“Forgive me, Steph. I couldn’t help it.”
“Neither could I.” Thank God he didn’t say “Sis.” She became self-conscious about the people leaving the Rosen home and was grateful for the small amount of cover the landscaping provided. What would they think if they could see the two of them kissing?
“It was good to see you, Patrick. I wish it were under different circumstances.” Then she remembered when she had planned to see him again—at her wedding. The tears threatened to spill out over her still-puffy lower lids.
With the softest touch, he raised her chin and spoke. “Hey, Steph. I’m here for you. Call me tonight if you want to talk.”
“No. I’m going to try to get some sleep. I’m exhausted and I think maybe tonight I can. Thanks, though. I have to buck up for tomorrow, and then I can collapse.”
He nodded and she wanted to ask him, If I do collapse, would you pick up the pieces? But she was too tired to have that conversation right now. He stood motionless while she got into her car and pulled away. Watching him in the rear-view mirror, standing there in the moonlight, his image getting smaller and smaller, she started to cry all over again, like she’d lost him, too.
She couldn’t trust herself to have a coherent thought.
After all, she was the grieving almost-bride-nearly-widow-kissing-her-fiancé’s-best-friend.
Which meant she had completely lost her footing.
Chapter 4
Patrick cursed himself all the way back to his hotel. He was second-guessing every decision he’d made since learning Ryan was gone. He shouldn’t have been at the Rosens’. He shouldn’t have left so early, and certainly not with her. He shouldn’t have kissed her.
Grief was getting to him. In his haste to put the pain of losing his best friend on ice, he’d reached for something comfortable. Instead of running from pain he was hiding behindpleasure. His bad habits on the team had spilled over into the wholesome parts of his life, the parts he wanted to protect, not abuse or take advantage of.
Stephanie wasn’t like those girls who hung around the stadium and haunted their hotels. Had he lost his good manners? His sanity? She was the gold standard.
No fucking way should he have anything to do with her, regardless of the messages he was getting. He had to keep a straight head. He had to get rid of the tent in his pants. He needed to forget about all the fantasies he had about her growing up, fantasies which had picked this incredibly inappropriate moment to bloom again, just below his belt.
Too late for a workout, since the hotel gym was closed, he decided he’d go for a swim, even though it was past pool closing. He dove in, traveled nearly the length of the pool underwater before surfacing to take long breaststrokes. He preferred this anyway. It would physically tax him more than anything else he could do. Most days after a game he would tire easily, but tonight he felt like he could swim forever. He let his mind wander, wondering if he should have tried out for the swim team rather than play soccer. Rather than baseball. Rather than basketball or place-kicking at football.
When he and Ryan had started swimming in grammar school, Ryan had made the team and Patrick had not. The Guppy program was his first defeat. He’d vowed to never again fail to make the cut, and he’d kept that promise.
Ryan had been a fish. But more than that, he was a natural athlete, succeeding at everything he did. Gymnastics could have been his sport, but he stuck with Patrick, hitting, dribbling or kicking a ball. Only team sports. That meant they could play together.
Just not possible he was gone. That Stephanie was all alone. He wasn’t going to be the man in her life the way Ryan had been, but he wanted to help her get back on her feet. Help her with the numbing cold he knew she must be feeling. But that kiss had not only lit her flame, it had done a pretty damn good job of lighting a bonfire under his ass, too. That had been totally unexpected.
He’d maintained his friendships over the years, players he confided in who’d been traded, or gotten injured, and had to leave The Beautiful Game. He made friends easily, and the shared experience of being expendable or only as good as your last game made fellows of complete strangers who came from places he would never visit or even know much about. They had their own kind of brotherhood. Playing on a team meant not letting your mates down, stepping up to the plate when a buddy was having a bad day. Covering for a defender who missed something he shouldn’t have, not making a public display when someone’s sliding tackle missed or they lost possession of the ball, or when the communication just plain broke down.
He knew this happened to the SEALs overseas. He’d talked about it with Ryan the last time they were together. The only difference was that Ryan admitted he’d die for his brothers. Willingly die. Patrick couldn’t see that as something that made much sense, but he respected his buddy’s decision, and honored it. But damn, the cost was too great, the price too high.
“So you think she’ll say yes, Patrick?” Ryan had asked him Christmas nearly two years ago.
“Of course she will,” he’d replied. “She’d be a fuckin’ nut case if she ever turned you down. And then that would mean the dregs, guys like me, might have a chance.”
Ryan played with the towel around his neck that day while they sat in the sauna after a workout. His bright white smile nearly glowed inside the steam-filled and darkened room. “Was a time I thought she was hot for you.” Ryan didn’t look at him, like he didn’t want to see anything in his friend’s eyes he couldn’t live with.
“Well, if that was the case, it was only so she could get close to you, my friend. She’s fuckin’ crazy about you, Ryan. She wants your babies. I just know she does.”
That had finally made him smile. “Yeah, I want her fuckin’ babies, too. I want to get pooped on and spit up on and shit like that. I’d do anything for that little lady. I’d give up anything to have her.”
