by Aja Cole
Never-mind the fact that I’d been 21 at the time…but I got the memo.
“My usual. Anyone want anything?”
“What’s your usual?” Daya questioned, sipping from her mug as she settled into a seat at the counter too.
“Oatmeal, three eggs over easy, 3 slices of toast, and a little bit of black coffee.” Her little gag of distaste makes me laugh and I turn from the eggs I’m taking out of the container. “What, not to your liking?”
“It’s just so…boring. Where are the waffles? Bacon? Grits with hefty amounts of salt and butter?”
“What are grits?” my mom questioned, looking at Heather.
“It’s a southern thing,” she murmured, watching us.
“You think this body is sustained by all that stuff?” I cocked an eyebrow, smirking. Instead of answering, she narrowed her eyes and sipped from her cup again.
“How about I make everyone breakfast,” she suggested, surprising me. “Just because you have to eat that way doesn’t mean the rest of us should suffer. Is that okay, y’all?” She looks back at my mom and Heather.
“Perfectly okay with me. I never turn down good food,” my mom winks, and I turn to look at Daya.
“Alright, well if I’m going to shirk my diet today, it better be damned good.” I challenge.
“Boy, please. I could cook this is my sleep.” Her voice has taken on a quality I haven’t heard before and I realize it’s her accent. I knew she was from Georgia, but this morning, I was seeing hints of it that had never popped out at me before. I just figured she’d been in New York long enough to blur the lines a bit.
One more thing to find attractive.
Something told me the list would only grow more as each day passed. I just hoped that maybe I’d grow on her too.
I didn’t want to be the only one falling.
12
Daya
I’m not sure what exactly compelled me to offer to cook breakfast.
Scratch that, it was my habit of being a fat-ass.
Greyson’s breakfast menu just sounded so...bleak. And lifeless. I couldn’t let those two sweet women - or me, for the matter - start our mornings that way.
Plus, I needed to be doing something active so I didn’t have time to stare at Greyson and imagine everything we could be doing.
This is dangerous territory.
Reality was a bitch. Now that the sex was over, I was thinking slightly clearer. I tuned out their talking as I cracked the eggs in a bowl and pulled out everything else I’d need.
Sleeping with him had been a terrifically terrible idea.
I knew it.
I knew that I was leading him on.
I noticed how he was looking at me…and unless I was just in a completely narcissistic frame of mind, the ole hit it and quit it was not in his plans.
There was just no way that we could sleep together anymore. It could only be that one time, once for the weekend type of thing.
He was a man. He was going to think with his dick and not the long-term consequences of sleeping with me and the possible things that could and probably would go wrong.
But I knew better. And I would have to be the one to stay strong so that neither of us made things into an even bigger mess.
I wasn’t cut out for a relationship or being in such close space with someone. Already, I was itching for some time alone. But there were two seemingly great women and Greyson in there, and since they owned the place, I couldn’t really tell them I needed space. So I’d just cook instead and go out after they left. There wasn’t a single scenario where I could imagine Greyson just leaving me to my own devices if we were alone.
Shit, I couldn’t blame him, I was well on my way to being dicknotized – if it happened again. If you don’t know, that’s the state of being hypnotized by the stroke game.
Even with that, I didn’t want to deal with explaining myself. I didn’t want to deal with the confusion and disappointment on his face when I pushed him away for the time to myself, and when I tried to explain that it had nothing to do with him. People didn’t understand that. Chris had put me off seriously dating, but I’d always felt better alone.
They thought that it was a reflection on them, of my feelings, of whether or not I truly wanted them around and in my life. But it wasn’t. Sometimes, not having time to recharge just drained me past my limits and I’d learned that I had to look out for me first. I couldn’t light myself on fire to keep others warm, so to speak.
Stirring the mix for pumpkin waffles, I allowed myself to think about my family back home, something I didn’t do often. My life motto of keeping things simple was all because of them.
Simple wasn’t ever a word that could be used to describe the Kincaid family.
For one thing, my father had 4 wives.
While I’d been born in Georgia, my father hailed from South Africa. He came from a fairly wealthy family, tracing his bloodline back to early Dutch settlers, and he was the type of man who took what he pleased and didn’t care who he trampled on in the process.
His favorite thing to collect was women.
Since polygamy wasn’t exactly illegal there, my father had taken advantage and added a wife on every few years until I was 14. He would leave my mom and I to go back to South Africa and have his weddings. Stay there, and then come back when he felt like it. Sometimes with a wife or kid in tow, sometimes not. For immigration purposes, they were always “distant relatives” or “aunts”. Money closed a lot of mouths.
I never knew when I was going to see him or if it’d be years or weeks between his visits. Eventually, I’d numbed myself to caring.
So when Greyson told me about his dad having a wife and a girlfriend, I hadn’t been all that surprised. Men did what they pleased. It was just worse because at least my dad’s wives knew about each other from the start.
