Kicking Reality

by Kat T. Masen

  I’m about to call him out on it till Logan—my brother’s best friend—and a mystery woman, walk into the kitchen. Logan flies through girlfriends like I go through underwear, so it didn’t surprise me that she was here yet I found it rude and annoying that he didn’t have the courtesy to inform us that a stranger would be joining us.

  Logan’s face breaks out into a mischievous smirk, the same one he would have when he played pranks on me when we were younger. The only thing that’s changed is that he’s taller than me, in actual fact towers over me like Ash. Add to that a muscular body instead of ten-year-old pre-puberty kid fat.

  And he got rid of the bowl haircut.

  According to some magazine, he was named hottest athlete of the year. I remember reading that article thinking Logan Carrington . . . really? The same boy that practically lived in our house and was Ash’s Siamese twin. Let’s ignore the fact that I was his actual twin.

  Age would change anyone and despite the fact that I hadn’t seen him in over two years, nothing much changed except his legs were covered in tattoos. He wore shorts which gave me a view of the intricate patterns and drawings. I couldn’t get over it—staring rudely while Ash rambled on about something. I’m surprised Dad or Mom hadn’t said anything either. Logan is like a son to them and Dad was anti tattoos. A reason why Ash kept the one just under his stomach a secret. It was some bro-code-drunken-night-out and when he tried to text me a pic, I was quick to point out that I almost threw up in my mouth at the sight of his pubes.

  What fascinated me about the tattoos on Logan is that his arms were ink free. Usually the arms were the first place you would get inked, not the legs. Nevertheless, I backed my rude stare away from him and onto Ash and his grubby face.

  Logan moves around the kitchen and stops at Mom, embracing her in a tight hug and not letting go for a while. Something smelled fishy. Aside from the lingering smirk, his ash-brown hair is flicked to the side styled with a line cut through the lower part. A fad that is apparently rocking this generation. He runs his hands through it, lifting his bottle-green eyes to meet mine. I jump off the stool as he walks around the counter towards me, and wrap my arms around him. With my bare feet and stretching on my tiptoes, I whisper in his ear, “What are you up to?”

  He holds me tight, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hated to admit that he smelled good. Some fancy aftershave designed to lure women.

  Bringing his lips close to my ear, his tone is smooth. “This will send you in a tailspin.”

  I pull back, confused but quick to extend my hand to the girl standing quietly in the corner. She’s quite pretty. Exotic with a nice fashion sense. It’s my polite way of saying not everyone can rock a caftan but she certainly could.

  “Hi, I’m Emerson, Ash’s sister.”

  She smiles with nerves, biting down on her very white teeth. I’m amazed at how long her hair is: straight with a few blond foils reaching the tip of her waist.

  “I’m Alessandra, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she speaks with an accent. It’s thick and by the way she rolls her Rs, I assume she’s from Spain.

  “Oh,” I say looking in Logan’s direction. I didn’t think he would talk about me often but obviously he did. Odd, considering we weren’t that close anymore. “That’s nice of Logan to talk about—”

  “Mom, Dad,” Ash interrupts me, moving closer to Alessandra and wrapping his arm around her waist. “Alessandra is my . . . my wife.”

  My eyes spring wide open; jaw dropping to the ground with a crashing halt. His wife? When in God’s earth did this happen? He hadn’t even mentioned dating let alone marriage! This has to be some prank . . . Logan put him up to it. This wasn’t the first time they had done something like this. They would gang up on me all the time. Drove me insane.

  We were known as the three troublemakers in the neighbourhood, and I considered myself one of the boys until I turned fourteen. I could smell a prank a mile away and this one is rotten.

  “Excuse me?” Dad questions, clearing his throat. His normally fair skin looks beet red, a tell-tale sign he was fuming inside. I glance over at Mom, she looks equally as shocked.

  “We got married, in Spain. Alessandra is my wife.”

  “Married?” Dad repeats.

  Ash nods, keeping his stare persistent and not blinking to challenge Dad. The two of them are just as stubborn as each other, and the longer this drags on, the more it becomes evident this is not a joke.

