Five-Star

by J Santiago

  “Dictionary?” he said, like a complete smart-ass. He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for with that remark—a laugh or a fight.

  He got neither. She merely rolled her eyes at him.

  “Now, I’m definitely not going,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Whatever,” Tank said. “I’ve got to go.” He saw her watch him with her big brown eyes, trepidation pooling there.

  “Okay. I’ve got dinner at Nona’s tonight, but I don’t have to work. Catch up later?”

  Knowing he was being an ass but not really caring, he shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll text you, see if we can work something out.” Then, he grabbed his jacket and left—no kiss, no backward glance, just a whole lot of pissed, which was never good when seeing his mother.

  Marie’s, the diner where they always met, was a couple of streets over from the Bear’s Den, tucked into a strip mall, next to the Kroger. They’d stumbled upon it one morning when stocking his apartment with food, and they had been coming ever since. Not because he was Tank Howard, just because they were regulars, they had a booth in the back that was theirs on the Sunday mornings after home games and once a month in the off-season.

  As the season had played out, he would walk into Marie’s to applause and, “Great game,” and, “That was some pass.”

  Today, someone had taken it upon himself to start chanting, “Heisman, Heisman,” as he made his way to the back.

  He high-fived and fist-bumped whoever held out a hand, so it took him a couple of minutes to join his mother in the back. He couldn’t disguise his pleasure at the big deal everyone was making of him this morning. He almost wished Amber had been watching, so he could smirk and stick his tongue out at her. He didn’t need her apprehension. He was Tank Howard.

  As he sat down, the adulation of the diners warred with his anger with Amber, so his mother got a pissed off, arrogant Tank.

  “Morning,” he said.

  She glanced at her watch. Without knowing what time it was, Tank knew that glance meant he was late. She wasn’t a tyrant by any means, but Chantel knew her way around respect.

  “Sorry,” he grumbled, silently cursing the women in his life.

  “Good morning.” She eyed him like only a mother could—scrutinizing his face, his eyes, looking for signs that she could recognize and those that she couldn’t.

  She could always guess his mood in the first few minutes of seeing him without any words being exchanged. He knew that, at some point in his life, someone would know the ins and outs of him better, but right now, his mother owned that ability. He waited for it, and she didn’t disappoint.

  “What’s going on, honey?” she stated with a soothing tone, pulling a smile from him.

  “Nothing. Just the morning didn’t play out the way I’d expected, I guess.”

  She shrugged and harrumphed, telling him that life didn’t always play out the way you wanted and you needed to strap it on and get over it. He’d seen it enough to know exactly what she was saying.

  He smiled. “So?” he asked, knowing she’d want to talk about his game. He also knew exactly how she’d start.

  “I love watching you play,” she said, to which Tank smiled again.

  Since he had been small, she’d start every conversation about his game with that phrase. Today, he waited, but nothing followed.

  “That’s it?” he asked, about to sit back and relax into the booth. He saw her eyes dart away from his, and the first little frizzle of uneasiness buzzed through him.

  “It was a good game.”

  “Yeah,” Tank answered, his brow furrowed.

  She took a deep breath. “You know, I knew that the time would come, and when it did, I thought I’d be ready. It’s going to be complicated because, of course, that man wants a piece of you.”

  At her pause, she looked down again, and Tank’s stomach knotted.

  Fucking Richard, he thought.

  “Agents have been calling for a while. You know that already.” She looked up for his confirmation. At his nod, she continued, “It’s gotten pretty crazy. Franco and I discussed it the last time I was here. He gave me the names of the agents that are registered with the state and school, for reference. Anyway, I think we are getting to the point when you are going to have to make a decision about next year.”

  Tank leaned back into the booth, studying his mother. At the beginning of the season, they’d decided that he would wait until after the season before he even started thinking about next year. First, Chantel and him had met, and then they’d met with Franco. He’d agreed. There was no reason he needed to be thinking about this right now.

  “I can’t make a decision at this point. We’ve got a month left with four games to run the table and then the bowl game. Why would I decide that now?”

  She inhaled deeply. “Tank, I have a bad feeling. He’s been circling, saying some crazy things. He wants me to agree to get you to sign with an agent. Of course, it’s not with anyone on Franco’s list.”

  Tank hated his mother’s bad feelings. They always meant something. But she really wasn’t telling him anything that they hadn’t already anticipated.

  “What’s changed?” he asked, exhausted by the conversation.

  “It just felt different this week. Almost like he was baiting me.”

  Tank kept himself from rolling his eyes. “Okay?”

  “I don’t know how else to explain it. I feel like he’s going to pressure you, us to do something rash.” She didn’t need to mention signing day; it was always there.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think it means that he’s got something up his sleeve, and we’re not going to like it.”

  Amber had made her way out of Tank’s bed and apartment as quickly as possible. She knew her reaction to his invitation to meet his mother had not gone over well. She got it. It wasn’t something he had done lightly, almost like a royal summons to a commoner. She understood Tank had an ego. You weren’t the number one prospect in the country and then the leading candidate for the Heisman without some sense that you were just a little bit better than everyone else. She’d been around her father enough to get the ego of an athlete. Even knowing all that and understanding that Tank would do something to remind her that he was who he was, she didn’t think she could meet his mother today. Today, she had to deal with her father and with the little devil Tilly sitting on her shoulder, reminding her that she’d gotten them all into this twisty knot of intermingled relationships.

