She went on. "I know what you're thinking, but just because I did it doesn't mean it was right. It wasn't the answer. It just gave me breathing room. I've regretted the pain it caused Russ ever since. Please don't make the same mistake. Do you have any feelings at all for Drew?"
"I honestly don't know. Sometimes I think I do, and other times I think I was just using him. It wouldn't be fair to him to let him think so. I did and do value his friendship. If we can be friends, I'd like that."
"What about Justin?"
"I know now that Justin was a childish crush, and that his taking advantage of it was completely inappropriate. I can still look at him and think objectively that he's beautiful, but I'm almost certain that I'll never again be taken in by that. He's ugly inside, and I'm done with him."
"You've learned a hard lesson, honey," she said. "But don't let it drive you out of school. You have as much right to be there as anyone, and who cares if they talk. Everyone has secrets, and you're going to find that the next one to be revealed will take the attention off of you and put it on some other poor girl, who doesn't deserve the notoriety either."
"Well, I can tell you that I won't be dating between now and the end of the semester. I've learned my lesson."
"Famous last words," she said, with a laugh. "I won't make you eat them when you find someone else you're attracted to. It's a natural part of life that you've missed so far, and that you should have a chance to enjoy."
"No, remember, Charity, I'm evil. I don't deserve that chance, I don't deserve a decent man and I won't put Grace through the pain of her mom being with a man who isn’t decent. I'm swearing off men altogether."
Charity's momentary humor disappeared with my words. Her brow knitted, but she thought for a moment before she answered.
"Janey, you may not believe me now, but mark my words. You are not evil, and you do deserve a life. A couple of mistakes, even if they've had serious consequences, do not make you evil. I'm glad you're done with Justin; he was far too old for you. I wish you’d give Drew a chance. He sounds like a very decent young man, and if he can forgive you, you shouldn't throw that in his face by not forgiving yourself."
~~~
As I drove back to Salt Lake on Sunday, I reflected on my conversation with Charity. I'd had a wonderful week except for that. Spending so much time with Grace showed me just how special a child she was. Sweet, cuddly and independent by turns, she was so smart it scared me. I knew that, whatever else I decided, the next six weeks would be the last I would spend without my daughter.
As for dating, I decided I simply wouldn't. I didn't need the distraction, and despite Charity’s assertion, I didn't feel that I deserved anyone I'd want. If Drew wanted to be friends, I would simply have to make him understand that friendship was all it could be. Rihanna was another problem. Though we'd mended our fences, I knew it was because I wanted to help Drew stay on the basketball team, and have his shot at the NBA. My friendship with her felt like it depended on how Drew felt, and whether she thought I was being unfair to him. I couldn't let that influence me. If friendship with Ri meant that I'd have to deceive Drew, I just couldn't be friends with her either.
By the time I reached Salt Lake, I felt I had my immediate future planned as well as I could. I had no control over whether my life was still an object of talk on campus; therefore, I would ignore it. No dating, no nonsense and no drama was my goal from now ‘til the end of the semester. I would focus on seeing Gracie again at the end of April, and learning new skills under Russ's tutelage.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Andrew Craig was an angry man. It seemed that from being on top of the world in mid-February, by mid-March his life had been turned upside down. Suspended for two games after his near-assault on Dr. Justin Mackey, he comforted himself that at least Janey wouldn't be seeing that bastard anymore. With everyone else off campus for Spring Break, his team played a poorly attended home game against Arizona State. It was only because of Mackey's decision not to press charges for the assault that Coach had agreed to allow him to play in the last regular season game of the year.
Fortunately, that game was a win, barely squeaking the team into regional championship contention. It remained to be seen whether they could overcome their inability to win away from home long enough to attract NBA scouts to their playoff games, assuming they made it past the first couple of rounds. Andrew had intended to finish his degree before opting for the draft, but with his scholarship in jeopardy, he felt he might not have a choice. So, it was particularly maddening that his performance suffered during the final game. He blamed the distraction. And ,the distraction was Janey.
