by Mj Fields
“I thank you for the information, and if I do that—stay away from her while she’s broken and needs me, needs someone she can trust—you better make damn sure no one hurts her.”
With that, I walk down the hallway, trying to figure out who the hell to rip apart to make myself feel better.
***
SUNDAY NIGHT, I SEE A car roll in and two people get out. Christa and Ronald. Ellen must be staying at the hospital with Courtney.
I should be.
I stand on the balcony over the apartment and watch them walk inside.
A couple minutes later, Courtney’s light turns on. Then I see Christa walk out on the balcony and look up. She covers her lips with a finger and motions for me to come down.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Her parents are pissed at you, so keep your voice down.”
I nod.
“She’s a mess.”
“She got hit by a fucking car, by a man she just fired. I told her he was fucking dangerous and asked her to come with me.” I shake my head, so many emotions rolling through me. “I will never leave her again, Christa, never.”
“You need to let her breathe and get through this on her own. She feels weak, and a girl like her, like my best friend forever, she needs to feel strong.”
“She could have died, Christa. She could have died, and I was pissed at her, and she was pissed at me, and she pushed me away. She could have died before I got to tell her I love her.”
The reality of my words crashes down on her, and she loses it.
Christa is sobbing, Courtney’s a mess, and there ain’t shit I can do but try to hold it together for both of them while I’m falling apart inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Nothing Stopping Me
COURTNEY
“IT’S A BROKEN LEG; I’M not dying,” I prop my leg up on the stool my mom brought to the office.
“You just left the hospital. Didn’t even go home. You’re lucky you don’t have a nurse here. And how the hell did you get your mom and Ronald to leave?”
“They’ll be back for the first game next week.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go. Get to work. It’s a press day,” I tell her, pointing toward the door. “Go.”
She holds her hands up in surrender. “I’m going.”
“Wait,” I call out, stopping her. “Are you okay?” I ask because there has been no mention of Parker, not one, which is so unlike Christa.
“Hell yes! I love this job. Love it,” she sings.
“I mean with Park—”
“The honeys grossly overestimated his ability.” She waves me off.
“Christa …” I shake my head, not believing her.
She smiles. “I have work to do.”
“If you wanna talk, I’m here.”
“If I wanted to, don’t you think I would?” She laughs as she walks out the door.
As soon as the door closes, I open the computer and begin contacting the sponsors, thanking them by giving them free seats in the upper stadium with open bar and a buffet for the first game.
Thankfully, I spent last week making contact and confirming sponsorships I felt best fit my father’s desire to keep The Stable an entity of its own, and not owned by a fortune 500 company. Therefore, Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, Pike Place Flowers, Northwest Fine Woodwork, Northwest Tribal Art, The Elliot Bay Book Company, and Seattle’s Best Coffee will all be a part of The Stable for this season. They will have vendor booths throughout the concession hallway where they can sell their goods, and each was contracted to sell Seattle Stallions official merchandise.
No, it won’t make us millions, but it will help keep us independent and hopefully more involved with the community who we hope to support and will support us here, at a place that will be my home for hopefully a very long time.
It takes a couple hours before I begin going over James and Christa’s outline for the game day events. It’s actually kind of brilliant. By the time I finish, it’s an hour until my meeting with Coach Landry.
I get up, grab my crutches, and make my way out to Christa.
“Hey, there are these things called phones. You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” she complains.
“I wanted to move. Will you call Bill from Gate D up here?”
“Are we still pissed at him?” she asks, standing.
I accept that I may have overreacted when Bill was trying to do as Trae asked. I don’t like it, but fortunately, now that my head is clear, I realize that, yes, we really do like Bill.
I nod. “We like Bill.” Then I head back to my office to get ready to meet him.
After using the bathroom, I am sitting at the conference table when Larry walks in.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Been better.” I point to a chair across the table. “Bill Smith. I looked into him. He and Dad were friends?”
He nods. “Your dad was very fond of Bill.”
“Bill was an assistant coach in 1983 at UConn.”
He gets a puzzled look on his face. “I didn’t know that.”
“I want to talk to him. Just to clear the air about the other night.”
He nods.
“If everything goes the way I know it will, I want him,” I inform him.
He smiles with a nod.
Apparently, Larry feels good about this, which honesty makes me feel better.
I look up when there’s a knock at the door and see Bill walk in, taking off his hat as he enters.
“Christa, can we get some coffee?” I ask her, seeing her standing outside the door.
“Oh, my God.” She places her hands on her hips. “Are you going to start treating me like help?”
“No, Christa.” When she remains standing there, I give her a pleading look. “Please?”
She leaves, and I focus on Bill.
“Bill, the other night—”
“Your husband told me that you had a reaction to the medication. I understand.”
“I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about the fact that”—I clear my throat—“Trae asked you to look out for me, and—”
“Your husband asked me to,” he clarifies, seeming to rub it in my face, though it’s without malice.