Patrick couldn’t tell Ryan then that he was so filled with envy it was interfering with their friendship. He told himself he was happy for his friends. He told himself the way she used to look at him was just what young girls did when they don’t know how to control all those hormones. It had nothing to do with him. It had everything to do with just plain growing up.
There had been that middle school dance. Ryan was sick with a cold, and so, instead of going together, the three of them, Patrick had his mom drive him and Stephanie to the dance. He was so nervous that, soon as they entered the gym, he split off, found a shadowed corner and tried to stay invisible, watching her turn around and around, perhaps searching for him. He watched her dance with few other boys, and then she’d turn and scan the room again.
He’d had to take a piss, so he slipped out the side door. Before he could make it to the boys’ bathroom she called out to him.
He looked up at the sky and swore to himself. He was in serious danger of wetting his pants. She was making him hard, and he had to take a pee at the same time, so now he had to worry about that too.
“Patrick, you’re hiding from me.” It sounded so stupid when she said it. Why would he go and do something like that? Her pink lips glowed under the light of the moon. Her breasts were just starting to develop, and he didn’t think she wore a bra yet, because everything was perky, just sticking straight out, like trying to make him fondle them. He was afraid she’d catch him staring at her chest, so he winced, dropping his eyes from the heavens, and tried to look into her face.
Except he looked right at her little perky tits. Again.
“I’m not hiding from you, Sis.” Maybe if he called her that, reminded her they were just good friends, maybe then she wouldn’t stand so close to him.
“Then why are you frowning? And what is going on with your hands. Are you rubbing yourself?”
Fuckin’ yes, he was rubbing himself because he was so hard, which didn’t usually happen around live girls, just the ones in the XXX movie houses he and Ryan tried to sneak into. So first she’d called him out on hiding from her, and then she pointed out his inappropriate b
ehavior with his fuckin’ Voyager. That was the nickname he and Ryan gave their dicks, from the Star Trek movie. How they lovingly called it veeger. They’d imagined that actress giving them a blow job and they laughed at how it made them want to spurt.
But none of that was helping him right then.
Stephanie stepped to close the gap between them. Her wide brown eyes looked up at his face. They weren’t as far apart in height they would later be, but she reached up and put her hand on his cheek and said in her innocence, “Kiss me, Patrick. Do it with your tongue. I want to feel that. Can you do it for me?”
With my tongue? Holy fuck, who does that?
But of course he couldn’t tell her that. He didn’t understand how it could feel good. Not at all. He wondered if he’d brushed his teeth. He was sure he hadn’t flossed. Was his deodorant working? And what about that fuckin’ Willy in his pants?
Veeger was bouncing in avid anticipation, and it made his balls buzz. Things were going off in all directions. Alarms were sounding. He thought he might pee and fart at the same time.
But then he looked at her. She licked those full pink lips and watched as he couldn’t help himself and did the same. Next he knew he was tasting her cherry lip gloss and loving it. She’d opened her mouth, like she expected him to put his tongue inside, and then they heard the catcalls from one of the other boys on his baseball team.
Looking back on those years now, Patrick would have to say that he’d been obsessed with her, and the more Ryan seemed to lean in her direction, the more he was losing her, the more he wanted her.
When they were in grade school they used to go hiking up in Annadel State Park, swim in the lake and rest by the water’s edge, the three of them holding hands, Stephanie always in the middle. The sky was so blue, the clouds all funny clown shapes, and later those shapes would look like ladies private parts. When he and Ryan had secretly discussed it, Steph always wanted to know what they’d been giggling over, but they never told her.
She was the best part about summer time, being out of school. She could ride a bike almost as fast as he could, at least until they got to middle school. She played soccer like a boy, which he kept telling her was a compliment.
He and Ryan would defend her honor if the girls in class got mean with her. He knew most of the girls in the class were jealous that she had not only one handsome boy’s attention, she had two. He knew her favorite ice cream, her favorite TV program, and her favorite music. He got to thinking he knew what she was feeling on some of those long summer days when the sun lasted forever and kids stayed outside to play in the street after dinner until dark.
If he could, he would roll back the clock. He’d talk Ryan out of going for the Teams. He might even get bolder with Stephanie. So much might have changed if he had it to do all over again.
But that was folly. The reality was that Ryan was gone. He’d be buried tomorrow. He and Stephanie shared a common pain, hers more painful perhaps, than his, but she wasn’t going to be his girl, and never was.
She was still Ryan’s.
And Stephanie would just have to work all that out as best she could, and he’d stand by to protect her, but not take on the role of the leading man. That role had already been taken.
Chapter 5
Flowers covered the grave site. Stephanie had never seen so many. The somber crowd of mostly older people—friends of Ryan’s parents and parents of their friends growing up. Many of the kids they’d gone to high school with were scattered all over the world, so she recognized only a few.
She stood up front, next to Mr. and Mrs. Rosen. She missed her mom and dad. The vacant spot next to her was filled instead by Patrick’s hulking presence. Though she didn’t look at him, he slipped his hand in hers like they used to do in grammar school. Their fingers didn’t entwine like they did when Ryan always took her hand, but her palm pressed against his, and she could feel the pulse of the underside of his wrist as their forearms touched.
