Tiebreaker

by P. Dangelico

  I missed the unveiling of my grandfather’s statue yesterday.

  I. Am. The. Worst.

  But I couldn’t face anyone after finding out that I’ve been played a fool again.

  After I left the office, I walked straight to the corner liquor store and picked up an extra large bottle of vodka and a gallon of cranberry juice. Noah was at the house an hour later, banging on the front door and begging to be let in. Sufficed to say, I ignored the jerk.

  Some distance from the situation is best, I’ve decided. Less likely for me to do or say something irrevocable, considering the state I’m in.

  Sunglasses hiding my bloodshot eyes, I head to the office to let them know I’m here to see my sister for an urgent family matter. Like if I don’t leave town today, I may commit a homicide.

  The principal, a middle-aged man so tall and thin he resembles Slender Man, comes charging out of his office to get a selfie and some tips on his groundstrokes. All good and well, I never mind signing autographs and taking pictures as long as someone is respectful about it.

  This is where things get squirrelly.

  I’m pretty sure that when he tips his head to touch mine and snaps the selfie, he also brushes his hand over my ass. It took me a moment to realize what had occurred and by then the damage was already done. I suffer through more small talk while he personally escorts me to my sister’s office. This time I’m careful to keep my distance.

  Bebe’s head snaps up. She looks startled to hear the door open to her closet, err office, and find the principal and me standing in the doorway. With her cheeks turning pink, she low-key places her phone in a drawer. Curiosity overtakes my sour mood for a moment.

  “Here she is, my favorite P.E. teacher,” Slender Man announces.

  My sister grimaces. “You can leave now, Octopus.”

  Umm…

  The principal’s shiny smile falls and he brushes his hair off his forehead in a nervous gesture. “Nice meeting you, Miss Murphy,” he directs at me and ducks out of the tiny office. Shuffling in, I plop down in the plastic chair on the other side of her metal desk.

  “Did you just call the principal…Octopus?” What’s scary is that this does not even faze me.

  Her head tilts adorably. That’s the thing with Annabelle. She looks innocent, and yet she’s the devil in disguise. “Are you drunk?”

  “Hung over.” I lift my sunglasses off, placing them on top of my head, and rub my eyes.

  “Darby likes to get handsy with the young teachers. We all call him Octopus.”

  Now I get it. “I’m pretty sure he asked for a photo so he could grab my ass. Why don’t you report him?”

  “Because despite being a disgusting pig, he’s an excellent administrator and great with the kids. The best we’ve ever had by far. So we all try to shame him into better behavior.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Yes––until you arrived. Where did you disappear to yesterday?”

  “I feel terrible,” I confess, groaning. “I came to tell you that I’m leaving tonight. You’ll explain to mom and dad?”

  Disappointment is written all over her face and it makes me feel even worse. It’s no longer just my head throbbing, my conscience gives it a go too.

  “Leaving? Already?”

  “I got a call from my manager. The tabloids ran a story that I was cheating on Oliver with Noah and she wants me in London to do damage control. An interview blah blah blah.”

  “What does that have to do with yesterday?”

  My blood starts to sizzle again. “I was explaining it to Noah––” I exhale loudly, fired up by as fresh influx of anger. “I was about to tell him that I was going to pack my shit and move back here. I was allll excited about it…and then I saw them––”

  “Saw what?”

  “The files on his computer,” I grumble. “He has videos of all my matches. All of them. He was at every one of them…how messed up is that?”

  One, two, three seconds pass and then a heavy scowl appears on my sister’s face. “He’s such a piece of flaming dog shit.”

  Her reaction takes me by surprise. “Umm, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t,” she shoots back, her mouth set in a grim, tight line. “You’re not really surprised? I mean, come on, he’s a worthless scumbag––always has been.”

  My neck gets hot. “Whoa. Chill, Bebe. Noah is not a scumbag. He loves me…he just…has poor judgment sometimes.” I rub my temples. “This conversation is making my headache worse.”

  “I can’t believe you’re defending him. He’s a lying, deceitful pig who doesn’t deserve you. What he deserves is to be castrated and allowed to live the rest of his miserable life without his junk.”

  My jaw hits the floor. I’m speechless for a good long time seeing as I only have two bars showing on my brain power. “I hate to sound like mom but are you on your period? Because you’re being super mean right now. Yes, what he did was stupid. It was, okay? I’ll give you that. But it’s also kind’a sweet. It’s kind of romantic if you really think about it.”

  Shaking her head, she makes a face of total disgust. “Please tell me you’re not in love with that asshole.”

  Despite that my head feels like the aftermath of a nuclear explosion, despite that my sister has gone full-on Mean Girls on steroids, a wide involuntary grin spreads across my face. “I am so in love I…” The force of my emotions frightens me, makes me breathless. “I can’t imagine a life without him…I don’t ever want to be without him ever again.”

  My sister rolls her eyes.

  “And don’t call him an asshole or I’ll pull your hair out. He’s Mr. Asshole to you. Show a little respect.”

  “How about Sir Asshole?” Blank-faced, she stares back at me. Then slowly, very slowly, a sly grin overtakes her face. “You can thank me later. Go catch your flight.”