With March Madness upon them, the team needed Andrew at his best. However, Andrew was tortured by memories of a naked Janey with her lips wrapped around his manhood. Even worse, he pictured her in the same position with Justin Mackey. That image could not be dispelled with less than a pint of vodka. Even though it broke team rules, he had consumed enough vodka every night since Janey's confession to send him into an uneasy, restless sleep. If anyone ever suspected that he was drunk when he took that swing at Mackey, it would be all over. Scholarship, poof! Basketball team, poof! NBA hopes, poof!
Fortunately, the last week had at least been Spring Break, so that he didn't have to worry about classes. On this third week of March, though, classes resumed without Andrew's presence. By noon, Andrew's teammates had noticed that he wasn't in class. His friend and teammate Greg was dispatched to his dorm room to see if he was sick. He was, but with flu from a bottle. Greg was aghast.
"Drew, tell me you aren't drunk, please!"
"Okay, I'm not drunk," Andrew answered, with a moan at being awakened, and a slight slur in his speech.
"Jesus Christ, Drew! If Coach knew about this, he'd kick you off the team for good."
"Are you going to tell him?" Drew mumbled.
"No, man, we need you. But, seriously, you've got to get out of this bed and get to class. Come on, I'll help you get in the shower."
"Get off, prick. I can get in the damn shower by myself. Okay I'll be in class this afternoon, just get out."
Greg knew better than to take Drew's insults personally. That ball-busting Janey Nielsen was Drew's problem. He left the room, but waited in the hallway to make sure his friend would get up. A more subdued Drew greeted him without comment once he was showered and dressed. Together, they walked to a nearby sandwich shop for lunch, before returning to campus for afternoon classes.
Despite still needing a quantity of alcohol to get to sleep that night, Drew managed to get to all of his classes the next day, mostly because he didn't have any before noon. Greg examined him anxiously for signs that he had been drinking, noting that Drew's eyes were a little bloodshot.
"Hey, you need to cut that out. Don't let that cunt knock you out of the game."
Drew stopped abruptly, and whirled on his friend, both hands fisting involuntarily. "I'll let it go this time, because you didn't know. But if you ever use that word to describe Janey again, I'll knock you from here to next Sunday."
Greg held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Okay, man, I didn't mean anything."
Both of them knew that was a lie. Greg was almost as bitter as Drew's friend Rihanna. Not that she wasn't a bitch, too, but at least she hadn't led him on. She had thanked him politely for dinner on Valentine's Day, before telling him that he didn't need to see her back to the hotel. Greg had known that she was about to hook up with a complete stranger, but she didn't taunt him with it or lie about it.
Basketball practice that afternoon focused on training films, as the team would face an opponent they hadn't met during the season. Andrew nodded off to sleep, but his soft snores prompted Greg to elbow him awake before Coach noticed. Greg decided that something had to be done. Andrew couldn't be trusted to leave the booze alone, and it wasn't only his NBA career on the line, but everyone else's on the team who had those aspirations. In the locker room, he spoke in low tones to everyone he knew was friendly
toward Drew. With their first tournament game on the line the next day, he was planning an intervention that night.
Greg and four teammates knocked on Andrew's door at 9 p.m. "Who is it?" came the surly challenge from inside.
"It's Greg, man. Let me in."
"If you're here to bitch at me, just go away," Andrew said.
"I'm not here to bitch at you."
"Fuck it. It's open."
Greg opened the door, and before Andrew could react to the unexpected crowd with him, they all rushed in. Two of them seized Andrew by the arms, jerked him out of bed and pushed him roughly into the desk chair.
"What is this?" Andrew demanded, beginning to turn red.
"It's an intervention, jackass," one of his other teammates answered. "Are we going to have to tie you into the chair?"
"Suck my dick," he snarled, "I don't need a damn intervention."
