Five-Star

by J Santiago

  Tank was taken aback. He looked down and noticed the bruises riddling his left side. This explanation was easy. “I just got done playing a game,” he scoffed, confident in his answer.

  Franco looked disappointed. Shaking his head, he said, “Funny, Higgs and I just watched the film. No one even came close to touching you during the game. No way you got those on the field.”

  Tank remained silent.

  “All the people in this room have got your back. They left their houses in the middle of the night because they were worried about you. Are you going to blow that? You going to shut us all out?”

  Tank couldn’t help himself. He looked around the room, meeting their worried faces—Franco, Higgs, Miss Magee, Tilly, Amber. He stopped at Amber. She wouldn’t look at him, which was appropriate. But he noticed the bruise on her chin, and this time, he couldn’t control the widening of his eyes, the questions in his face when he looked back at Tilly. Tilly merely shrugged while he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, here supporting Tank but obviously pissed off at him.

  Part of him wanted to answer. He knew he was in over his head, drowning really in the morass of lies, money, and deception caused by the man who was somehow his father. But admitting everything to a roomful of people who, with the exception of Miss Magee, made him who he was seemed much harder than trying to navigate it on his own. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his fingers together, looking back to Franco.

  “There’s nothing going on. I don’t know what Tilly’s thinking.” He deliberately didn’t mention Amber, a purposeful omission.

  He saw her move, and he hated himself for what he knew was necessary. He’d preferred to put the hate in her eyes in his own way. He couldn’t give his father that, too. He watched her grab Tilly’s hand, and then she made her way out of the kitchen, through the apartment, and out the door. He watched Franco’s eyes follow her. Then, Franco looked at Tilly, and Tilly followed Amber out too.

  “All right,” Franco said as he leaned back in the chair, “stop fucking around, and tell me what happened with John Barnett.”

  This time, Tank couldn’t contain his surprise. All pretenses were stripped away. He wanted to pretend like he didn’t know what Franco was talking about, but he suddenly realized that Franco wouldn’t buy it.

  Before he could contemplate it, he said, “How do you know about John Barnett?”

  “Miss Magee saw him when he came into the stadium. He’s one of those people who has been flagged. When he’s around, people know it.”

  Tank merely shrugged, pretending like he actually already knew this.

  Franco leaned forward again. “Do you want to know why people know who John Barnett is?”

  Tank could sense a trap, but he couldn’t help but step into it. “Nah.”

  Franco nodded his head, like adults did when they knew you were full of shit. “John Barnett is often credited as the man who destroyed Richard Howard’s NFL career.”

  Franco watched Tank with a combination of pity and anger. The pity was easy. No matter what Tank had done, he couldn’t escape the stain of Richard’s crimes. And, for that, Franco couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, even though Tank had been blessed as one of the most gifted athletes he’d ever seen. The anger was harder to deal with. Tank had always had the cockiness that came with his ability, his looks, his attitude. But his nonchalance tonight coupled with his blatant refusal to acknowledge Amber ate away at Franco’s inherent respect and liking of the kid.

  Facing Tank now, Franco merely wanted to wipe the smug off of his face. His statement about Barnett had done that. There was no ego when Tank raised his eyes to Franco. Again, with the pity because he knew that Richard had always been the best way to manage Tank’s ego.

  “Look, Tank, I don’t know for certain that you had any interaction with Barnett tonight. But I am guessing from the look on your face that you did. All this agent stuff is starting to make sense to me. We want to be able to help you. I’m not sure what that will look like, but until you talk to me, my hands are tied.”

  Franco had always been one of the athletes who had the itch to move around, his kinesthetic energy moving through him and putting him constantly in motion. Tank was never like that. Even now, even knowing that his mind must be racing with this latest disaster, Tank was immobile. If you didn’t know him, you might have thought he was indifferent. Franco knew better, but he could almost feel Molly’s frustration.