  It takes a minute for my foggy brain to catch up, still showing only two bars.

  “You’re insane. You know that, right?” I snort and laugh. Tears fill my eyes and she smiles. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

  “Yes. Now get going,” she says, all proud of her acting job. I walk around the desk and hug her, bumping into equipment and furniture. Pulling away, she says, “What do I tell him when he asks about you?”

  I should let him marinate in what he did…I really should. “Tell him I went to pack my things and I’ll be back in a few days.”

  * * *

  Noah

  Yesterday turned into a major clusterfuck. That’s not how she was supposed to find out. I was going to explain––everything. In a time of my choosing, preferably after she was knocked unconscious from the three or ten orgasms I had planned on giving her. Then when she was good and soft and sweet in my arms, I was going to big-picture it for her. Explain how no man has ever loved a woman more and that I couldn’t stand to be apart from her for another second…that was the plan. Then again, why do I bother makin’ plans when my life rarely turns out the way I plan it.

  I checked the house this morning and she was gone. I left a thousand voicemails and she hasn’t returned a single one. I even tried calling Annabelle and her phone went straight to voicemail. I’m officially worried.

  “Annabelle,” I call out, jogging to reach her truck in the school parking lot. Annabelle looks up, hand raised to unlock her door. Her pale blue gaze sharpens. Why do I get the feeling she was expecting me?

  “Hey,” I say reaching her. “Did you get my message?”

  “Oh, I got it.”

  Yep––she spoke to Maren. Sighing, I quietly plead, “Where is she?”

  “Gone.”

  The word rattles around my head. It takes me a minute to process what she’s telling me. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

  “Gone as in fled the scene of the crime. As in Gone Girl without the staged murder that will land you on death row. Although, after what she told me you did to her you probably deserve it.”

&n
bsp; “She left!” My heart bangs against my ribs hard and fast. The rhythm offbeat. Like it’s fucking broken.

  “Back to London for good. You screwed the pooch one too many times, bud, and the pooch left town. She’s on the late flight to New York and then it’s bye, bye US.”

  Late flight…I have time. Without another word, I bolt to my car.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Maren

  I exit the first class lounge and pull the brim of my ball cap low, pop in my ear buds. People recognize me in airports more than any place else. At the gate, I’m handing the flight attendant my boarding pass when a swath of camouflage catches my eye. By the uniform, I want to say Army; a soldier. With his leg in a walking boot, on crutches he hobbles to a chair near the gate and sits.

  The sight of him grabs my heart and won’t let go. This will be a five-hour flight because of the stop in Atlanta. Traveling in those small coach seats with a cast will be brutal. And he’s by no means a small guy.

  “Wait,” I murmur to the attendant who’s about to scan my first class boarding pass. Feeling my interest, the young soldier looks up at me and smiles.

  “I want him to have my seat,” I tell the attendant and hold up my boarding pass.

  She hesitates for only a moment before nodding. Then she walks over to him, and leans down to inform him of the change of plans. Surprise registers on his face. An argument takes place but it looks like the attendant convinces him to do it. He glances my way one more time with a big, embarrassed grin and gets up with a little help from the attendant.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Thankfully, he doesn’t recognize me. “It’s my pleasure––really,” I affirm and lift my cast. “I can relate.”

  Nodding, he takes the boarding pass and starts the slow trek down the ramp. Ten minutes later, my row is called to board. With a heavy heart, I take one last look around the waiting area and make my way down the ramp.

  The soldier’s seat is close to the back of the plane. Making my way down the coach aisle, I hear, “Hey, isn’t that the tennis player? I forget her name.”

  “Nah, she wouldn’t be sittin’ back here.”

  My bag knocks into every other armrest on my way to seat 27––a middle seat no less. One that’s in between two rather large men. Seeing my cast, the one in the aisle seat is kind enough to help me stow my bag overhead.

  As soon as I take my seat, my eyes fall shut. My mind drifts to Noah, to the look on his face when he realized the error of his ways. Leaving without a word is cowardly, I know it is, but my feelings are still a mixed bag. As much as I love him, I’m still angry enough to want to clobber him and violence is never the answer. Especially when you love someone. A few days of distance will help me get a handle on things.

  “Maren!”

  The shout comes from the head of the plane. I look around with a confused expression, as if I’m not the Maren in question. My heart leapt out of my chest at the sound of his voice––it did, I fully admit it. And yet I hunker down, slouching lower in my seat.

  “Get off of me! I bought a ticket, motherfucker! Where is she?”

  Oh brother.

  “Maren!”

  Nuts, I’m going to have to handle this. I stand and I’m not the only one. A number of passengers are rubbernecking to see what the commotion is about.

  “Over here,” I say in a super low voice. Every set of eyeballs in coach is now aimed at me, watching with newfound curiosity. I may as well be on center court.

  “Maren?” Noah is standing in first class, staring down the coach aisle with two attendants trying to block his path.

  “Hi,” is all I think to say under the heat of all that focused interest. My hand comes up of its own accord and does a little four finger wave.

  Noah’s face relaxes, one side of his soft lips tipping up in the goofiest smile. “Hi, baby.”