"There's where you're wrong, my friend." The brawny teammates holding him down parted to reveal the team mascot, a mild-mannered sophomore that the team called 'the Chaplain' because of his frequent references to his Christian values.
"Oh, shit, are you here to preach at me, Chaplain?" Andrew genuinely liked the younger man, and would ordinarily have been terribly embarrassed to have him hear the crude remark he had uttered a moment before. However, he had already started on tonight's complement of sleep-inducing vodka, and was therefore belligerent.
"No, Drew, I'm not going to preach. I'm going to tell it like it is. You're a pussy. You've let that girl get under your skin, and you're jeopardizing the entire team. Suck it up. You can fall apart after the tournament if you want to, but right now we're prepared to beat the shit out of you if you don't swear on your honor that you won't touch another drop until the tournament is finished. Grow a pair of balls and act like a man instead of a sniveling little girl."
Andrew was so surprised by the Chaplain's uncharacteristic language that he started to laugh.
"You think that's funny? Listen, shithead, I don't care if your mother and the love of your life took turns pulling a train and blowing every guy on campus, you owe it to this team to get your shit together. What's it going to be?"
"Okay, I get it" snarled Andrew, the reference to his mother hitting a nerve that no one but Rihanna knew about. "I swear, no more liquor until the tournament's over. Now get out, and let me get some sleep."
Before they left, the intervention group searched Andrew's dorm room for more liquor and confiscated a fifth of vodka that was already open. They would take short shifts sitting outside the dorm room, and under Andrew's window, to make sure he didn't sneak out and get any more.
"Christian values my ass," Andrew was heard to mutter, as the others filed out of his door.
~~~
The effort was almost for nothing, as the next day, Andrew was summoned to his academic adviser's office.
"Mr. Craig, if it was anyone else, we wouldn't be here. However, you know you're not just anyone. I've had reports from three of your professors that you were drunk in class over the last two days. Is it true?"
"What if it is?" he asked.
"If it is, I'm going to have to advise your coach to suspend you for this game as well, pending an investigation. You know your scholarship is dependent on not only keeping your grades up, but also on following team rules."
"What if there are extenuating circumstances?"
"I'm going to treat that as a rhetorical question," his adviser said. "Otherwise, it sounds very much like a confession. I don't want to be the bad guy, here. The team needs you, and this season's almost over."
Andrew mulled over what was not being said, that if he lied, his adviser would take it at face value and drop the threat of a suspension . It was ironic that he hated a liar more than almost anything else, and yet, he was almost being forced to lie. Shrugging his shoulders, he answered the original question.
"No, it isn't true."
"I'm glad to hear that," said his adviser, peering at him intently. There was no question that he knew it was a lie, Andrew was certain. His adviser didn't call him on it.
"Let me just say one last thing. If it ever came to my attention after this that you have showed up drunk in class, or aren't following team rules, you'd be out of here so fast that you'll be feeling yourself up to make sure you haven't left any body parts behind. Do you get that?"
"Yes, sir," Andrew snapped, with a mocking but crisp salute.
Andrew's system was beginning to recover from the alcohol soaking it had suffered over the past week and a half. He still felt badly used. Why did everyone think they had the right to verbally abuse and threaten him? He was normally an optimistic and good-natured person, but people kept kicking him when he was down, and it was beginning to wear on him.
Another blow came when he got to the stadium to dress out for tonight's game. Coach called him aside and delivered it casually.
"Andrew, since you missed the last couple of games, I'm going to have to have you coming off the bench. Slocum performed pretty well in those games, and earned the right to start."
"But, Coach, you know how important these games are to me."
"You aren't the only pebble on the beach, kid. You screw up—there are consequences. Do you want to play, or not?"
"You know I do," Andrew protested.
"Then you'll do it on my terms. You don't get to call the shots, got it?"
