“Trev?”
“I don’t wanna play this game.”
“How long?”
“You know how long, asshole!”
“A week? Two?”
He shrugs.
“OK, let’s say you usually don’t go more than two weeks without being with a woman. And when was the last time you saw this Cyiarra?”
He clears his throat again.
“Longer than a week?”
He nods.
“Two weeks?”
He nods.
“Th—three?”
He puts his cards down, raises his right hand. Shows me five. Then, hesitantly, adds another two from the other hand.
“You’ve only hooked up with her once in seven weeks?”
He croaks, “Uhm, yeah.”
“In Washington?”
“Yeah.”
“And you haven’t...been...with another woman...since?”
“Didn’t I just fucking say that?”
Not really. But fine. “Wait. Wait. Didn’t you only meet her seven weeks ago?”
He says nothing.
“You met her only seven weeks ago.”
He still says nothing.
“Trev?”
“You know I’m gonna whip yo ass.”
“You’ve seen her...once...only?”
He gives a nod so tight it could be considered a blink.
“And then, that was it, zero interest in any other women?”
A blink. So I guess that means Yes.
I whistle slowly. Then, equally slowly, extending the single syllable over about three seconds, I say, “W-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-w.”
“Is the interrogation over? Can we play Gin Rummy now?”
I point at him, feeling mischievous, “You’re in love, homes. You. Are. In. Love! The untamable—”
Trev jumps up from his seat and rips me off the chair! I’m laughing too much to fight back! He mock-punches me three or four times on my ribs but I’m still laughing like crazy. Finally he gives up, goes back to his seat, smirking a little.
The women cackle at our expense again from inside the kitchen. I say, “You know they’re probably laughing about you as much as me.”
His cheeks darken. “Yeah, I know that.”
I pick a card. He picks a card. I pick a card. I look over my cards at him. “Is it...love?”
His fingers tighten against his hand of cards. “Deck, drop it.”
“Well, is it...serious?”
“What the fuck do you think?”
“That’s cool, homes. When can I meet her?”
“She doesn’t do the limelight too well. And you, well, you’re always in the limelight. Blaze hadn’t seen you for ten minutes before her picture was up on all the jabber sites. And now, well, you’re even hotter in the news. Y’know, with this whole bar fight and teenage girl thing.”
I pick a card. He picks a card.
“What does she do?”
There’s a brief flash of irritation in his eyes. He waits a pulse. Then, “Lawyer.” Picks a card. “High class.”
I whistle. “Impressive.”
Trev picks a card, puts one down.
I pick one. My hand looks pretty good. All I need is a three and I’m gonna knock.
Trev picks a card, sniffs. “So what you gonna do about Gina?”
“Nothing.”
“Good move.” Trev discards a card. Then slaps his hand of cards face-up and fanned out open on the table. “Gin, bitch.”
Good move.
-4-
Coach has us on hard training tomorrow, so no drinking tonight. And then we’re likely gonna go to one of his secret training camps again after this week’s game. The camps are always different. Always tough. NFL Boot Camp. We won’t be in touch with anyone or anything in preparation for the first playoff game in ten days. No phones, no internet, no press. If Blaze weren’t here, I’d relish the idea. Getting away is just what I need. But I’m torn now. Thinking of leaving her here with Tatiana on the rampage scares me.
Even if we weren’t headed for Coach’s equivalent of Military Academy and even if I didn’t need to be in top form for training tomorrow, I have to admit that I have, well, a problem.
Maybe alcohol will never touch my lips again—that sweet burn of Tennessee’s best...
Even thinking of it makes me lightheaded.
I squeeze Blaze’s leg next to me on the couch (we’re watching another RomCom! Voted down again!)
Trev’s asleep on his sister’s shoulder. Jacinta’s arm is around her mom’s neck and her mom is fighting the tears away at whatever scene is playing now.