  When Tank started to talk, Franco breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I came out of the locker room after everyone. And I was thinking of other things”—he looked up at Franco, telling him with a hopeful mind that he had been thinking about Amber—“so I wasn’t paying attention. But when he came up on me, I looked to the bus—mapping the distance, ya know. It wasn’t that far. I thought if there was any trouble, I could yell or take off, and I’d be fine. He told me his name and said that Richard had sent him.”

  Tank’s head dropped down, hanging loosely between his shoulders, his arms resting on his knees. When he looked up, his misery was etched starkly on his face. Franco was really the only one who could see it, and he knew that it was Tank’s intention to keep it that way.

  “I should have taken off running for the bus right then. I should have known better.” Tank paused to collect his thoughts.

  “But I didn’t move, Franco. I just stood there. Out of nowhere, two guys came up behind me, each grabbing an arm. One of them put his hand over my mouth. In my head, I was thinking someone was going to notice that I was taking a long time, that they were going to walk out and see these motherfuckers, and this would all be over. But no one came. That dude, Barnett, he started reciting figures. I had no idea what he was talking about. All I could think was, I’m being held by Rain Man.”

  He paused to laugh and shook his head at the visual. Franco felt his stomach tighten at the fear that Tank must have been feeling.

  “He went into this explanation about how all the alimony my mom had received over the years had come directly from him, an agent, how it’d been funneled through Richard, and how he owned me. And he said it was time for me to pay him back, that he was ready to take his cut. You know, right?”

  Franco nodded his head, hating that he knew, hating the position Tank was now in.

  “The bruises?” Franco asked even though he knew this answer, too.

  “Exclamation points?” Tank quipped.

  Franco looked to Molly, hoping she could offer some salvation.

  “Is it as bad as I think it is, Miss Magee?” Tank asked, turning away from Franco for the first time.

  “I’m not sure, Tank. I need to do some research, search precedent.”

  When Tank looked away from her, she met Franco’s questioning eyes, shrugging her shoulders, effectively telling Franco that she wasn’t holding anything back, which he appreciated.

  “Tank, regardless of where this goes from here, we are going to have to declare you ineligible and request reinstatement. Obviously, you haven’t done anything wrong, and your mother hasn’t done anything wrong. But it’s not so very cut and dry anymore.”

  Tank’s head dropped again. When he looked up, Franco almost flinched at the bleakness he saw in Tank’s eyes.

  “I can’t play next weekend, can I?”

  Molly shook her head. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Tank, how do you want this to end?” Franco asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, where do you see yourself next year?”

  “Here, Coach. I want to be here.”

  “Humor me for a minute. You are a first-round draft pick right now, potentially the number one pick because Detroit, Miami, Cleveland, and Denver all need a quarterback. Have you thought about declaring for the draft? You can have your pick of agents. No one has to know that’s what you are planning. We can interview them on the low. Then, you can pick one and declare for t
he draft. It takes this guy’s power if he doesn’t have that hanging over you. The NCAA, college, the rules are restrictive. There are no recruiting rules in the NFL. He wouldn’t be able to mess with your eligibility.” Franco took a deep breath. “I know you don’t want to do that, and God knows I don’t want to lose you, but it might be the best thing for you in the long run.”

  Tank merely shook his head.

  “Look, it’s really late. Let’s take some time to think this over. We’ll regroup tomorrow.” He looked at Molly and Higgs, who both nodded.

  Higgs pushed himself away from the counter, and Molly stood up. Together, they headed toward the door.

  “I’ll catch up with you,” Franco said.

  Sitting for a moment, collecting his thoughts, Franco felt the weight of Tank’s fears. He’d done all he could as Tank’s mentor and coach tonight. But he hadn’t quite fulfilled all of his responsibilities. He stood slowly, drawing Tank’s attention to him. He didn’t move any closer for fear of the retribution for the hurt Tank caused Amber; it thumped through his tired body.

