by J Santiago
She ran the water and took a quick shower. Standing in the heat of the steamy bathroom, the reality of their situation lodged itself in her throat. She leaned over the sink, trying to catch her breath. She wanted to be able to forgive him; she wanted to build something with him. Even the folly of his disastrous decision seemed to pale in comparison to the love she had for him.
But she couldn’t be that girl—the one who let it go, only to go through it again.
Resolved, she returned to the room. Tank sat, shirtless, on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his suit pants-clad knees. He jerked his head up at the sight of her, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to stay on the other side of the room.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked as she sat back in the desk chair.
“Really?” He kind of snickered. “When Franco was giving me a mini pep talk to go get the Heisman, he slid a piece of paper in my hand.”
“Traitor.”
“Mmm, maybe. I asked him a couple of weeks ago to tell you that I was sorry. He said no. But then, as I was leaving his office, he told me that you loved me.”
“Total traitor,” she said again without any heat.
“Is that true, Sunshine?”
Amber let his question linger in the air, unanswered. She didn’t say anything for some time. She merely gazed at him, memorizing his face, basking in the beautiful translucency of his eyes, remembering him. “Sorry, bud. You don’t get any feel-good statements tonight.”
He chuckled at that, and she couldn’t help but laugh with him.
Then, growing serious again, she said, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust you again.”
“You have to give me a chance to earn it back. That’s really all I’m asking for here—a chance.”
“You’ll be going to camps and the combine. We won’t even be in the same town. How are you going to do that?”
“KSU is going to be my home base. I’ll be around. I’ll earn it back.”
The earnest look on his face and the words he was speaking wreaked havoc on her intentions. She thought back to the day she’d figured out that she would always be able to tell if Tank was bullshitting her. Amber believed what he was saying. She knew he loved her; she felt it. She also knew he would do anything in his power to win back her trust.
She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining a different ending. When she opened them, they were damp with unshed tears. Their eyes met, and she knew he could see the decision reflected in her eyes. She watched the disbelief harden into disappointment and then shatter into disillusionment. The look on his face was eerily reminiscent of the haunted eyes that had looked back at her from the mirror in the Bear’s Den.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wish I could be the girl who could forgive and forget. But I just don’t have it in me.” The collected tears overflowed, coursing down her cheeks.
“What was that about?” he said as he swept his hand behind him to the bed, his anger apparent.
“It was about good-bye,” she said quietly. And although her voice was soft, her tone relayed finality.
He blinked, and the fall of his eyelids banished all of his feelings. Like an eraser wiping a chalkboard clean, the smattering of dust was all that was left of what they’d shared. She watched it from her side of the room—a clean slate.
He gathered his things—his shirt, his tie, his coat. He bent down and snatched up the used condom and the wrapper from the floor. He walked to the garbage can and flung it in. Now that it was over, she wanted him to go, needed him to get the hell out of her room, so she could wallow with her unforgiving heart.
Shrugging into his shirt, he walked to the door. He flung it open, and then he stopped and turned toward her. “I wish all that I felt for you were enough,” he said, his anger seemingly gone.
It was a simple statement with a truth she couldn’t quite face because, even though she knew what was between them, she couldn’t let it go. The wordlessness reverberated in the room around them, damning in its silence. Tank shook his head, turned, and left, the door closing peacefully, an insufficient punctuation point on the end of whatever had been between them.
Epilogue
Franco placed the box on the floor beside Amber’s bed. Then, he reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow. “You had to move in July right?” he joked, smiling over at her, as she glanced his way.
She grinned. “Of course. You know I never take the easy way.” She turned, taking inventory of the space around them. “The good news is, that’s definitely the last box. And there were no stairs involved.”
“True,” Franco replied.
Amber slowly spun around. “This is going to be good,” she said convincingly.
The little bungalow she rented sat on a quiet street, a family neighborhood with a basketball hoop at the foot of the cul-de-sac, well-kept yards, and according to Franco, a low crime rate. They’d toyed with her living closer to campus, but in the end, they’d decided that when she actually had downtime, she’d probably want to be far away from the action. She wasn’t counting on a lot of idleness in the coming months. She preferred busy with little time to dwell.
“You excited?” Franco asked.