Yes, I get it, I've got it, Drew thought. Why does everyone keep asking me that? His surly mood didn't lift until Coach put him in, late in the first quarter, with the team already behind by twelve points. Despite his weeklong bender, by halftime Drew had helped the team pull to within two points of the opponent. To make sure the lesson sunk in, Coach had the backup point guard, Slocum, start again after halftime. This time he left Andrew on the bench for only five minutes before sending him in to save the day. At the final buzzer, the score was Utah 78; Texas Tech 76. The close call did what no one's threats had been able to do. Andrew knew that he could kiss his NBA draft hopes goodbye if he didn't straighten up and fly right.
For a day, he managed to forget about Janey and focus on the tourney. Then Coach called him in again. "Craig, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I have to bench you next game. Someone has alleged that you broke team rules and there's going to be an investigation."
"Who would do that, Coach? A player on another team?"
"You don't need to know. Slocum will start, and the third-string man will back him up. You can dress out, but you can't play."
That was it, then. There was no way he'd be drafted if he couldn't play in the post-season, and if he sat out the next game, chances were high that they'd lose and the season would be over. It was a fucking disaster, and there was nothing he could do. Worse, he'd have to face Greg and the others and tell them what had happened. By the end of the day, he'd be lucky if he had a friend left in the world. Besides Rihanna, that is. There was always Rihanna. She'd support him no matter what, though she'd be disappointed.
Drew sent a text to Greg, asking him to meet up at the dorm as soon as possible. He didn't want to have this conversation in a public place. If Greg were still speaking to him afterward, he'd ask him to tell the rest of the team so he wouldn't have to face them. Then he sent Rihanna a text asking her to have dinner with him. She'd help him lick his wounds, and maybe he could face the team tomorrow.
Half an hour later, Greg knocked on his door.
"It's open."
Greg examined his friend closely and was relieved to see no sign of impairment, but it was clear something was bothering him.
"What's shakin', man?"
"Sit down." Greg began to get an uneasy feeling. Drew's tone was serious.
"What is it?"
"Do you know if I have enemies on the team?" Drew asked.
"No, Drew, why? I mean some of us like you better than others do, but we all respect your talent. I don't think anyone could be called an enemy."
"Someone told Coach I broke team rules. There's
going to be an investigation. I'm benched tonight."
"What? You're not serious! That'll kill our chances, what's Coach thinking?"
"I expect he's thinking about his job. Slocum's going to start, and the third-stringer will back him up. I'll be dressed, but Coach already told me he couldn't put me in at all."
"Fuck, that's messed up!"
"Tell me about it. I'd just like to know who snitched."
"Bet it was Slocum. He's the only one with anything to gain." Greg uttered a string of foul-mouthed expletives as the implications sunk in. "Fuck, man! Smith and Greene are both hoping to enter the draft after this season. No more games…"
"You think I don't know that? I'm afraid I'm going to need a bodyguard when they find out."
"When are you going to tell them?"
"I was hoping…"
"Shit, no! Don't ask me to do that, they might kill the messenger. No, buddy, you're on your own."
"Thanks for being a friend," Drew said, bitterness dripping from his tongue.
"Hey, I didn't kill you, so count yourself lucky. Man, that bitch has a lot to answer for."
"I told you once, Greg, and this is the last time."
"I know, don't call her names. But why aren't you saying the same thing?"
"I don't know, man. There's something about her…I don't think she did any of it on purpose. She sure didn't pour a fifth of vodka down my throat every night last week. So just lay off her, okay?"
With ill grace, Greg nodded. There was nothing more to say, so he left.
~~~
Drew was sitting glumly in a run-down Mexican restaurant on the west side of town, waiting for Rihanna to show up. He'd chosen it because it was unlikely anyone else from school would be there, and it was cheap. Besides, he and Ri shared a love of all greasy Mexican food, and the servings were plentiful here. He was thinking he might as well indulge in a beer, since his season was essentially over, when Ri walked in, followed by…shit! What was Janey doing here?
Drew snapped his eyes away from Janey and kept them resolutely on Rihanna.
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