Five-Star

by J Santiago

  “Tank,” she said.

  He turned toward her, walking backward toward the open locker room door, waiting for what she had to say.

  “Really.”

  And, just like that, the adrenaline rush was back.

  Tank took longer than everyone else. During his family introductions, they’d all showered. So, when he left the locker room, he entered a deserted tunnel, twenty yards from where the bus waited outside the stadium. As he hurried out, his tie undone around his neck, his sport coat half-on and half-off, a man stepped into his path. Looking around, unsure of what was happening, Tank stopped.

  “Tank Howard?” the man asked.

  “Depends on who’s asking.” He didn’t mean to be a dick per se, but he knew the bus containing his team was close by if he needed them.

  “I’m John Barnett. Richard sent me.”

  Thirty-Eight

  New. Shiny. Happy.

  Amber sat in her spot at the insanely busy Bear’s Den, drifting in a haze of unfamiliar emotions. The day played over and over in her head, a montage of pleasant images that seemed to do battle with those suddenly rusty memories of the past couple of years. The only blight on the past twenty-four hours was her fumble with Franco and those tense minutes before meeting Chantel. Where, even yesterday, she would have found a way to blame anyone but herself, she could at least acknowledge that she’d blundered. She didn’t think that she would soon forget the look on Franco’s face when she’d aborted her hug. It wasn’t horror or anger but rather a knowing resignation in his eyes that seemed to momentarily strangle her happiness.

  Here, a number of hours later, she held her hands on the reins of two very different desires—to tell Tank how she felt about him and to fix things with Franco. Both scared the shit out of her.

  The atmosphere at the bar didn’t invite solitude or even thought. Players had been arriving in waves with groupies in their wake, a sea of green and silver. When Keira and Mark started to drown in orders, Amber jumped behind the bar to help them out. It was probably why she didn’t notice the time. It wasn’t until she saw the huge smile breaking across Keira’s face that she even started to think about it. When Tilly and Iman arrived at nine, Amber could no longer contain the excitement. Her stomach rolled with the anticipation of seeing Tank.

  But when Tilly’s questioning glance met hers, she scurried out from behind the bar and pushed her way to him and Iman.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  Tilly leaned down, so she could hear him. “I thought he was here with you.”

  They both pulled back to look at each other, concerned.

  Amber couldn’t help it when doubts settled in her gut. She leaned forward into Tilly’s mass, and he lowered his head, so he could hear her. “Should I be worried?”

  Tilly moved back, away from her, so she could see his face before he dived back down toward her ear. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head, which she could feel in the confines of the space they were allotted. “You don’t need to worry about that. I promise.”

  Her relief felt like a presence of its own in the bar. “Where is he?”

  But Tilly merely shrugged, not with indifference but with uncertainty.

  “I’m going to go look for him. Will you tell Keira?”

  “I got you. Text me when you find him.”

  Then, Tilly scooped her up, hugging her tight. “We’re good,” he said before he released her.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d done to change his mind or win his approval, but all of a sudden, all that happiness flooded her system again, a wave that carried her out the door in search of its source.

  Amber started in the direction of his apartment, but halfway there, she changed directions and headed toward the stadium instead. When she found the stadium empty and dark, she doubled back to his apartment. She wasn’t sure what had happened between the magic in the tunnel outside of the locker room and the designated meeting time. The pessimist who lived in her head started planting uncertainty, like a bomb specialist might lay land mines—strategically placed so that one misstep could blow you away. It made Amber take each step toward Tank’s apartment with careful consideration. Tilly’s words and Tank’s greeting earlier in the day seemed to fade in and out. She remembered the other time she’d shown up here, unannounced.

  Reaching the front door, Amber paused, laying her forehead on it, her hand on the doorknob. Without knowing why, her heart stuttered and dropped. She almost walked away, but she moved forward, sensing that she must know what was happening behind that door. Without knocking, Amber turned the handle and stepped over the threshold.