On the other side of the coffin stood several uniformed SEALs, presumably all friends of Ryan’s. They were different heights and sizes, but all wore identical black wraparound sunglasses, spoke little, didn’t smile, and had square, sober jawlines.
After the opening hymn, they were instructed to be seated. During the short sermon, she thought about Ryan and the things she would miss the most about him—the little mischievous smile he got when he was going to do something she didn’t expect. The flowers he liked to bring her on the spur of the moment. How he loved puppies and always stopped to pat them, no matter where they were or how late they were going to be. How he loved the children and how they loved him when he stopped by the preschool to pick her up for lunch. She remembered the tenderhearted letters he’d written her from places she had no desire to ever see.
The words of the pastor droned on in the background as she said her private farewell to the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with. She was relieved that her tears, at least for now, seemed to be under control.
She examined the SEALs, this time more carefully. One by one, she was acknowledged with a slight nod of the head, something probably no one else in the crowd would recognize. She sucked in air, bracing herself for an outburst of tears, until Patrick squeezed her hand. She wondered how many of these gatherings Ryan had attended. How many other fiancés and wives had to sit and listen to the final words delivered about a life not yet fully begun. She and Ryan had never talked about this, about death or what could happen to a man on the Teams. Almost like it was bad luck to do so.
At first Stephanie thought Patrick had dropped her hand because he somehow felt self-conscious that they were showing affection for one another in front of these SEALs. But then she saw the clergyman nod in Patrick’s direction. He stood tall, perhaps the tallest person in the crowd, his black jacket hanging from his straight shoulders when he turned and faced Ryan’s coffin in front of him.
“Ryan and I were friends before I understood what that meant, or what a gift it was,” he began. “He was always there. My first memories of staying out late and playing in the street until our parents dragged us in were with Ryan.”
Stephanie remembered those hot summer nights that seemed to go on forever, hating to leave the childhood games in the streets in front of her house, being so excited to be alive it was hard to sleep.
He glanced up at Stephanie and her heart clenched in her chest. “And then there was Stephanie. After that, it was the three of us. Inseparable.” His voice trailed off when he studied her face, then smiled, looking at his feet.
Stephanie looked over the crowd. The SEALs were all focused on this tall best friend who had been such an important part of Ryan’s childhood. A couple of them looked back at her and watched as Patrick’s words filled the garden area of the cemetery.
“I couldn’t imagine playing on a team without Ryan there right beside me. It took me a while to get used to it, actually, when I first played in Europe, like I’d expect him to just come onto the field and make some half-assed—” he glanced at Mrs. Rosen who was watching with rapt attention, a Kleenex poised at her nose—“sorry, ma’am. I just expected he’d walk on the field and touch the ball, maybe send it clear out of the stadium somewhere. I expect to see him show up here, and just hold court, laugh at all of us all dressed up on his behalf.”
A gentle rolling chuckle filtered through the crowd.
Patrick’s shoulders dropped when he sighed. “He was the best friend a boy, or a man, could ever want. If you were going to get into trouble, Ryan was the guy you’d want to get sent to the principal’s office with. He had the craziest ideas for dumb stuff we used to do all the time. I never could outdrink him, and believe me, I tried.”
Again, a rolling chuckle came from the audience.
“We didn’t see much of each other during the past five years or so after I went off to play in Europe.” Patrick smiled down on the casket, “as I attempted to perfect my drinking and womanizing skills.” He got somber, and lowered his
voice, “And I saw with my own eyes how Ryan became the man he became. Upright and strong. Couldn’t believe the change in him. Last time I saw him, we didn’t drink so much—well, he didn’t anyway.”
The audience responded again. Stephanie saw Patrick flick a tear from his left eye with his forefinger.
“While I was touring Europe and getting to know the men on my team, men from all over the world, he played in his arena, with a new team.” He nodded to the SEALs who stood, expressionless.
“He loved his life. He loved what he did. He told me once he felt lucky to have figured out what he’d always wanted to do with his life.” As his blue eyes penetrated the fragile shell of Stephanie’s demeanor, she felt herself melt into him as he added, “And the woman he wanted to spend it with.”
She felt the brief touch of their lips from last night, and the memory of his breath on her face, when he whispered to her intimately, but in front of everyone, “I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Rosen lost it then, sobbing into her husband’s chest, being consoled by several friends behind her as Patrick made his way to Stephanie’s side, sat down and took her hand again.
Stephanie couldn’t look at him, so she whispered, “Thank you. That was beautiful,” to their entwined fingers which now rested on his thigh.
The rabbi began his long lament, in lilting voice, a shawl draped over his head, and several others in the audience covered their heads as well. He stopped for the audience response, which was repeated several times.
At the end of the service, the pastor motioned to one of the SEALs to come forward, a tall man who held his white cap under his arm. With deliberate but somehow delicate movements, he removed his sunglasses and pulled out a folded white sheet of paper. What he read touched her heart.
Game For Love_The Beautiful Game Page 3