I didn’t understand what made a woman decide she wanted to be one of the few. I knew it wasn’t all hunky-dory because I remembered the arguments with my mom over him being gone. Those were the few times she bothered to say anything to him.
There were calls to the house and pop-up visits from his other “wives”, angry that he wasn’t giving them the same attention. Since they didn’t have any legal rights or even documentation in the US saying that they were his wives, it never went past that. He’d promise a few things, and they’d go back to being the docile and greedy little housewives from afar.
It was fucked up. I never had friends visit, I never brought a boyfriend home, and the first second I got to leave – I was gone. My mom’s sister moved back to Georgia from New Mexico when I was 14 – and I’d begged my mom to let me stay with her on one occasion that my dad had taken one of his trips. I’d been dodging communication with them ever since.
As was typical of narcissistic people with money, they thought they could throw it at a problem and it’d be okay. I hadn’t spoken to him in 9 years and my father still wired a lump sum of money to my old bank account. I’d set up a separate account the second I moved away so I hadn’t touched any of his money. And I never would if I could help it.
Sometimes, I wondered if I should just use it. It was money, regardless of the motive behind it. How could I let myself just leave it unused when so many people were struggling? If I really wanted nothing to do with it, I could give it away.
But I hadn’t. And that pissed me off too.
I was pretty much cooking on autopilot, and before long, only the bacon had to be taken out of the oven. The eggs were scrambled, the waffles were cooked, and the cheesy gruyere grits I’d made were bubbling lightly in the pot. As I reached for the oven mitts, the front door opened, and Faith and Ryan walked in.
Man, was I grateful to see them.
The more buffers between Greyson and I, the better.
“Somethings smells like unhealthiness. Daya must be making breakfast,” Faith quipped as she set her duffle bag down. “Mom! Mom number two! What are you two doing here?”
“Hey lo
ve-bug,” Heather opened her arms for a hug and I had to try not to betray my surprise. I hadn’t expected to hear an endearment from her. Yeah, she seemed nice, but she had a real icy look about her. She and Genie were night and day.
No wonder Greyson’s father had kept them both; it was probably the best of both worlds to him.
“Hey second child of mine,” Genie kissed Faith on the cheek.
“Keep talking crap about my food and you won’t get any,” I mock warn her, pointing the spatula in her direction.
Ryan greets the mothers and nods at Greyson as he leans on the counter. “We just had a weekend detox, I’m all for some southern diabetes. What’d you two kids do without us all weekend?”
“Pretty much caught up on sleep. Watched some TV.” Greyson answers for us, and I nod mutely, turning back to the platters I was putting things on. I ignore the knowing glance that Genie gives each of us.
I didn’t want Faith or Ryan to know about things yet…actually, at all. It’d been a one-time thing so there was no need to inform anyone like they’d have to know for the future or so they could get used to us.
“Alright, there are pumpkin waffles, scrambled eggs with cheddar, gruyere cheese grits, and maple bacon.” I pass Greyson the serving dishes and he puts them on the table with the maple syrup. Everyone moves to the dining room table and I bring the silverware and a cup of black coffee for Greyson. “Anything else we need?”
“You cooked, I’m sure we can grab anything else if we want it.” Ryan answers with a smile, moving to grab the orange juice from the fridge and a few cups. “Sit down, enjoy the food.”
Sitting the coffee cup in front of Greyson, I take the furthest seat from him. Genie and Heather sit on one side, with Ryan and Faith across from them. Greyson and I are at either end of the table, and I’m going to avoid looking at him as long as possible. I know we’ll need to talk when there’s time…but I’m not eager to get it over with because I know he’s not going to accept it easily.
And why would he?
To him, I’d just be being difficult and selfish, wanting to keep my life as is and cutting him out of it.
So I’d have to rip the Band-Aid off and make myself scarce for the few days that he’d continue staying. But then there was him being Faith’s brother. That made things more complicated if he decided he wanted to pursue me anyway. And his mom owned the townhouse!
I watched everyone talking and chatting as I drank my hot cider, complimenting my food and making jokes about gaining ten pounds. There were just too many threads of connection.
Maybe it was time to find my own place.
13
Greyson
“I like her,” my mom murmured, keeping her voice low as she washed a dish in the water. She’d shooed Daya out of the kitchen and Heather was making sure she didn’t try to come in and help with cleaning up. I was drinking a protein shake, catching up with my mom before I was going to meet with some of the guys for a pick-up game.
It was nice to play for fun against each other and not for a real win, even if things were still competitive as fuck since we couldn’t really help it.
“I like her too,” I grinned, leaning back against the counter. “Too much. She’s…complicated.”
“You’ve slept with her?”
“Ma.” I frown.
“What? I’m just trying to get the full story. Because I can already tell that it’s not going to be easy from how she’s been acting.”
