Breaking Elle

by Antoinette Candela

  “I didn’t think it would be this hard for me,” he says looking directly into my eyes. “And I didn’t think it would be this easy for you.”

  “It’s not easy. It will never be easy,” I whisper. The tears streaming down my face are lost in the rain.

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  My phone that I strapped to my arm vibrates. I can’t make myself answer it, so confused by what’s happening. But it could be Reed. I glance at the screen and my heart jumps when I see that it is. Anxious to hear his voice again, I answer. Cane scowls, folding his arms across his chest, noticing the small pained smile that passes my lips.

  “Hello?” I reply, fighting back the tremor in my voice from crying.

  “Elle?” I blink, confused by the voice on the other end of the line coming from Reed’s phone. It’s not Reed. A cold chill instantly attacks my body, my heart.

  “Yes.” I pause. “Who is this?” I ask, clutching my knees to my chest.

  “I’m Tommy, Reed’s friend. You might know me.” His voice is winded and frantic, and I start to worry that much more. I hear the slamming of a door in the background.

  “No, No. I don’t. Reed’s never mentioned you,” I reply. He doesn’t talk much about anything that happened about his life. His secrets, his past.

  He clears his throat and asks, “Have you talked to him?” I put my hand against my throat, afraid it’s about to explode.

  “Not since last night. Is everything okay?” I start to get this sinking feeling that something is not right.

  “I don’t know how much you know or how long you’ve known Reed, but he has some history here in Texas that may have caught up with him.” He sighs. I can hear the sound of a creaking bed as though he just sat down. “He never told you anything, did he?”

  “No,” I whisper hoarsely. Fear seems to crawl up my spine and rest in my chest, thinking about the money in his drawer. The conversation the other night when he said we needed to talk. Was this what he was referring to? My hands start to shake and my body goes numb as I wonder where he could be, if he’s safe. I am not mentally prepared for this. “Do you... you know where he might be?” I stammer. If his friend does not know where he is, then where can he be? The silence on the other end of the phone only confirms that he has no idea what happened to Reed.

  “Well, where is he?” I ask the question anyway. I lean my head on Cane’s shoulder, and he pulls me closer.

  “I don’t know, but I think something bad could have happened to him.”

  “Why do you think that?” I feel like I’m floating. It’s like being in my dreams, more like a nightmare where I float above, watching but not able to control anything that is happening. I’m starting to question if the voice on the other end is real, or if I’m imagining all of this.

  “He tried to call me.” He pauses, “I heard him. He was fighting with someone tonight here in his room. I heard it all. That’s how I knew to come back here to his room.”

  “What kind of trouble do you think he’s in?” I raise my voice. I grip the phone tightly, stand up, and pace back and forth on the grass. Cane gets up and steps towards me. I peer at him, telling him silently that I need him, and he wraps his arms around my shivering body.

  “He got mixed up with some shady folks down here. I don’t know where he could be, and now that he left his phone behind, I have no way to get a hold of him, to find him.”

  “How will you know?” We won’t. My lungs hurt. Every breath I take feels like a knife is piercing me, and it gets harder to breathe. Cane notices the worried look on my face and holds me closer.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says, “These people are...”

  “Are what?”

  “Trouble.”

  I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, but the pressure in my chest keeps building. I try to hold it all in, but I can’t. I bury my face in Cane’s chest and break down. I don’t cry. I sob. I don’t remember anything more as the phone slips from my hands and the rain covers me, rolls over me. I feel like I’m drowning.

  I’ve been in and out of consciousness for what seems like a few hours, but I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. I scarcely remember them throwing me in the back of a truck. It was a bumpy ride. Knowing those assholes, they probably hit every damn pothole in Texas for their enjoyment. My head still pounds from a combination of my hangover, all the punches, and the kicks to my body last night. Someone put my broken arm in a sling, but it hurts like hell. The pain from the hit to my ribs isn’t better, and it tells me that I definitely have a couple of broken ones. It could have been worse, much worse, but I know this shit’s not over yet. Who knows what he’s got in store for me.