  “When did this happen?” Mom asks in a calmer tone, disguising her shock.

  Ash looks at Alessandra, thoughts passing between them, keeping the rest of us waiting impatiently.

  “It happened last weekend. It sorta just happened.”

  “You don’t sorta just get married, Ashley,” Dad grits, slamming his palm on the marble top. “You’re too young to be married!”

  “I knew you’d say that!” Ash raises his voice, competing with Dad. “You had no problem when Emmy announced she was engaged. And to some dickhead she met on TV!”

  “Hey!” I shout, quick to defend myself. “Don’t drag me into your mess. And thanks for thinking my fiancé is a dickhead!”

  I storm out of the kitchen, walking to the back yard for fresh air. The nerve of him to throw me under the bus while he was fucking standing in front of it. My anger refuses to subside, the air not calming the heat burning through me as the weight of Ash’s decision sinks in. He got married and didn’t say a word. Like I was nothing and nobody to him. I could recall all the conversations we had over the past week and none of them alluded to this. That’s what fucking hurts right now. My brother hid the biggest thing to happen to him from me.

  I continue to walk farther into the yard to stop myself from running back inside and yelling at him. My parents place sat on acres, and with a huge back yard, I wandered over to my favorite spot—the hammock that swung between the two large trees. Climbing in, I rock back and forth, staring at the sky.

  We were twins. We shared a goddamn womb for nine months. No matter how much we fought, he always had my back. And perhaps he struck a nerve calling Wes a dickhead. Sure, Wes had his moments which unfortunately were caught on camera. But this wasn’t about Wes, this was about the betrayal I felt from my own brother.

  “I told you it would send you in a tailspin.”

  The sound of Logan’s voice startles me, yet I continue to rock back and forth, lost in a sea of thought.

  “Are Mom and Dad grilling him?”

  “I walked out when Chris said ‘I had more hopes for you son.’”

  “Ouch.” Poor Alessandra. “But it’s not like Ash to be so . . .”

  “Committed?”

  “Yes.” I pull myself up, leaning on my elbows for support as I gaze directly at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s not my news to tell. Plus I think I’m still in shock. Move over.”

  I wriggle my body over, allowing Logan to lay beside me—something we did often when we were both angry at Ash at the same time. Except we weren’t ten plotting to hit him with water balloons on the way to school.

  Though I wouldn’t mind finding some and releasing my anger that way.

  “So you think this is weird too?” I ask.

  He nods, placing his arms underneath his head. The bottom of his shirt lifts slightly and I do my best to avoid looking at his happy trail. Okay, his happy trail looked sexy. I didn’t even know that was possible. Isn’t a happy trail just an extension of your pubic hair?

  “We walk into the bar after a game. He says she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and the next morning he calls me to tell me he married her.”

  “What?” I sit up on my elbows again but this time in a mad rush, which causes the hammock to swing faster. “He knew her for less than a day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he has the nerve to say I’m getting married so fast.”

  “Oh yeah.” Logan half smiles. “Congratulations by the way.”

  “Thanks.” I kill my
curiosity by asking him for the truth. “Did you watch it?”

  There’s a short silence while he gazes at the sky. He’s one of those people that when he smiles, his whole face lights up, most notably—his eyes. The color of them used to freak me out: green that sometimes changed to brown. When I asked him how he did that, he told me he was bionic raised by robots pretending to be human.

  “You know I don’t watch TV unless it’s sports.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, choosing to drop the subject of my engagement and focus back onto Ash.

  “What happens now? Is your coach mad?”

  “Coach Bennett is fuming but he calmed down a bit. He sent Ash home to tell your parents and expects us back in three days to commence training. He said that if this relationship ruins our game—he’s out. No second chances.”

  “That’s a bit harsh don’t you think? So what, you’re not allowed to have relationships?”

  “Not ones that would affect our gameplay.”

  “Huh,” I say loosely. “Explains why you’re a player of women.”

  He knocks into my arm, causing the hammock to swing faster.