“Once. It’s new…but we’ve known each other. Kind of. Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“Well, let me give you some advice you didn’t ask for.” She rinses her hands and dries them, glancing back at the living room to make sure nobody is within hearing distance. “Nothing is complicated. Either she wants to be with you or she doesn’t. Now, if there are things holding her back – that’s another beast. No matter how much she might want to ignore them, she has to face those other things before she can start clean. And you can’t sacrifice yourself to wait for her to deal with those things, if it comes to that. You understand me?” My usually happy go lucky mother has the most serious face I’ve seen on her since everything happened with my father.
“Do you think it’s something that serious?” Had she seen something I’d missed? I could tell Daya wasn’t going to be easy to convince, but I hadn’t thought past that. Did her reasons run much deeper than just liking things a certain way?
Shit.
“I’m not a mind reader, darling. Just going off my mother’s intuition. I’m only saying this because I can see you two have something sparking and I don’t want to see you hurt.” I nod, taking her words to heart. My mom didn’t have a bad bone in her body. If she was saying anything, it meant that she truly saw something that worried her.
“Okay Ma, I’ll be careful. Hopefully it’s nothing we can’t work through. I don’t know exactly what I want, but I know I want to explore things.”
“You know what you want, you just don’t want to admit it to me because you don’t know where she stands,” patting my cheek, she leaves me with that comment and goes to join the women in the living room.
I finish my shake, then go to say goodbye to Heather. Daya’s still avoiding verbally acknowledging me, so I go to my room to get my gear and get dressed.
Hockey will help me avoid thinking about why I want to avoid thinking about what I’m going to do about the situation.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was in my hands anymore.
And that realization sucked.
“Fuck,” I grunt, slamming into the boards as Milov checks me
Motherfucker.
I was going to be more bruised than an actual game.
Righting myself quickly, I grit my teeth and skate towards the puck, shoving Graham aside as I block him with my stick and send the puck around the net to Kane. Tonkin and Graham go to block Kane from putting the shot in, but he rushes them and I see what’s happening and cut wide into the open space to receive his pass and make the goal.
Hell yeah.
It’s a game to practice, so there’s no thought of celebrating.
I high five Kane as he passes me, but we circle back around the ice, setting up for the next play.
My game is about getting my eyes up. If I do that, I can catch the defenders off guard and find someone in a good spot. Usually, it’s about taking away my space. I have to find ways to get room whatever ways I can.
I’m getting speed coming through the neutral zone, when Milov slams into me again.
Shit.
Now, it’s war.
“Grey,” Alex calls me and I turn my head, ruffling the towel through my hair before slinging it around my neck.
“Don’t Grey me now ass-wipe, you’re responsible for ten of these bruises,” I rib him, punching him in the arm.
“Shit, that one’s gonna bruise too,” he complains, shaking his blonde hair out of his face. “Sooo…Daya?”
I give him a look, knowing we’re going to need way more time to discuss her than finishing up in the locker room. “We’ll talk over dinner.”
“Alright man, I’ll text Tasha. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
“Gotta let the warden know you’re going out tonight?” I’m just giving him shit since I can feel an ache on my entire left side—his doing.
“Hey, you asked how I’ve managed this long…communicating is one of those ways,” he shoots back, pulling out his phone as he walks away.
“And yet, he suggested that I keep things secret. Rich,” shaking my head, I chat with Markovich about his newborn baby girl and ooh and ah over the pictures. I ignore the quick pang I feel.
Truthfully, she still looks like an old man but I wouldn’t dare say that to a proud father. It’s just cool as hell to see him so excited and happy. You got really close depending on each other like we did. Team chemistry was everything and if anyone wanted to be a solo player instead of a team player, you were going to have a shit season and a shit team.
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“We got a week left man, you ready?”
I pull on my sneakers, standing and lifting my bag onto my shoulder. “Hell yeah, brother. I hope we all are. Alex, bring your ass.” I call across the locker room, heading for the door and talking briefly with the other guys before Alex joins me.
“Ready?”
“Yup.” We’re mostly silent as we leave the facility, heading through the parking deck until we get to my truck. Alex’s custom car was being shipped still, so I’d been picking him up and Tasha would get him after we practiced or had a team meeting to watch film.
I look over as he puts on his belt and heaves his shit into my backseat. “Mickey’s?”
“You know it. So what’s up, man? I haven’t heard from you since Friday night.”
I leave the deck, turning onto the street and heading towards our favorite little bar & grill place. We’d probably see some of the other guys there. It was one of the more low-key bars we went to, unlike some post-game nights when we interacted more with the fans. We didn’t drink during the season as an unofficial rule, but bars were a good place to just let the people connect to us more.
Tapping my fingers on the wheel at a red light, I try to decide where to start. “Alright…so she figured it out before I could tell her.”
As I expected, Alex is laughing like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all year. I let him have his moment as I put on my blinker and turn into the parking lot across from the bar. “Let me know when you’re done.” I park and turn off my lights.
It takes him a few seconds, but eventually he wipes his eyes and calms down. “Leave it to you, man.”
“I don’t know why I still put up with you. I should’ve let those kids beat your ass all those years ago.” When Alex is out of the truck, I lock the door and we walk towards the bar.