  Since coming home from Oxford, Sunday evenings at her grandparents’ had stirred up a myriad of emotions in Amber. Part of her longed for the comfort of the house she’d grown up in, surrounded by all the people who loved her. But, mostly, it turned her stomach because it put her into such close proximity with her father. Their relationship had disintegrated into a series of battles where the victor’s spoils were not ever something to celebrate. The battleground known as Tank Howard had become particularly bloody, and Franco’s giving up of the state secret of Rowdy Daniels had her brain screaming, Traitor.

  But then Tilly’s reprimand had snuck in and made her feel like she wasn’t the wronged party. She’d known who Tank was, she’d known his relationship with her father, and she’d hooked up with him anyway without any forewarning to him about who she was. When she spun it around, looking at it from another angle, maybe she couldn’t claim to be the victim in this case.

  Why did she need Tilly to point that out to her? Oh, she thought, because it has to do with Franco, and I’ve lost all objectivity where he’s concerned.

  With the bitter sting of Tilly’s jab fresh in her mind, she attempted to get ready for her confrontation with her father because, today, there would be a confrontation. She just wasn’t sure who would win. What she could be certain of was, they’d both come out a little bit bloodier than when they’d started. Some part of her—the part that Tank had reawakened, the one that was getting used to the startled laughter and rusty smiles—had some hope that may
be, just maybe, this would be the final battle.

  So, she showered, did her new/old hair, and got dressed. She donned her armor but in a much more subdued manner than she had done in the past.

  It was funny; even though they hadn’t spoken a civil word in weeks, Amber knew her father would pull up to the house at three forty-five. So, she sat on the front steps, waiting. When he drove in, she made her way around to the passenger side of the truck.

  In a scene that she had played over and over, like repeat on an iPod, Amber took her seat and mumbled, “Hey.”

  Franco looked over at her. “Hey. I like your natural color. It looks great,” he said. He left the car in park and turned toward her.

  Going on the offensive, she thought.

  “Remember two weeks ago, when I said I was going to make this a lot harder for you? That I was going to push and stop letting you push me away?”

  Amber cautiously watched her father. Even though she thought she’d prepared herself for their time together, she found that she wasn’t quite ready for his direct confrontation. She reluctantly admitted to herself that she liked him better when he treated her like she was fragile even though she hated that, too. She guessed she wouldn’t let him win, no matter what he did.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding.

  “Telling Tank wasn’t about that.”

  She continued to stare at him. He waited her out, not saying anything.

  “I don’t get it. What do you mean?” she finally asked.

  His left arm draped over the steering wheel, as he pinned her with his steely brown eyes. “I saw you with him.”

  At that statement, Amber shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. What exactly did that mean? “Okay?” she said in a manner that sounded more like a question than a statement.

  Franco smiled, like he was caught in a pleasant memory. Amber noted the smile with a small amount of amazement. It had been a while since she’d seen him smile like that. She knew he could say the same about her, and that made her heart hurt a bit.

  “You were at the field, and you smiled and laughed.” He paused, like he was gathering his thoughts, but he never looked away. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a genuine smile on your face and even longer since I’ve heard your laughter. I’ve probably never told you, but as a parent, at least for me, genuine laughter is like a miracle when you hear it in your child. It makes you think you can fly.”

  He shrugged but held her gaze, allowing the sentimentality of the moment to wash over both of them. Franco had always had remarkable timing.

  “After I saw you two together, it made me think that you could be happy again—not the same as you were, but that you could find some happiness.” He watched her, and she felt herself nod, unknowingly acknowledging what he was saying without even checking her actions. “But none of that would be possible if Tank didn’t know what had happened to you. And I knew that you’d never voluntarily give it up. So, I pushed him in the Rowdy direction.”

  “You expect me to believe you did that for me?” she heard herself saying, but the bite that normally accompanied her interactions with him was missing.

  Franco laughed humorlessly. “No. Unfortunately, I don’t expect you to believe me. But I wanted you to know just the same. I know you won’t believe this either, and that’s probably my fault. I guess, in my own way, I’ve shown you that my career is more important than you are. But you will always win. There’s no contest. Between you and Tank, I pick you.” He made sure she saw the sincerity in his eyes before he turned and put the truck in reverse.

  They didn’t say anything else on the way to her grandmother’s, nor did they talk on the way home. But when he dropped her off before heading back into the office, Amber had to admit that the battle lines had been redrawn. She could fight her father’s pity, even his anger, but she had no defense against his declaration of utter devotion. Because she absolutely believed him.

  Twenty-Eight

  It took Amber about two seconds to text Tank once she entered the front door.

  I’m done. You busy?

  She thought his response would be instantaneous.