  Tank’s beautiful half-naked form was sitting on the couch, his head lolled back, his knees spread, as some unknown girl’s mouth was wrapped around him. She must have made some noise because Tank’s translucent eyes found hers. But they didn’t widen in surprise, nor did they cower in fear with his discovery. They simply took her in, raked her from head to toe. Maybe they filled with regret or even resignation, but she was so far gone that she couldn’t process it.

  Backing out of the door, Amber turned and flew down the steps. Her left foot missed the bottom rung, and she sprawled on the concrete, her hands bitten by the asphalt, her chin bearing the brunt, jarring her teeth with a resounding thud. Jumping up, as if she hadn’t just face-planted, she moved as quickly as she could to her car. Before she opened the door though, the horrible scene flashed through her brain, ripped through her stomach, and pulled her to a halt as she vomited, almost projectile-like. When it passed, her shaking hand wiped across her mouth, attempting to put herself to right.

  As she climbed into her car, the last couple of moments hit her again—her throbbing hand, her sore jaw, her rolling stomach. She’d been here before where her body seemed to operate on its own without heeding her head. And she waited for it because she knew it was coming, if she could just be patient.

  Leaning her head back on the driver’s seat headrest, closing her eyes, she willed her natural response. It was a pleasant sensation, allowing her to float through the bad without really feeling it. She’d mastered it in the hospital. It was an old friend who gave her comfort and peace, allowed her to move on, swimming instead of treading water. When it hit, it was almost orgasmic.

  She was numb.

  Sneaking in through the kitchen door of the Bear’s Den, Amber grabbed the first aid kit and headed to the bathroom, keeping her head down and avoiding as many people as possible. She waited in line but when the biggest stall, with a sink and a mirror, presented itself, she barged in front and sequestered herself inside. Examining her face in the mirror, she almost groaned aloud. Her abraded chin swelled with ribbons of black and blue, making her resemble Humpty Dumpty.

  Giving up on her face, she ran her hands under the water and washed off the dried blood, careful not to disturb the deeper cuts. Lubing them up with Neosporin, she slapped some Band-Aids on her hands. Rinsing out her mouth, which was bothering her more than anything else, she almost felt put back together. She glanced in the mirror, admiring the cursory overhaul, until she saw her eyes. Then, she realized she didn’t look put together at all. Her haunted, lifeless eyes resembled the girl she’d been just a few weeks ago.

  Dousing her face with cold water, she messed with her hair and headed out to the bar.

  Thankful for the dimness of the Bear’s Den, Amber picked her way through the celebrating football players, their groupies, and their fans, heading directly to Keira and the bar.

  “I need Patrón,” she demanded when Keira greeted her from behind the bar.

  She recognized the questioning look in Keira’s eyes but ignored it as Keira placed the glass in front of her. Throwing down the first shot, she immediately placed the empty shot glass in front of Keira for a refill. Amber smiled at her when she refilled the glass.

  “Are you okay?” Keira asked as Amber threw back the second shot.

  Slamming the shot glass on the bar, silently demanding a third, Amber merely nodded, look
ing Keira directly in the eyes. Keira shook her head but again filled the glass.

  With the tequila burning through her system, Amber turned from the bar and moved directly toward the dance floor, looking for someone, anyone, to fill the quiet within her. Unfortunately, the bar was filled with most of the team, and they knew about her and Tank. Even though they respected him and most of them liked him, she knew there was always one, someone who hid their jealousy and spite under a veneer of general indifference. That was what she looked for as she stepped out onto the dance floor. It wouldn’t be hard to find; she’d be able to see it because it was easy to pick out when it was leveled right at you.

  And, just like that, one song in, someone took the bait. The junior cornerback, Tony Smith, put his hands on her hips and pulled her into him, her siren song working. Turning, she looped her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was nothing like having her mouth attached to Tank’s, and she was so thankful for the numbness as Tony moved it through her, spreading it around, instead of desire. She kept her eyes closed, blocking out any lurkers, not wanting to actually meet anyone’s glare.