  “Let’s go out tonight. Maybe we should celebrate his decision. I’ve been a terrible best friend,” he openly admits.

  “Really? Is that a cover of you just wanting to go out tonight and find some random chick to screw? Some Green Meadows hussy waiting for the hottest athlete to come sweep her off her feet?” I lace my voice with adoration, mocking his persona.

  “You know me too well, Emmy.” He grins.

  “I can spot a man-whore a mile away,” I point out confidently. “Alright, first let’s see if he’s still alive.”

  “Good idea.”

  We both climb off the hammock with great difficulty. Walking back towards the house while we talk about what’s been going on, we walk past the edge of the pool. I make a note to keep a reasonable distance from it. You learn from the past: once a prankster, always a prankster.

  “Lighten up, I won’t push you in,” Logan chastises.

  “That’s what you said numerous times. Once played, always scarred.”

  “C’mon, I’ve grown up. We aren’t kids anymore.”

  Logan Carrington wasn’t a kid—that’s for sure. He is a man. One that screamed bad boy. I felt sorry for the women that fell in love with him. He’s your classic athlete with the biggest head on this planet, next to my brother of course. That’s why they were best friends since day one. Two man-whore peas in a man-whore pod.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  I make my way back to the edge when all of a sudden, I lose my balance from the nudge of his arm and teeter on the edge of the pool before my body hits the cold water. The impact of the fall drags me under; the suddenness making me swallow some water as I swish my arms, swimming until my head is above water.

  “You asshole!” I yell, trying to swim to the side fully clothed. It’s a lot more difficult than swimming in a bikini.

  He sits on the edge—squatting—staring me down. “I said we weren’t kids, never said I wasn’t an asshole.”

  I growl in annoyance, using my leg to climb over and out of the pool. With the jerk walking away, I run towards him and jump on his back like I had done a million times before. This time it’s harder, his height and hard muscles making it difficult for me to latch on. When the fuck did he get so tall? Or maybe I’m shrinking . . .

  “Payback is sweet . . . dear old friend.”

  He continues to walk, not fazed that I am hanging on his back like a desperate monkey. “You’ve got to do more than jump on my back fully wet, to pay me back.”

  “Oh don’t you worry Carrington, game on.”

  “Game on?” he laughs, mocking me.

  “Game on,” I repeat, jumping off his back as I open the door to a screaming match going on in the house.

  “There aren’t enough rounds of drinks

  to cure the broken hearted.”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  It was the most awkward car ride in the history of car rides. Ash took to the wheel like a crazed maniac with Logan sitting equally agitated beside him. I sat in the back with Alessandra, making small talk to pass the time. I couldn’t fault her; she answered every question with ease and even spoke about her profession—nursing.

  It began to make sense . . . sort of. She is very attractive plus wore a nurse’s uniform for a living. Ash and Logan used to kid around about nurses being their ultimate fantasy. It was during these conversations that I used to tune out. They thought of me as one of the guys but little did they know I had zero interest in fucking nurses.

  No wonder Ash wanted to marry her.

  We stumbled into Harrys’ joint—a local bar that had a jukebox as old as Betty White and a dingy pool table nestled in a dimly lit corner. It was ten miles from home and quiet for a Saturday night. It smelled of cigars, mixed with stale beer and man sweat. Three of my least favorite things.

  Only a minute of being inside, Ash ordered a round of beers, ignoring us while he isolated himself in the corner rubbing chalk on his cue. Alessandra walks over, placing her hand on his shoulder only for him to remove it.

  “Great,” I mumble from where I’m leaning against the bar. “This will not end well.”

  Logan positions himself next to me, watching them with boredom. “You’re telling me. Fuck, your dad was so pissed I could practically see the steam shooting out of his ears.”

  It prompted me to text Mom. I knew it had upset her even though she wasn’t as vocal as Dad. Pulling my cell out of my purse, I quickly send her a text asking if she is OK. Since my cell was still in hand, I also texted Wes, hoping to have a quick chat with him and reconcile after last night.

