, choosing to eat dinner in front of the TV while the Texans did indeed beat the Broncos. After the game was over, I stood on my front porch listening to the horns blowing all over town in celebration. As punishment for my bad behavior, I forced myself to stay up till almost midnight watching every recap, summary, and post-game highlight while I polished off the last of my rum. I told myself it was for the cold I could feel coming on, but that was a lie.
This had turned out to be the second worst Christmas of my life.
I was miserable.
And I missed Boomer. God damn him.
That was my last thought as I dozed off in my big comfy chair. That was also my first thought when I opened my eyes many hours later and groggily shoved my hand down the side of the chair in search of my cell phone. “Hello?”
“Matilda? Are you okay, sweetie?”
“Irene!” I sat up straighter and cleared my throat, praying I didn’t sound as hungover as I was. “I’m fine. I just…” had a wicked headache and a tongue that tasted like I’d licked the floor of my greenhouse, “…woke up.”
“Well get up, child. It’s Christmas over here at Kendall Central, and we eat in an hour.”
Her invitation shoved away the last of the clouds clogging my head. Between the yelling and the laugher, it sounded like the Kendall’s house was a freaking circus. “Oh, Irene, I couldn’t intrude.”
“Nonsense. It’s just Marsh and Boomer and…hang on. He says if you don’t come over, he’ll come get you.”
“Hang up, Mom,” I heard him yelling in the background. “Hang up before she says no.”
As if I could ever hurt Irene’s feelings like that. Plus I knew Boomer would wasn’t bluffing about coming to get me. “I’ll be there in an hour,” I said weakly.
“Perfect.”
Thirty-nine minutes later I pulled up in front of Bud and Irene’s. I was kind of glad Irene had called, because otherwise I would’ve slept through an absolutely gorgeous day. I’d grabbed a jacket but probably wouldn’t need it until the sun went down. For now, the sun was shining, the pale blue winter sky was cloudless, and the longsleeved sweater I’d paired with my favorite broken-in jeans was all I’d need. To my surprise, Boomer, Marsh, and John and Bailey Ramos were tossing a football around the front yard. Okay, not a complete surprise after seeing Boomer talking to John at the dance hall the other night. But definitely unexpected. Boomer tossed Marsh the ball and then came to hold my car door open as I grabbed my purse and climbed out.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were in Denver. I thought you were mad at me.”
“I was, but they have this great invention called an airplane. So here I am, having Christmas with my family and friends. And for the record, I am mad at you, but that doesn’t make me love you any less. You’re an ornery, prickly, pain in my ass, and you can’t hold you liquor for shit, but I love you, Matilda Lucile Johnson, and there’s nothing that would make me happier than to spend Christmas with you.”
“Christmas was yesterday.” I struggled to process the fact that Boomer was standing not a foot from me and that he’d actually said I love you, not once, but twice. And the best I could come up with in reply was, ‘Christmas was yesterday.’
“Not in my family. We have our Christmas the day after—or the day before—if I can’t be here. It’s one of the few things I asked my parents for when I started playing.” He slapped me on the hip, and said “Now get your ass in gear. We eat in fifteen minutes. And there are presents to be opened, woman.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” I blurted out sadly. I’d dropped off my customary canned tomatoes and sweet and spicy pickles early on Christmas Eve for Irene and Bud, but other than the occasional gag gift, Boomer and I hadn’t exchanged presents since we were kids.
“Yeah, you did. You went out and howled at the moon with me, remember?”
Thank goodness I had my back to Marsh and the kids because my face was on fire. “Boomer!”
“Get a move on, woman.”
“We need to talk, Boomer.” About that stuff he’d said about Marsh and going pro. I glanced over at my brother, who seemed content to toss the ball with John and Bailey. He’d gained weight since college, so he was stockier now, his shirt was wrinkled and he probably had at least one baby food stain on it. I had a hard time picturing him in the NFL.
“Later,” Boomer said, his expression serious as he tucked some stray hairs behind my ear. “We’ll talk later.”
Nodding, I gingerly stepped around him. He wore a white turtleneck and overalls, which he somehow made look sexy, and boots. He looked good, despite the previous day’s game and all the traveling
he’d done, he smelled good, and I knew from personal experience that he felt damn good, too.
“Do you feel okay?” I quietly asked, his words form the other night at the forefront of my mind.
“I’m okay, thanks.” He squeezed my fingers and slammed the car door. “Mom’s waiting,” he said. It was as if he’d read my mind and knew I needed a nudge.
With a wave in my brother’s direction, I walked toward the front door. Through the storm door I could see Louisiana feeding Moses and Bud coming my way.
“Morning, Matilda,” Bud said as he opened the door.
“Morning, Chief Kendall.” I’d no sooner greeted him than Boomer was there behind me, his arm on my shoulder. I forced my lips to curve into the most painful smile ever while wondering what Bud though of Boomer’s arm around me. Of course, he might not have thought a thing. What the hell did I know?
“Well come on in here if you’re coming.” He held the door open and let me pass. “Boomer, that dog stays outside till you teach him some manners, son. I will not have him pissing all over your mama’s house.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dog?” I echoed, glancing back at Boomer.
“You are taking him back to Houston with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yeah, Boomer got a dog,” Louisiana practically shouted from the corner where she sat chatting with John and Bailey’s grandmother and Mrs. Ford from next door.
Irene joined us just long enough to kiss and hug me, then she shooed us off, a gleam in her eye at the sight of her son’s arm around me. “Go outside and meet the latest addition to the family. Boomer says he’s a placeholder for all the grandbabies he’s gonna give me one day soon.”
Home for the Holidays: A Contemporary Romance Anthology Page 75