  “I don’t know what happened with my daughter. And I swore to myself that I wouldn’t go down this road with the two of you. But I trusted you with her.”

  Tank looked away from him, not meeting his eyes. Franco’s anger notched up, and he had to hold the dad in him in check.

  “Something you did hurt her, and you’d better fucking fix it.”

  Forty

  He wasn’t ready to fix anything with Amber. That was Tank’s first thought when he woke up on Sunday morning, the burden of his decisions pressing heavily on his chest, choking him with their implications. Having to think about the mess he’d orchestrated threatened to pull him under. Although it proved more difficult than he thought, Tank forced any thoughts of her from his mind, so he could focus on his impending career. This was the resolution he came to before he rolled out of bed, heading to the shower. It lasted about fifteen minutes.

  When Tank walked out of his room, on his way to the stadium, Tilly sat in his chair, shoveling cereal into his mouth.

  “What up?” Tank said, walking toward the fridge.

  When Tilly remained silent, Tank pulled open the door of the refrigerator with more force than necessary, rattling the bottles inside. Grabbing some juice, he slammed it shut and leaned heavily against the countertop. “You’re not talking to me now?”

  Nothing.

  “What the fuck, Til? Two weeks ago, you didn’t even like this girl.”

  At that, Tilly cut his eyes at Tank, casting out a glare that made Tank’s eyes widen. Tank waited, but Tilly just went back to eating his cereal. He stayed trancelike, watching Tilly finish his breakfast, stuck in a weird limbo. Tilly stood up when he finished, making his way to the kitchen, and Tank felt the need to pull back from his relaxed lean, like he needed to be ready. Tilly noticed his movement and smiled, telling Tank that he knew he’d intimidated him.

  Dropping his bowl in the sink, he turned toward Tank and crossed his arms over his massive chest. It looked like he was going to say something. Then, he smiled wide and shook his head, his gold teeth catching the sun, casting little streams of light.

  Laughing, Tilly said, “I hope you’re ready for the shit you just stirred up.”

  Just like that, he walked right past Tank, grabbed his bag from the floor, and left the apartment. Tank merely shook his head. He wasn’t ready to think about what had led him down the skank path the night before. But Tilly’s words shattered his earlier resolve. He’d done a good job of blocking out the look on Amber’s face when she’d walked in on him. Even when she’d stood in his apartment, having called in the cavalry, he’d shut her out. Right now, he wished he’d blocked her out the night she’d fallen at his feet. She didn’t need to be involved in this mess. He’d already been warned, and as much as it killed him, he needed distance.

  As he walked out the door though, with Tilly’s words ringing in his ears, Amber’s governing mantra beat a tattoo in his head and heart. One-for-one, one-for-one, one-for-one. With a sense of complete horror, Tank braced himself. If he’d been with someone else, she’d responded in kind.

  Impossibly, his day got worse when Iman met him outside the doors to the training room.

  “You don’t need to go in the training room, man,” Iman said.

  When Tank looked at him, Iman shuffled his feet and looked away.

  “You don’t know, do you?” he asked.

  Maybe, Tank thought, I haven’t given Iman enough credit.

  Dropping his bag, Tank leaned back on the brick wall, waiting for Iman to divulge the secret that he just couldn’t keep to himself. Tank didn’t even have to nudge him.

  Looking up and away from Tank, Iman mumbled to himself, “Why didn’t Tilly spill this shit?”

  Reluctantly, Tank smiled. Out of nowhere, he thought he would miss Iman next year and felt the loss of not being here to help him be a better player. The errant thought caught him unaware. It was with a kind of bilious resignation that Tank knew how this was all going to play out, and he felt sick to his stomach.

  “Tilly didn’t tell me.”

  Iman was trying to puzzle that out. Tank could see his brain racing behind the almost black eyes. Tank knew, without Iman saying a word, exactly what was running through the freshman’s mind. Why wouldn’t Tilly tell him? Maybe I’m not supposed to tell him. But I can’t let Tank just walk into this without knowing, so I have to tell him.