  A few seconds later, I see my screen light up with a text from Mom:

  I’ll be ok kiddo. Just need to process.

  I let out a sigh, gazing at my brother. He didn’t know how many lives he affected by making a rash decision. It was fair to say we were all hurting in some way or another, the moron just didn’t care.

  Logan nudges me to follow him to the pool table, carrying the tray of beers. By the time we get there, Ash and Alessandra have reconciled, making out like lovesick fools in front of us.

  Gross. Nobody wants to see their brother making out . . . ever.

  I grab a beer off the tray, almost chugging it in one go. It didn’t sit too well in my stomach; my body used to the high-end martinis at Hollywood parties. But I didn’t want to be that person, especially in front of the boys. I would never hear the end of it.

  We decide to play a game of pool. Ash and Alessandra versus me and Logan. It was great to let our hair down, and even better that the four of us could unwind in a place where no one knew who we were. In the eyes of the few patrons hanging around, we were a bunch of rowdy drunks playing pool in the corner. I craved this type of solitude. Filming a reality show meant we always had cameras around us. Cliff believed that to catch the essence of a person’s life, cameras needed to follow them twenty-four-seven. Thankfully, after much negotiation, they permitted me to be camera-free for the weekend.

  Ash and Logan were in the same boat. Their back-to-back wins meant they were in the public eye more than they cared to be. Soccer is huge in Europe and overnight, the both of them became household names.

  Side-tracked by my thoughts, I catch up to the conversation which happens to be about Star Wars. It forces me to walk back to the bar, ordering something my stomach would agree with.

  “Hey Harry,” I greet in a chilled voice, menu in hand. “What do you recommend?”

  Harry doesn’t make eye contact, wringing a hand towel while chewing on a piece of tobacco. “You’re a lightweight. Maybe a glass of Ginger Ale.”

  I scrunch my face, shuddering at the thought. “What about a martini?”

  He throws the towel onto the bench, resting his palms on the edge of the counter while watching me. “You’re that Chase kid.”

  I nod, smiling politely and putt
ing on the charm. I didn’t know where this was going but by the way Harry was watching me furtively, it didn’t look good.

  “One of,” I answer, clearing my throat. “Emerson.”

  His stare doesn’t budge, making me very uncomfortable.

  “You’re the one that left the gate open and let Rufus out.”

  “Rufus?” It jogs my memory, and without raising too much suspicion, I glance sideways tapping on the counter pretending it wasn’t me. Of course I let Rufus out! He was an overweight bulldog that looked sad behind the wired gate. I thought he needed to live a little. Mind you, I was eight. My perception of living meant running wild without a care in the world. How was I to know Rufus would run away and never come back?

  What’s that saying again? Something about letting something go and if it doesn’t come back, it was never meant to be.

  “So about that martini?”

  He bites down on his teeth, releasing a small growl while grabbing a glass and making the martini. I take the opportunity to wander over to the jukebox. Scanning the songs, I notice there is nothing after 1990, leaving very few choices. I settle on some Prince then head back after grabbing my martini from Harry.

  “You know what his problem is?” Ash shouts, sliding the cue between his fingers and aiming straight for the red ball that is nestled amongst the others in the corner.

  I shrug, looking at Logan for some insight as to what we were talking about because a moment ago it was Star Wars.

  “He’s a dick,” he finishes.

  “Wait, Dad is a dick?”

  “Yep,” he says with reassurance.

  “In all fairness, he’s done nothing but support you. Remember when you were fourteen and you begged to do that soccer camp in Spain? Dad took time off work so you could go.”

  His eyes lift to meet mine, full of anger and resentment. “So what? He wanted his only son to play soccer.”

  I had a whole argument panned out. It involved telling him that he was ungrateful and should thank Mom and Dad for the sacrifices they made so he could play. Ash and Logan lived and breathed soccer. When they turned thirteen, it was clear their obsession wouldn’t go away. Suddenly, it was soccer training after school each day and no longer the trips to the lake where we would devise our plans to prank people in our neighbourhood.