  I was supposed to have his money almost a year ago, and I failed. Yep, failed. Now I’m going to suffer for it. What can I do? I’m fucked. I already tried to talk my way out of it a couple months ago before I left for Boston to hide. I tried to work something out to pay him back. Some kind of payment plan. Ha! But he’s not about payment plans. He wants that cash in a nice big bundle just like I got it. Nice big fat bills, wrapped in that skinny green paper.

  All my problems are linked. You can’t separate one from the other. Like a row of dominoes and once one of them falls, then the whole damn thing comes crashing down. That’s exactly what has happened. I never planned for it. The gambling was just a byproduct of my crazy life at college. I thought that my luck would never change. Thought I was indestructible, some fucking superhero, that I would get drafted, that Momma would get better. But it only got worse with my injury. What the hell is that stupid saying about things happening in threes? It’s bullshit! Whoever made that crap up should be hung by their damn balls.

  People always want to latch on to something like a damn life preserver. All three of my passions were my life preservers in a way. Without Momma, I wouldn’t have football. If I didn’t have football, there would be no gambling, right? What the hell am I saying? None of this is making any fucking sense! I just made some bad decisions, plain and simple. Pain is learning who you are during the difficult times. I learned that then, and I’m learning it all over again now. All I ever feel is damn pain.

  Was this all worth it? Damn right it is. I would do it all over again. Maybe in my second life, but I’m not sure how Momma, Juju or even Elle would think about that. I can’t have anyone be collateral damage because of my dealings with the devil.

  I wonder where I’ve ended up. Some underground bunker in the middle of fucking nowhere or maybe in a barn buried under a lot of horseshit and hay. I slowly open my eyes, adjusting them to my surroundings. My arm is tied to something, maybe a bedpost, making it hard to stretch my body to work out the kinks. I’m trying to keep my mind active because I can’t be going crazy. I need to think rationally and keep my shit together.

  The only light in the dark room is what breaks through the blinds covering two large windows. The door is to the left, and in front of me is a dresser with a cracked mirror above it. The room smells like mold and the yellow paint is peeling off the walls. Next time, I should remind myself not to complain about hotel accommodations; this place is a shithole. The bed creaks underneath me, and the blankets are old and faded but smell clean, like flowers. I hear activity somewhere, people talking, and things being moved around. I strain forward, listening closely to the conversation outside the door.

  The door swings open and slams against the wall, causing some of the paint to fall and dust to rise. Flinching, I recognize the same filthy boots and jeans from the scuffle, and another guy follows close behind. I smell the same stale odor of cigarettes, so it must be the other guy from last night. They both stride over to the bed and stand above me grinning. One guy is bald, with a thick neck and a beer gut, well, the size of Texas. He silently steps behind me so that all I can see are his black boots. He reeks of cheap cologne, which almost makes me bring up the bitter alcohol that I drank last night.

  “Morning, sunshine.” The guy with the dirty boots mock
s. My eyes burn from the lack of moisture and my mouth is dry. I squint. I remember him now. He introduced me to Jerry West when I needed financial help. “You’re making me look bad with the boss, ya’ know. You need to honor your deals with Mr. West.” He leans in closer to me, and I smell coffee and cigarettes on him. “He hates when people waste his time and take his hard earned money.”

  I know there’s nothing hard earned about that money he loaned me. He knows it, too.

  “So, is this what this is all about?” I reply sarcastically. “I just thought you missed me, Leon.” I chuckle, staring him in the eye.

  “Don’t test me, you arrogant piece of shit,” he says reaching for a bat that sits next to the bed. “I won’t hesitate to use this Louisville slugger on that famous knee of yours.” He winks, tapping the bat against the palm of his hand. “But Mr. West still thinks that could be a money maker, that’s if he wants to keep you around.”