  Again, Tank smiled.

  “Smitty was all up on your girl last night,” he said quickly, as if the quicker he said it, the less hurtful it would be.

  And even though Tank thought he’d prepared himself for this, thought he knew what she had done, the truth felt like a dagger to his heart. He knew he was a hypocrite, knew he was the one who had started this volley, knew he could only blame himself, but the thought of anyone’s mouth on her, their hands moving over her curves, someone else wanting to taste her, it made him want to puke. He couldn’t even play it off in front of Iman because he saw the freshman move toward him, about to grab him, as if he’d staggered.

  “I ain’t gonna lie, man. She didn’t seem too bothered by it. After Tilly and I broke it up, she and Tilly had it out.”

  Tank’s eyes narrowed. “You broke it up?”

  “Yeah, man. Tilly grabbed Sunny, and I grabbed Smitty. Then, she went batshit crazy, and Tilly had to take her outside.”

  Tank almost smiled at Iman’s nickname for her, but then the reality of the scene played out in his mind, and he forgot all about being amused at the nickname.

  “Ya a’ight, man?”

  Tank thought he might have nodded because Iman kept talking.

  “Where were ya, bro? You never showed up. Sunny went to go find you but came back alone. Then…ya know.”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “A’ight. Oh, and Coach is looking for you.”

  Tank glanced at his watch. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

  With an image of Amber wrapped around Smitty, Tank made his way upstairs for the strategy meeting. He wasn’t sure what Franco could have come up with in the nine hours since Tank had last seen him, but he hoped that it was something brilliant, something that could make all of this seem like a distant nightmare that he would be unable to remember in the morning.

  Three forty-five. Clockwork. Precision. Routine.

  Franco’s truck pulled up. Amber got in. They exchanged polite greetings, and then they each got lost in their own thoughts. She welcomed the silence.

  Twenty-four hours ago, Amber had been awash in feelings of love and happiness and hope. Now, her thoughts lingered in a borderless desert, deprived of water and escape, just the reality of the relentless sun beating down on her with harsh images of a naked man and an unknown woman. No matter what she’d tried today, the image remained the focal point of her brain, much like a fluorescent light lingering long after you’d stopped looking at it.

  She didn’t know what had gone down with Tank after
she and Tilly had vacated the apartment. They’d gone back to the Bear’s Den and then spent the night at Keira’s. She wanted so badly to know what had happened, but Franco was a vault when it came down to it. She probably wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him even if she could bring herself to ask, which she couldn’t because of her major bobble yesterday after the game. When that memory crept in, she felt her cheeks flush with the heat of embarrassment over her behavior. Sometimes, she could really be a horrible person, like when she’d lured that boy last night—another not-so-shining moment.

  Maybe I’m meant only for destruction, she thought.

  “You did the right thing last night,” Franco said suddenly, startling her.

  She turned toward him, meeting his eyes as he looked away from the road toward her. She shrugged because she wasn’t really sure what to say.

  “Was it your call? You knew something had gone down?”

  She wanted to pretend to know what he was talking about so that he would share his information with her. Maybe if he thought Tank had told her, then he’d let her in.

  But, when she responded, there was only raw truth in her voice, “No. It was Tilly actually. He knew something was off.”

  “Did he tell you what had made him think that?”

  She wanted to answer. She wanted to rage and spill the truth about his golden boy, to tell him that he’d hooked up with someone else and that Tilly had found that odd. But how did you say that to your father?

  “I think…I think it was something to do with me.”

  Franco nodded his head, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened so that she saw the color in his knuckles fade to white.

  “He’s in some bad shit, Amber. I don’t know if that makes you feel better, but knowing what I know…”

  He paused, and she could tell that he wanted to say something but was afraid of the way she would take it.

  “Knowing what you know, you’re not surprised?” she asked, bailing him out.

  “Knowing what I know, I’m not surprised that he did something stupid.”