  She knew the moment it’d gotten out of hand. She could feel him pull her closer, could feel the length of him against her stomach. Part of her wanted to puke again, and part of her wanted to hold on, to keep pushing so that the detachment would stay. Then, suddenly, she was yanked backward, and she opened her eyes to see Tony being pulled back, too, in a direction opposite of her, rage masking his features.

  “What the fuck, Iman?” Tony yelled, trying to extricate himself from Iman’s grasp.

  She watched in fascination until she realized that she was not touching the ground, and the arms around her weren’t very gentle.

  “Put me down,” she insisted, the numb fading away. She wasn’t completely sure who had her, only that he was big and strong, which made her resist the temptation to fight against him.

  “What are you doing, Amber? You’re gonna ruin this team.”

  Sagging with relief when she realized Tilly had her, she let him pull her through the bar and out the back door. Setting her down, he spun her around, so they were facing each other, both of them trying to contain their anger.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled at her, his voice booming in the darkness.

  “Me? What’s wrong with me?” she sputtered. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No! How in the hell could you hook up with Tony? What’s the matter with you? Tank’s gonna lose his shit.”

  “Ha! Don’t you worry about Tank giving a shit about me. He doesn’t fucking care about me.”

  “Are you kidding? He loves you.” Tilly’s rage was evident, but he seemed to heave a deep breath after the words had left his mouth. He visibly calmed, the rage from moments before seeping out of him. He took a step forward, imploring her. “Look, Amber, my boy is head over heels in love with you. He’s gonna lose it when he finds out that you were hooking up with Tony. He’s gonna fucking kill Tony. Do you know what that’s gonna do to our team right now? Do you even care about that?”

  “No!” she screamed at him. “I don’t fucking care.”

  Tilly didn’t respond to her hysterics. He merely watched her, and suddenly, silence stretched between them.

  “What happened?” Tilly asked. His tone had changed completely from accusatory to conciliatory. Eyeing her warily, he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

  She averted her gaze, no longer able to look him in the face, ashamed of what had happened, humiliated in a way that she couldn’t share. Tilly’s finger touched her chin gingerly, lifting it. He peered at it in the feeble light, inspecting the damage. Batting his hand away, Amber stepped back, needing the distance. But that drew attention to her hands, and suddenly, Tilly reached out to grab her wrists and flipped her hands over to inspect them.

  “Amber, I know Tank. I know he wouldn’t hurt you, but can you please tell me what happened? I’m starting to freak out here.”

  Afraid to meet his gaze, she looked down at her palms, still held in Tilly’s hands. Now that his anger had dissipated, he was like a gentle giant, holding on to her, coaxing her to spill her secrets.

  “I went to find him. I thought he was maybe at the stadium, but when he wasn’t there, I went to your apartment. And…it’s funny. I hesitated at the door because of what I’d walked into the last time I showed up unexpectedly, but this time, Tilly, it was so much worse.”

  Tilly shook his head, like he was preparing himself for denial.

  “He was mostly naked, on your couch, with some girl giving him head.”

  “No fucking way. He wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Oh, he did, Tilly. And the shit part of it, what hurt the most—well, I guess there are two things. She had platinum-blonde hair, which speaks a lot for his preferences. And he looked right at me, Tilly, looked me dead in the eyes, and didn’t say a word. Just let me take it in to do with whatever I wanted.”

  “I believe you, but I just don’t believe it. He’s in love with you. I know he is.”

  “Well then, he doesn’t love right,” she said simply.

  “Then, what happened? Did you get into a fight?”

  “No. I ran, missed the last step, and face-planted. My leg just doesn’t allow me to be graceful.”

  “And then you came here to have your revenge?”

  “Ah, Tilly, you know me so well,” she responded, sarcasm lacing her words.