I’ve put my phone on silent. The text messages were getting too much: Wishes of good holidays and a great time with your family and shit. Most of the messages were from the team. Even the coach sent one to me. Then there were the automated messages, advertizing, that kind of stuff.
One was from Skate, the only other person I really care for and who isn’t here. He’s chilling with his mom and pops over at the rich side of town where he was born and raised.
I think of my own mom, of how pops’s life was taken so suddenly in front of my eyes five years ago. I think of how Trev—my main man, my boy, my homes—was there when it happened. How it could have been him on the floor instead of a man full of regrets and with nothing left to live for. I think of how Trev watched out for me, took me drinking so we could give my dad a good Irish sendoff. I think of how Blaze and I made love for the first time that night. How she pulled me through the sorrow. I think of how she’s pulling me through this now.
Trev’s right. I owe her the world. Call it a Man Thing, a Macho Thing, but I want to be That Man, the one who provides, the one who’s so much more than just some bum who was pushed onto the street by life and its tortures.
I’ll fight Tatiana. I’ll fight her to the end. For Blaze.
And I’ll win.
I’ll do anything for Blaze. I know this now.
I squeeze her leg a little tighter. She’s totally distracted by some scene where the girl is crying or the dude is kissing— Who knows.
She forces her eyes away from the screen for long enough to look up at me and smile, then looks back at the screen again. She rubs my abs, snuggles against my chest.
Home.
And: Family.
This is my family, back together again.
And this time I’m going to keep us together. If Blaze flakes out, I’ll fight for her. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her. It’s funny thinking this, because this time around I think I’m the one more likely to flake out...
Tatiana’s aiming a spear at us, aiming a spear directly at Blaze, its flaming tip trained right at her heart.
That pisses me off. That pisses me off royally.
And I ain’t gonna stand for that shit. Game on.
EIGHTEEN
GOTCHA
-1-
Blaze Ryleigh
On the twenty-sixth, Deck and Trev left for Seattle for a game against the Seahawks on the twenty-ninth (today.) Just before they left it was confirmed that they’d be flying straight to their “secret” training location after that, so they should kiss their girlfriends and wives goodbye before New Year’s, because they wouldn’t be back to celebrate it.
So, Deck and Trev left.
And Laz arrived.
Laz, Christ. Could you believe I forgot about him?
He arrived on the twenty-sixth, but only called me on the twenty-ninth. Today. “Hey, babe. When should I pick you up?”
“L—Laz, wow, uhm, shit. Laz!”
“Yes, I’m here, like I said I’d be. And you owe me coffee.”
Suddenly it didn’t feel right going for an innocent drink with Laz. So much had happened between Deck and me since Laz had last called. So much had changed. Deck and I were...actually...an item. “Yeah, uhm, Laz, about that...”
“Oh, come on dahling, don’t think I’m an idiot. I know about your little romance up here with that jock fellow. Thi
s is just coffee, honeybunch. Nothing else.”
“Uhm, OK. Yeah, fine. So long as you know that, well, I mean, me and Deck, we’re pretty serious.”
A small pause, just enough to make my throat lump up. “Yes, yes, of course! So, I know this great little place on Amsterdam Avenue called The Rockabilly. Should I text you directions?”
“No, it’s cool, I’ll find it.”
“Lovely, this afternoon?”
Vikki was practicing with the band all day. Randy’s back in Sri Lanka until way after the New Year, so I won’t even see him again this time round. I was sitting on Vikki’s couch reading a sexy novel by one of those self-published girls that talks a lot about sex in their books. I needed to stop making myself horny because Deck was gonna be gone for a while. And this book I was into was making me hor-nay.
Laz would kill that horniness with a sledgehammer. Sadly, that is just one of those painful facts that a person has to face and live with when asked the question, Then why did you stay with him for so long?
But we’ve already covered that.
“Yeah, uhm, sure. One?”
“One o’clock. See you then.” He sounded awfully perky. And then he finished off with, “It’s a date!”