She glanced back toward him. When he moved to the family room, she followed, knowing the time had come. They both sat on the love seat she’d inherited when he moved to Atlanta and decided to downsize.
“Are you?” she countered as she snuggled back into the depths of the couch corner.
“I asked you first.”
She managed a smirk before she took a moment to think about her answer. Things with Franco were getting easier, but it was still difficult for her to share.
She took a deep breath. “I’m excited. But nervous, too. I mean, I know I went through the whole interview process, and I feel like I earned the position, but I can’t help but think that other people will scream preferential treatment.” It had been on her mind for a while—the fear of other people’s opinion—but she hadn’t realized it until she told Franco.
He nodded his head, and she knew he understood what she was saying, validating her feelings. “I get it. But there is no way in hell that Whitey would have let you around his program if he didn’t believe you could do the job. He and I are tight, but he wouldn’t sacrifice his team just to help me out.”
Franco moved closer to her and tentatively reached out, looking for her hand. The touching thing had gotten better between them, but he’d still wait for her to offer some gesture of approval. When she reached out for him, his hand swallowed hers.
“I haven’t told you this because I wanted to wait until you needed it.”
She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Just tell me.”
“Whitey didn’t weigh in. He said he didn’t need to. You impressed the hell out of everyone on his staff. He said he was glad he liked you because, if he would have tried to hire someone else, he would have had a mutiny on his hands.”
Delight spread through her. “Really?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“You have not, even when I’ve really wanted you to,” she answered.
“I think this is a great opportunity for you, and I think you are going to be an amazing director of operations. I wish I could hire you.”
“I don’t think I’m quite ready for the NFL.”
“Not yet,” he said.
He squeezed her hand, and she suddenly knew that the next thing out of his mouth was going to be something she didn’t want to hear. He watched her, judging her openness.
“Just say it, Franco. I know you want to say something.”
“I’m really proud of you. You’ve been on a mission the last six months. You graduated and worked with Higgs to get some experience. You found something you wanted, and you pursued it.”
He was bragging on her, and she was proud of what she’d accomplished. Yet she waited for the but she knew was coming. When Franco didn’t say any more, she grew impatient.
“But nothing. There’s no but.”
“You aren’t going to say anything about running away from my problems?”
“What problems?” he ventured.
Rolling her eyes again, she released his hand and sagged back into the couch. Sighing, she turned her head toward him. “I’m not running away from Tank. That’s not why I moved.”
He leaned toward her. “I know that.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
He ran his hands through his hair, and Amber acknowledged his nervousness. He’d still get antsy about talking to her about some things. She hoped it wouldn’t always be like that, but maybe fathers and daughters everywhere were leery about these kinds of conversations.
“Look, I don’t know what went on between the two of you in New York. But what I can tell you is that you both have been resolved on your positions. I see you’re trying to move on and put it behind you.”
Although it was exactly what she was trying to do, it still hurt to hear that Tank was doing the same thing. Because, as hard as she tried, she wasn’t over her feelings for Tank. She’d been glued to the TV on draft day, watching, hoping, praying for him to get what he wanted. When he’d gone to Atlanta, where Franco had been named the head coach, in the first round as the sixth overall pick, she’d cried happy tears. So, even though Tank and Franco didn’t get to finish what they’d started at Kensington State, she was fairly certain they’d get their chance together in the NFL.
“I am trying to put it behind me. Got to admit, it’s a little more daunting than I thought it would be.” She hadn’t meant to say that, didn’t want to share her monumental task with anyone, but Franco had that effect on her these days. Things just slipped out.
“It’ll happen,” he assured her.
“Promise?”
He laughed. “Yes, I promise. You will get over Tank Howard.”
She laughed, too. “When?” She’d meant it as a joke, a way to continue the lightheartedness she was surprisingly feeling. But, when she’d opened her mouth and the word had escaped, it sounded jagged and rough, like the edges of her heart.
Franco didn’t hesitate this time. He didn’t wait for permission. He merely pulled her into his arms and held her.
“Eventually,” was all he could offer.
The End
About the Author
J. Santiago is a graduate of Villanova University and the University of Pennsylvania. She gets her love of sports from her fifteen-year career in the field and a houseful of boys who love to play. A former English and history teacher, she understands and embraces the power of stories in our lives.