  Tilly didn’t say anything for a bit. He just moved to lean against the brick of the building, silent in the quiet night. “Something’s wrong.”

  Amber turned to look at him. “What do you mean? I mean, I know shit’s messed up, but that’s not what you mean, is it?”

  “No.” He met her gaze fully. “I know that you can’t believe me right now, but Tank loves you. I don’t mean kinda sorta likes you. I mean, soul-deep, love-of-his-life kind of love. Something happened tonight that pushed him away. It’s the only explanation.”

  “Tilly, Tank might love sex, and he might love women—apparently, women with platinum-colored hair—but he doesn’t love me. There’s no way he slid his dick into someone else’s mouth just because ‘something’ happened,” she said, throwing up the air quotes.

  “Why not? You slid your tongue into his teammate’s mouth!” he said. His tone blazed through her, all sense of sympathy absent. He took a deep breath. “Think about it. Think about when you left the bar earlier tonight. You felt it. You know I’m right.”

  She felt the denial all the way to her soul, but she had to admit to herself that she was sort of captivated by Tilly’s faith in his friend’s feelings for her.

  “Come on,” Amber said.

  “Where are we going?” Tilly asked.

  “If you really think something’s wrong, then we need to talk to Coach.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Tank was in his bed when he heard the front door open. His eyes popped open at the sound of the footsteps walking through his apartment. Surveying his room, relieved to find it empty, all evidence of his earlier encounter was absent, except for the ugly images emblazoned on his brain.

  When the knock sounded on his door, he rolled toward the side of his bed, letting his feet hit the floor while he pulled the sheet over his lap. He couldn’t contain his surprise when the door opened to admit Franco and Tilly. He watched Franco survey the room.

  “Get dressed,” he snapped before the door closed, leaving Tank alone, apprehension filling him.

  He couldn’t stop the replay of his night. It ran continually. His conversation after the game, his realization on the bus, his deliberate hook-up, Amber’s face when she had seen him, his future fractured, his dream shattered—it was all right there in front of him. Slowly, he stood up, his soreness from the game setting in, leaving him achy and lethargic. Or maybe it was the mess of his life that made him feel like that. Whatever it was, he moved as if through water, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. As his h
and reached for the doorknob, he paused, leaning his head against the doorjamb, praying for something that he couldn’t quite name.

  Walking into the living room, he was surprised by the people waiting for him—Tilly and Franco, Miss Magee, Coach Higgs and Amber. Franco was in the recliner, and Miss Magee was on the couch. Amber, Tilly, and Higgs were leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He couldn’t look in Amber’s direction, but that she was there, at the scene of his crime, fucked with his sanity. His stomach seized up, leaving him nauseous. He didn’t look anyone in the eyes but Franco.

  “Take a seat,” his coach barked.

  Tank sprawled on the couch, next to Miss Magee, his only option. It didn’t escape his notice that, a few hours ago, he’d sat, naked, in this same spot, trying to escape his reality in the mouth of someone who now left him feeling greasy and worthless.

  Franco leaned forward in his chair, making sure he had Tank’s every attention, before he said, “Explain to me why your roommate and your girlfriend showed up at my house at one o’clock in the morning, worried about you.”

  Without any control of his actions, Tank shot a withering glance in the direction of Tilly. “I have no idea,” he managed to say with an innocence and nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Too much to drink?” he quipped.

  In his peripheral, he noticed Tilly shake his head, obviously disgusted with him. He knew right then that Amber had told Tilly what she had seen. His shame multiplied. He just barely managed to keep his eyes from going wide as he contemplated the idea that Franco also knew. Trying to focus, he noticed that some time had elapsed since he’d answered Franco. Shifting his gaze back to his coach, he found Franco looking at him with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Lift up your shirt,” Franco said.

  “What?” he asked, indignation blatant in his tone.

  “Just do it.”

  Tank, not sure of where Franco was going, pulled his shirt over his head and cast it away in anger.

  Franco studied him. “Where’d you get those bruises?”