That statement bristled me up. He put the phone down and I sat there holding it for a second too long.
I texted Deck, just to say hi, just because I felt like it. The game was tonight, so he wouldn’t read it until later anyway.
Me: I miss you. I know I sent you that already, but I do.
The underage thing on the press had died out finally. Sure, they’ll keep it on record and dredge it up every time something new comes up (like if Tatiana decides to go ahead with her threats) and it’ll grow like mushrooms on shit, but for now, the lack of evidence to corroborate that Deck was actually with that underage girl wasn’t enough to keep the story running, even by the gossip sites’ standards.
Worst of all (for the press), the girl posted on her own blog precisely what happened, that she forced herself on him, that she lied, and that she “feels so bad that they’re doing this to Poor Declan Cox! It’s NOT RIGHT! DECLAN, I’ll always love you! But, folks, we didn’t have sex! I repeat: We didn’t have SEX!”
Kids. You gotta love how honest and behind something they can get when their hearts are in it, when they feel justice is being perverted. When they believe they need to make right for some horrible wrongness in society.
You gotta love their innocence.
I was grateful for it.
Of course, the blog post went viral (the girl’s probably the most popular chick in her school right now) but it didn’t get much publicity on the news sites. Why would it? It basically killed their story. So, instead, the story died a slow death, waiting to be exhumed by words such as “allegedly” and “according to witnesses” at some future date.
Again: Like when Tatiana springs her bomb on us.
Deck told me his plan to visit Lerrington’s wife before he left. He said he was gonna do it after the playoff game on the fourth. Jameson was pretty convinced all would be OK until then and, if not, he had a direct line to Coach Warwick to get Deck back to handle any disasters. We can still contact team players until tonight, but after that, they’re gonna “go dark.”
I slap on as unattractive a pair of clothes as I can find: Grungy sweater and thick sweatpants. Then I remember various comments that Laz made about me in the past about looking sexy in a grungy sweater and thick sweatpants. This is an insanely bad idea, I think.
So much has changed since I agreed to go for a drink with him. It’s all different now. My plans and futures and ideas all include Deck now. It ain’t a match made in heaven, it’s reality. And drinks with an old beau just doesn’t feel right.
Just like meeting up with Gina hadn’t felt right for Deck.
I told Deck, when he’d told me about her call, that I wouldn’t mind, that I trusted him, that he could go with her. He said he appreciated my trust, but he still wasn’t gonna see her. Best to leave certain sleeping dogs lying, Blaze, he’d said.
The decision is made instantly: I don’t want to see Laz. End of story. I just don’t want to. And I won’t explain it to him. He’s a grown man. He should know better.
I text him.
He calls back straight away. I almost don’t answer it, but decide it’s worse to be rude. At the end of the day we did sleep together, and he was well-mannered and polite and all those things.
“Laz.”
“Blaze, what’s the story?”
“Laz, I just don’t think...it’s a good idea for us...”
“Blaze, c’mon. Look, I’m seeing someone else already.” I immediately think back to what he told me the other day, about “sleeping with other girls” while I hadn’t been in London... “This is nothing romantic, honeybunch! This is just old friends getting together!”
Honeybunch. He does call other people that, so it could be taken two ways. “Laz, look, I’m sorry—”
“Oh, come on, Blaze! Look, I’m only in town two or three more days. Just one coffee to say hello.”
I try a different tack. “Look, we can hook up next time I’m in London.” As the words roll out I feel there ominous potential for seriously fucking things up for me in London.
“Nah, fuck that, Blaze. Look, man, we were together for years, Blaze.”
Minor stretch of the truth there... “We were never ‘together’ as such, Laz. You know that as much as I do. And if you sum all those times we really were together, I doubt we’d even reach a full year.”
He huffs out, “Fine, yes, OK. But still, am I persona non grata, now? Look, it’s just coffee!” He’s being really pushy, and I’m now all the more certain I shouldn’t see him. Pushy exes are never good “friends.”