“Yes, Bill, him. Well, I don’t think there was any ill-intent on your part.”
“Of course there wasn’t, Mrs. Rhodes.”
I take a deep breath, knowing it is possible that I’m being overly sensitive about the whole husband, Mrs. Rhodes comments. Then I just jump right to it.
“Bill, we would like to offer you an assistant coach position.” He doesn’t say a damn thing, so I repeat myself, “The Stallions would be honored to have you work with Coach Landry to make sure we have a winning season.”
Then he laughs. He laughs so hard I bite back my own.
“You can’t be serious,” he then says. “I’m an old man.”
“You know the game. You know the players. You know this arena better than anyone else. You have their respect. Hell, even Boeheim didn’t give you hell the other day. My dad trusted you, and this team needs you.”
“I’m too old for this.” He’s smiling and laughing, wiping away a tear. “But with your husband on this team, I see great things coming your way. So, I am honored to take the position, but just for a season.”
Everything is rubbing me the wrong way. I don’t want to come off crazy, not again, anyway, so I stand and excuse myself.
“Larry, will you finish up with the contract?”
“Everything all right?” he asks.
I nod. “Just have something I need to do.”
I hop out of the office, needing a moment to myself, grateful Christa isn’t at her desk. Then I get into the elevator and hit the bridge.
I make my way out to the middle of the bridge and lean down, resting my weight on the crutches. The court is empty, the team gone for the rest of the day. The next two days w
ill be long for them, for all of us.
I look at the courts wooden floor, the backboard, the hoops. I look at the seats and the scoreboard.
“I’m so proud of you, Dad.”
I close my eyes, take in a deep breath, and picture me and Dad smiling, laughing, and loving this game. Loving it even more when our team, the Knicks, won.
I picture the people who will fill these seats, experiencing the same memories of something some call just a game, being able to look back on this when they need to remember one of the best times of their lives.
Then I take the elevator down to court level and step out, remembering the very first time Dad brought me out here and how much he loved it, and how much I loved him.
I lean a crutch against the wall and grab a ball off the rack. Then I hop to the hoop, dribble the ball, and shoot.
I laugh out loud because I make it. I made the basket.
“That one was for you, Dad. Don’t expect it again.”
I hop to get the ball and nearly fall, but two arms catch me and pull me up.
I close my eyes and allow myself to take comfort in the connection.
“Nice shot.”
I don’t say what I want to. I say what I need to.
“Why are you here?”
“Why aren’t you home?”
“Trae...” I sigh.
I miss his touch. I crave it. However, I know his season will end, and that will end my time with him. I need to protect my heart and start the healing of the loss that’s inevitable.
I thought I was okay with all of it; wanted all of it. Now...Now I can’t. I just can’t let my fall continue.
“I’m just here, holding court,” he says on a sigh.
Defense, Courtney, defense, I tell myself.
“Just go.” I pull away.
“We told each other we’d talk about what happens. And home...Well, you haven’t been home.” He walks around in front of me and lifts my chin. “I got into a fight with Brock today,” he says, looking into my eyes.
I shrug.
“He says he’s staying on through his contract. I told him he was delusional. Is he delusional, Court?”
Looking at him hurts. Him being so close hurts. But the inability to let him in any further hurts even worse. However, it has to be done.
“We need him.” I hate this.
And there it is. The hurt I am causing him.
He shakes his head. “No one needs him except him.”
“I’m not discussing this with you.” I try to turn away.
“I’ll try not to overstep again.” He takes my hand and holds it up to his mouth, kissing my tattoo. “But I can’t promise it won’t happen.” Then he hands me the ball. “Shoot, Court. Take a chance.”
I shake my head.
“No?”
“I don’t trust you,” I tell him.
“What have I done to lose your trust?”
I can’t answer him. I can’t. It will hurt him, and I can’t hurt him, because I love him.
I love him, and I can’t, because he lied. He lied to protect himself and her, and I can’t be angry about his love for that beautiful little girl.
“Sorry. I’m just...I need to get back to the hotel.”
I start to hop away when he swoops me up in his arms. He grabs the crutch before it tumbles to the ground then grabs the one I left behind as he walks past it.
I grab his shirt and fist it. “I can’t do this with you.”
“I can’t do it without you.”
“I want a divorce. I want you to leave me alone.”
“Neither will happen,” he says as he kicks the door to Gate D open and stalks toward his truck.
“I have a car coming,” I tell him as tears fall down my face.
“Cancel it,” he says as he puts me in his truck.
When he gets on the driver’s side, he slams the door and starts it.
I cry as we pull out, and he holds my hand, and I let him.
I love him.
I text Christa to cancel the car, telling her I’m with Trae and that she needs to come home now. I can’t be alone with him.
I love him.