  I smile. An eye for an eye, a knee for a knee, I chuckle to myself. What difference does it make anymore? I’ve used up all of my chances. I grimace in pain as the other guy reaches up and roughly grabs my wrist from the bed post to untie it. Talk about fucking uncomfortable. He sneers at me when he grabs my broken arm and pulls some cuffs out of his back pocket.

  “So, who’s your sidekick over here?” I grimace at the guy fumbling with the cuffs. He crosses my good arm in front of me, and then clamps the cuffs on too tight, pinching the skin on my arm. I bite down on my lip, watching blood appear, and glare at him as he smiles sarcastically.

  “Oh, Ben here. He’s the silent type. He doesn’t like to waste any time with this kind of shit. You should have kept your end of the deal. Right, Ben?”

  The big guy stops what he’s doing and glares down at me. He reminds me of the Michelin man, pasty white skin, three or four layers of fat on his arms, shirt strained around his gut, and brown teeth. The chipped front one looks like a dagger.

  “So anyway, enough with the small talk.” Leon rests his chin between his thumb and forefinger, and smiles deviously as he puts the bat back down. I silently breathe a sigh a relief. He walks around the bed to the window and pulls open the blinds. The bright Texas sun instantly blinds me and I turn away. Big Ben pulls me roughly up from the bed and clamps down on my shoulder so I don’t fall. How fucking sweet of him. The action makes my hangover headache rush forward and collide with my skull, pounding my temples.

  “Beautiful Texas morning, ain’t it?” Leon laughs wickedly. “You might want to enjoy it because it may be your last.” Leon turns to leave, and Big Ben grabs me from behind and pushes me out the door behind him. We shuffle down a dark hallway and out the door that leads to a garage where Big Ben proceeds to stuff me in the black Suburban.

  I fucking hate being powerless.

  I watch the Texas landscape slide right by me, and I can’t help but think about my family and Elle and how I’ve let them down. I shut my eyes and beat my head against the back of the padded leather seat. At least they let me sit in the backseat with my seatbelt on. I was almost home free with this trip. I had one more day. I should have lain low like I planned. I knew that this would happen, that someday it would catch up with me. But, who could have told them I was here? How did they know where I was going to be? I don’t think I’m going to get any answers.

  We arrive at Jerry West’s office, which is located in a sprawling mansion outside of Arlington. (I read the highways signs, and try to avoid thinking about whether or not I’ll see another day). I guess he bought another place because I’ve never been here before. I wish it were under different circumstances like me handing him the cash I owe him, or maybe attending one of the big parties he throws for all of his friends. For a little while, I was on that list when the Dallas Cowboys wanted me. But when my injury happened, my situation changed.

  They drag me out of the black Suburban like a sack of potatoes. Big Ben is not happy about this, and I’m not happy having to smell his damn cologne.

  “Hey, watch the merchandise.” I chuckle, protecting my broken arm from any further damage.

  “Come on, smart ass,” Leon says. He pushes me forward while Big Ben keeps his vice grip around my bicep.

  “Damn, you guys get any vacation time from the boss?” I struggle to pull away from Big Ben. The smell of his cologne is burning my nostrils. “Because you seem a bit uptight,” I joke.

  “Maybe we will once you’re out of the picture. We’ve been working overtime to find you. We got a good lead on you this time around.” He smirks as he walks alongside me. Leaning in, he whispers, “Word of advice to ya,” he pauses, “but it may be too late.” He looks around and stops in front of the doors. “Don’t trust anyone around these parts or open your mouth when it’s not necessary.”

  I stare at him for a second. I know there’s something behind his message, and I’m sure I’m going to find out real soon. Ben and Leon shove me through a pair of double doors into a large office with Cowboys memorabilia and expensive leather furniture. There’s a strong smell of cigar smoke and liquor. A voice comes from a leather chair behind the desk. I’d know that voice anywhere. Leon pushes me to one of the leather chairs facing the desk and shoves me into it. Big Ben stands next me to me keeping his mitt on my shoulder.