“Laz, no. I’m...sorry. I just...can’t.”
“You’re being serious.”
“I’m being serious. I’m really sorry. I just...can’t.”
“Oh, bugger this. Well sod off then, Blaze! You fuck me and leave me and now you won’t even have a bloody cuppa with me! It’s fuckin bonkers—”
“Laz, I’m gonna go.”
“Blaze, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Goodbye, Laz.”
“Blaze—!”
I click the phone off, and whisper to myself, “Fucking hell!”
I’m staring at the screen still when I see his name pop up again. My heart jumps. I decide to take the call. Maybe he wants to apologize.
“Blaze.”
“Yeah.” My voice is super cold.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Let’s not end it like this, OK?”
“OK.”
“I am. I mean it. I’m sorry.”
“I heard you.”
Silence.
“OK, then. Maybe London then, for a coffee.”
“Maybe not, Laz.”
“I see.”
“Goodbye, Laz.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Click.
He put the phone down this time.
I fall on the couch behind me. And I realize my whole body is shaking.
-2-
I chill on the couch with my book again and read for a few hours. (“Cody Ramsey clutched Delilah’s waist with firm hands and rammed her frail body against his. He was yearning for her, she could tell, firm and powerful and...manly. Her mouth moistened and the breath from his lips, only inches away from hers now, heated her up like coal to a fire. His hard and calloused hands lifted her dress until she felt the seam of it tickle her derriere...”)
“My fucking God,” I say out loud. Between my own legs I’ve got a slight pulse going, a little tingle that, if I keep reading, is going to be a major problem to deal with if Deck’s not here!
I’ve never been much for, y’know, “going at it alone.” It’s not that I’m against it. I just find it...a little boring.
When I wasn’t with Deck, in my lonely nights, I’d do it sometimes. I’d think of him holding me and ramming my fr
ail body against his and feeling the breath from his lips, only inches away now... I thought of it, sure.
They were lonely nights. Nights I don’t care to remember.
I have Deck now. And when I have him for real again, I want the physical snap to take me for a joyride up into the stratosphere and back. I want it completely, as if it were the first time again.
“So reading this damn book was a bad idea! Right, and so is talking to yourself, Blaze. And there you’re still doing it.” Knock it off!
I’ll have a walk in the snow and clear my head. A good cool walk will do me good. Like a cold shower. I get up, straighten the unflattering sweatpants I put on earlier. This won’t do. I go into the bedroom and slap on some bluejeans, put on my booties. Back in the living room, I pick up my phone and see I’ve missed a text from Skate. He sent it over an hour ago! Yip, I definitely need to clear my head! I didn’t even hear it!
Skate: Yo, Blaze. You heard from Vikki? What time we meeting for the game tonight?
So she’s giving him the silent treatment... Hmmm.
I look at the time. Still a little while before Skate, me and Vikki will all head out to Tom’s to watch the game. Even though Deck won’t be playing tonight (still suspended), we still watch all the Giants games. Besides, Trev is playing. Coach never did suspend him for that bar-fight with those Jets fans and “Mr. Peanut” (as Deck likes to call him.)
I leave Skate and Vikki a note to call me if I’m not here and they wanna leave.
I close the door behind me, thinking about Delilah’s dress and how it must have felt as it scraped up her derriere, and what Cody Ramsey’s “hard and calloused hand” felt like on her skin. Almost at the same time, running in some other thought process, I’m thinking of Laz and how he must have looked as he shouted into his phone at me on the street. And, finally, I’m imagining Deck’s “Hard and Calloused Hand” moving behind my butt, over my side, around to my center...
The elevator door opens, and I get out.
I’m thinking of...
...that hand and Delilah and the dress grazing against her derriere with a tickle...
I open the door outside, think I see Laz.
...of it against her skin, and Deck’s hand pressing down, lifting my stomach into itself...
Need Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy Book Three) Page 30