  But, in the interim, she washed her face, changed her clothes, and brushed her hair. When she finished, she checked her phone and found that there was no response from Tank. Disappointed but not alarmed, she waited. The thing with waiting for a text was that your head would get all caught up in the possibilities behind the delay. For Amber, the possibilities were endless. He’d definitely not appreciated her hesitation to meet his mother. And he seemed not to like the way she moved around his sarcasm. But, back in those moments of uncertainty, she faltered in the meaning. Why did he want her to meet his mother? What if, like Tilly, she wasn’t an immediate fan? Amber wasn’t sure she could handle being persona non grata with both his mother and one of his closest friends. So, she had balked. Now, she wondered if he was making her pay for it.

  She debated for a while—text him back or just go see him. Which would be more humiliating? she weighed. Another text ignored or a door in her face?

  Throwing herself on her bed, she picked up her phone, willing a ding. But watching it didn’t do any good, and she was too amped up to sit at home. So, she decided on the more radical approach. Grabbing her stuff, she headed out the door to see what was up.

  Tank’s apartment complex was jumping when she got there. Bass was thumping through the parking lot, and many of the apartment doors were ajar, allowing people to roam freely from one spot to another. Yesterday had been an active day for the BCS teams, and everyone was fairly certain that the Bears would break the top ten. She imagined that was the reason for the party atmosphere.

  And, she thought thankfully, the reason I haven’t heard back from Tank.

  After circling the parking lot once, she pulled down the road and parked in the first open spot she could find.

  She saw Iman first, sitting on the trunk of a car with some hoochie-looking girl taking up space between his legs. He flashed a smile when he saw her and nodded toward Tank’s apartment. She checked herself as she started to move quickly up the steps, her excitement getting the best of her. She tried not to think too much about it—this shiny new feeling inside her—because she didn’t want to admit to herself that it was wrapped up in a big Tank Howard bow.

  The door to their apartment was open, and the first thing she saw was a wide-eyed Tilly Lace, leaning back in the kitchen table chair, his hand filled with cards. She took the look to mean he either had a good hand or a bad one, and she had a momentary feeling of pity for his lack of a poker face. But, as she entered the apartment, she knew the face had nothing to do with his cards but instead with the girl straddling Tank on his sofa.

  She pushed herself to walk all the way through the door and even managed a very casual, “Hey,” to the apartment at large.

  She had a vision of walking over to the blonde, grabbing her by the hair, and yanking her off of the guy whose bed she’d woken up in this morning. Instead, in an unconscious gesture, she reached around for her recently sheared hair, attempting to pull it over the right side of her face and neck. Tilly saved her by standing up and walking over to her, all Southern hospitality-like.

  “Hey,” he said, obviously used to playing this role with the women in Tank’s life. He moved her toward the kitchenette and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “Drink?” he asked.

  She took it even though the only thing she wanted to do with the beer was break it over Tank’s head. Tilly seemed to recognize the look in her eyes because he smiled wide, his gold teeth gleaming in the fluorescent kitchen light.

  “Not worth it,” he mumbled, nodding his head in Tank’s direction and turning her around.

  Tank’s light-green eyes were trained on her but he made no move to disengage himself from the other girl.

  “What happened this morning?” Tilly asked, leaning against the counter.

  “Huh?” Amber said, too shocked by the blatant fuck-you happening right in front of her.
/>   Tilly just looked at her, like she was being stupid.

  “You think I did something to deserve that?” she whispered furiously.

  “Nah. I didn’t say that. I’m just wondering why he’s watching you but all up on another girl.”

  She shuddered at the direct, accurate description of the last few minutes. “I don’t know, but I’m too old to play these little games.”

  She set the beer down and almost took a step when Tilly said, “Wasn’t that you a few weeks ago when you walked away from him and started grinding on some frat boy?”

  Amber looked up at him, kind of surprised by his observation. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

  “Never said that.”

  “Didn’t trust me?”

  “Good reasons.”

  “So, what does it matter if I just walk out of here?”

  “Nothing. I’m just saying, didn’t you have some reason you were all over some other dude not two weeks ago?”

  “Fucking Dr. Phil,” she said sarcastically.

  Tilly threw his head back and laughed loudly. His laughter drew everyone’s attention, and Amber reluctantly smiled at him.

  “Look, Tilly, I appreciate the subtle intervention, but I’m fucked up enough as it is. I can’t get into this pissing match with him.” She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s what it would be because what I really want to do right now is go find one of your teammates and screw him. So, do you really think this is worth interfering?”

  Tilly looked at her with a little bit of pity in his eyes. “That’s pretty sad,” he said.

  “Yep. Sad but true. But, because you’ve been such a good guy, I’m going to just walk out of here and go home. No harm done. Okay?” she said as she reached out and patted his huge arm. “Have a good night.” She made her way to the front door.

  She wished it were closed, so she could take out some of her frustration with a good pulling open and slamming shut. But, because there was little choice, she merely walked through the open passageway without a second glance toward the couch. Down the steps and across the parking lot, she nodded at Iman whose wide eyes reflected his surprise at her quick departure. When she reached her car, she was more than ready to go—do not pass go; do not collect two hundred. She was almost away when two hands wrapped around her biceps, and she was pulled to a halt.