  “Long time, no speak.” The throaty voice comes from behind the desk. Years of smoking and drinking have destroyed his vocal chords, and it looks like he’s been to one too many barbeques since I last saw him. He’s packed on a few pounds. “Didn’t think I could find ya, did ya Hunter?” He laughs as he hangs up the phone he was holding in his right hand.

  “Hey, Mr. West.” I’m fucking scared as shit, but I’m not going to show it. I don’t know what I can say now that will make him give me more time. I’ve used it all up. I picture the little grains of sand falling, my time slowly slipping away, almost gone. I straighten up in my chair as best as I can with my hands cuffed in front of me. “All of this ain’t necessary,” I say, trying to move my arms in the cuffs.

  “Let’s get one thing straight.” He leans forward, folding his hands in front of him with a wicked smile. “I make the rules around here, Hunter. You just keep your mouth shut.” He says, eerily calm. “Another thing, we’re past the mister stage, Hunter; we’re like family. Call me Papa West.”

  “I don’t need your kind of family.” I hiss, clenching my fists. The cuffs cut into my skin. There’s blood. I wish he would fucking stop calling me Hunter!

  “But you needed my money!” He barks, causing me to flinch.

  “I said I’d pay you back.” I grimace, twisting my wrists trying to figure out a way to get out of here, but I know that shit is futile.

  “When? Huh? Tell me when, Hunter?” He growls. “This is the kind of shit I can’t tolerate. You young kids get hooked on the good life and you can’t pay up. You need to honor the agreement.” He gasps, struggling for air, pounding his chubby fist on his enormous desk. “Pay me back! I don’t believe a word you say anymore!”

  “I’m working on it. I’ll get y’all the money.” I clench my fists, wishing I had his neck in my hands. I’m fucking pissed for getting involved with this guy.

  “Listen, I’m not into monthly installments. I told you that before. I ain’t no credit card you pay off. I got a business to run and I need cash. I need the cash from you. You got that? Or we may have to escalate this and involve some other folks. Do you understand what I’m getting at?” He roars breathlessly.

  “Keep my family out of this.” My heart leaps to my throat and I feel helpless.

  “I would love to keep your family out of this. So pay up! That’s how this business works, remember? We made a deal, and you owe me a lot of money,” he says calmly.

  “I understand. I’ve paid you back before. If I can get you the money earlier, I’ll do it. But I need a little more time,” I reply. My jaw hurts from clenching my teeth. I’m so mad I can barely get the words to come out of my mouth.

  “I’ve been nice because I know your story. You
had a rough life. I get that.” He takes deep raspy breaths.

  “Sure, Mr. West.” I reply. You dick. He laughs that annoying laugh and I get that urge to put my fist through a wall. I’m not trying to put anything over him. I know that’s what he’s probably thinking or what he’s heard. He thinks I got hooked on the good life? Is that what he really thinks? He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. I don’t know what he’s heard, but the money wasn’t for that. That cash was necessary for my momma’s medical bills. I got what I needed, but then I couldn’t stop. It was like a roller coaster ride that I didn’t want to get off. I admit that gambling got the best of me. I can understand the addiction now. The rush when you win and the desperation you feel when you lose. I’m no better than my father is. I should’ve got out early, but he’s right. Life was good when I was winning.

  I came to him as a last resort, but now my situation is more complicated. I had to leave, use some of the money left after taking care of Momma to figure things out. Everything I planned for went up in smoke! I had no backup strategy if I didn’t play professional football. My luck ran out.

  A knock at the door interrupts my last thoughts. Jerry calls them in and the answer to my questions walks through the door. I am a little surprised but not completely shocked by it. We kind of got off on the wrong foot a couple of nights ago. After my drinking, I probably opened my mouth and let something slip, and Campbell probably shared it all.

  “Look who’s joined the Landon Hunter fan club.” Jerry laughs. “Let me introduce you to...” He pauses and taps his temple with his finger. “What’s your name again, boy?”

  “It’s Caleb.” He turns to me and smirks. He’s not wearing preppy boy clothes today, just a t-shirt and jeans, and he’s carrying my bag.