  I hear a bunch of chatter, some tsks and a handful of awws. My attention, however, remains on the man wearing all the relief in the world on his face.

  He pushes past the attendants and comes marching toward me with an expression that can only be described as resolute. He’s coming in guns blazing and wants me to know it.

  “Sir, you can’t…sir! We’re calling the police,” one of the male attendants yells.

  One row from me he stops. “You can’t leave.”

  “Excuse me?” The corner of my eye starts to twitch. I couldn’t possibly have heard him give me an order.

  At my reaction, he adjusts, “Don’t leave––please. I can’t lose you again, Mare. Let me explain.”

  Lose me? I think I need to have a long talk with my sister.

  “Jesus, darlin’, give the man a chance to explain,” a stranger shouts from two rows over.

  “Yeah, listen to the man,” another buttinski adds.

  “Go ahead. That guy––” I hook a thumb behind me. “––wants to hear your explanation for why you were a coward.”

  “I’m a fuckup,” he starts, expression sheepish. “I know I am…and I know I don’t deserve you.”

  “Mommy, he said the f word,” a child’s voice whispers in the background.

  “I know, sweetie. Men in love do stupid things,” her mother replies.

  Preach, sister.

  “Where do you get off thinking you know what’s best for me?” I feel the need to kindly point out. “Both you and Rowdy made a mess of everything.”

  “I know…I know. You’re right.” I’ll give him credit. I have never seen him look remorseful, ever, and right now he’s doing a pretty good job of it.

  “You never gave me a choice. What if I had done that to you, Noah? Try and imagine how that would feel.”

  He steps closer and grips the headrest of the seat in front of me, his knuckles turning white. “I didn’t think…” His quiet plea fades.

  “That’s right, you didn’t.”

  His jaw stiffens, the muscle twitching as he bears down on the emotions pushing to the surface. “My life isn’t worth shit without you, Mare, and if I have to wait another decade for you to forgive me then I’ll do it. I swear I will do it with a fucking smile on my face because I want lazy Sunday mornings and midnight Christmas Eves with you.

  “I want to fight over who gets to change the shitty diaper and I want to be there, really be there, when you win the US Open…not hiding in the stands….I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…I needed to be close to you. I’m begging you––please just give me one last chance.”

  Our eyes hold, Noah’s supplicating. Mine are filled with love. Because in the end, this beautiful idiot is still the love of my life.

  Always was, always will be.

  “I fell in love with you on jump,” he murmurs. “I’ve never stopped loving you and I will love you till my very last breath.”

  I hear a sharp intake of breath and look around. Women everywhere with lips parted, eyes damp, their hands on their throats. Torturing him any more seems cruel, and I’m done with anger and resentment. I’ve had enough of those two to last me a lifetime.

  “She don’t want him, I’ll take ’im,” one drawls.

  Get your own idiot, ladies. I claimed this one when I was ten.

  “I have no right to ask but I’m going to anyway.” He licks his lips, worry etched in his furrowed brow. His dark lashes lift and his eyes tag mine.

  It’s all there. Our past, present, and future. Everything sacred. Everything I hold dear reflected back to me with so much longing.

  “Better ask quick, bud. Police are coming,” the guy next to me warns. Behind him, I spot two officers of the law talking to the flight attendants.

  “Can I spend the rest of my life with you? Because I can’t do it without you. I tried––” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

  I bite my bottom lip, trying to curb the smile growing on my face. Seeing it, Noah adds, “If you don’t, I may have to resort to stalking again.”

  “He’s kidding,” I inform our audience. Not really.


  Noah’s fleeting smile is shy and vulnerable and a little bit hopeful. That’s when two sets of hands clamp down hard on his shoulders and pull his arms behind his back.

  “Marry me, Maren! Please! I’m beggin’ you!” he yells while he fights the police officers hauling him away.

  You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes when you die? Apparently, it happens with marriage proposals as well because that’s what happens. My entire life flashes before me, a life without Noah, and it’s a lonely and meaningless one.

  “Okay,” I say, finally finding my voice. “Okay, yes. Quit carrying on. I’ll marry you.”

  The crowd erupts in applause and whistles. I’m nearly blinded by all the camera flashes going off. I’m sure there’ll be video. Katya is going to have a fit over this. Meanwhile, the man soon-to-be my husband is smiling from ear to ear, pearly whites flashing while the cops drag him by his arms to the head of the plane.

  “I love you!”

  “I love you too!” I scream back.

  Someone hands me my bag from the overhead compartment and I chase after him with the crowd cheering us on. I catch up to them at the door and cup his face, press a gentle kiss on his lips.

  “Baby, I need you to bail me out of jail.”

  “This better be the last time.”

  Right before they yank him off the plane, he grins. It reaches his brightly shining eyes and extends so far beyond his face is wipes out everything else.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” I whisper.

  When you really think about it the heart is a bully, an arrogant little dictator. It tells us whom to love and we’re expected to follow its orders, no questions asked, no choice given. But sometimes, every now and then, once in awhile, the little bully gets it right.

  “You, my love.”

  Epilogue