He releases my hand and reaches over, opening the glove box. Then he pulls out the doll I bought, the one I dropped, the one that was just like Callie’s, and hands it to me.
“She’s mine,” he says. “Callie is mine.”
For ten minutes, nothing else is said. I feel like I betrayed him, and I know he feels the same way. But I didn’t. I was trying to protect him, her, them, not us.
I love him, and he is so angry he can’t talk.
I watch his chest rise and fall more rapidly by the minute. Each moment that passes, I feel more distance and more panic.
“Trae—”
“He thought he could come between us, cause doubt, and he did. He did, and he’s got a black fucking eye because of it.”
“You shouldn’t have,” I say, swiping my sleeve across my face to wipe away the tears.
“She is mine.” He hits the steering wheel. “She’s mine because he wouldn’t take a paternity test, and I wasn’t gonna make him. She’s mine because I wasn’t gonna let that little girl be anyone else’s. I wasn’t gonna let her have a father who didn’t give a damn about her, or one who could do the shit he’s done and still not realize it’s wrong. She is mine in every way that counts.
“She’s mine because I chose her. And you are mine because I choose you. So, you need to get the fuck over it, because I know damn well that you were under the impression he would try to take her away from me. You don’t want that because you know damn well I’m the better man for her, and for you.”
“Trae...” I begin.
“He doesn’t get to do that to me; he doesn’t get to do that to Callie; and he sure as fuck doesn’t get to do that to you. And you, Courtney, you don’t get to be pissed at me for the other day with Coach, because you did the same damn thing. You tried to protect me, and I could be just as pissed that, when you really needed me, when you were hurt and afraid, you pushed me away. You needed me, and I needed you to need me. I’m a fucking man, Courtney. More importantly, I’m your man.”
Done. I am totally done.
I love him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Gonna Hurt You
TRAE
WHEN I PULL INTO THE driveway, I get out, walk around the truck, and open the passenger door, telling Courtney, “I’m going to take you inside, put you in bed, and walk the fuck away, because you need rest, and if I fuck you right now, it’s gonna hurt.”
“You can!” she cries as she wraps her arms around my neck. “I want you, too.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble as I walk inside the house, down the stairs, and straight to her room.
Brock the dumb fuck thinks status and the win means as much to everyone as it does him. He doesn’t know her, and he never will. He tried to throw it in my face. The fucker honestly believed she would end up telling me to fuck off. I knew better.
When I set her down, she doesn’t let go.
“Don’t test me right now,” I warn her.
“I love you.”
Fuck yes, you do. And you won’t stop. I won’t let you.
I kiss her. It starts soft and gentle, the way I need to be with her right now. Then she pushes her tongue into my mouth, and I let her lick me, taste me, fucking love me.
She pushes me up, her mouth still on mine, until she is sitting up in her bed. Then she presses against my chest and pulls away from the kiss, looking me dead in the eye when she tells me, “I love you.”
“I know, Court, I fucking know.”
I lean in to kiss her again, but she stops me by grabbing my cock and starting to stroke it through my shorts.
“Fuck yes,” I groan as heat radiates inside my dick. I feel blood rushing and warmth surging everywhere she rubs, spreading everywhere within seconds, pulses of heat causing me to become fully erect.
She pulls me free and lick
s the pre-come off the tip of my cock, and then licks her lips.
“You don’t have to...Aw, fuck yes,” I groan as she sucks my head, running her tongue along the underside, then licks around the rim.
My skin tightens, stretches, getting harder and harder as she licks and sucks every part of me then comes back to my head and sucks so hard I feel like I could fucking blow.
Pumping me with her hands, she takes a breath.
“Don’t have to,” I try to stop her again.
“So big. So perfect,” she says before taking it in her hot, wet mouth again.
“Fuck!” I roar when she takes me deep, so fucking deep, and then sucks hard all the way back to the tip.
“So fucking good,” I groan out, fisting her hair.
She whimpers, digging her fingers into my hips as she sucks harder.
“Love a good blowjob, Court, and you’re so fucking good at it, but I’d prefer to be inside your nice, hot pussy.”
She shakes her head, continuing to suck and stroke my cock.
“Fuck, awe, fuck,” I groan when she hollows her cheeks. “Fuck, you need to stop.”
But she doesn’t. She takes me deep again, so fucking deep that my cock is almost all the way in her sexy, little mouth and tears form in her eyes.
“I’m gonna come,” I warn her.
“Mmm...” she hums, sucking even harder.
I jet off, coming harder than I ever have, and she swallows every fucking drop. Then I pull away, watching as my cock slips out of her mouth.
“If you have any intention of pushing me the fuck away, you literally just blew it,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head and laying her back.
“What if he—”
“He won’t, Courtney, he won’t,” I assure her, lying beside her and rolling to my side to look at her.
I love that she wants to protect Callie from Brock as much as I do, but I know him better. I know Brock will not come after Callie.