“When did you become this wise?”
“Between shooting spitballs, dreaming about when we’d move out and get our apartment together, and fantasizing over Mister Sizemore, I grew up.”
“Gross,” Mitch said. “That old dude with the beard who taught history.”
“Political Science,” Josh corrected, “And that old dude was hot.”
“He was our fathers’ age.” It was as if a bad taste slid across Mitch’s tongue. “I think he went to school with my dad.”
“The point I’m trying to make is—I’m glad I met you. We’ve done a lot together.” Josh imitated a magician’s flourish with his hands, showing off the apartment. “We’ve realized a dream together, and with time and luck, hopefully more. We’ve grown up together. We have each other.”
Mitch fought back the emotion that was bubbling up within him. “And I’m grateful. I really am. For you. For everything.”
“Don’t let your past with Austin ruin your chances for a future with him, and having a little baby bro or sis might turn out to be kind of cool.”
“So, who should I tackle first?” Mitch asked. “Dad or Austin.”
Josh twisted his mouth to the side, and his eyebrow arched high on his forehead. “I like your dad a lot, but my vote is for Austin. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be without any of that piece of smokin’ hot flesh for any amount of time.”
Mitch chuckled. “Now that’s the Josh I know and love.”
Chapter Eight
“I know you’re in there. I saw you walking up the stairs.” Mitch knocked again but louder. “Are you sitting on your couch with the shades drawn and the television off? If you are, that’s just weird. It’s a beautiful day. Come out and play.”
Austin shouted from the other side of the door. “I’m meditating. I like to do it in the dark. Alone.”
“Maybe you can meditate on this, I’m sorry for being a drunk jerk the other night. I blame the tequila and beer chasers. Never a good combination to follow alcohol with more alcohol.”
“Great,” Austin said, his apartment door still firmly shut. “Is that all because I have things to do?”
“Aren’t you going to open the door?” Mitch refused to give up.
“Is it really necessary?”
“Do you want me to stand out here all day like some psycho stalker? Someone will call the cops and get me carted away.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Austin shot back without missing a beat. “Would you happen to know the number for the sheriff’s office off the top of your head? At the moment, dialing 911 seems a little unnecessary, but it’s still early.”
“A guy who looks like you should be used to crazy men knocking on your door at all hours. Don’t you have that number on speed dial, or is it too dark in there to find it on your phone?”
With a gust of wind, Austin’s door jerked open. Mitch looked into those eyes he couldn’t stop thinking about. Mitch shifted uncomfortably. Now being able to speak face-to-face with Austin, he suddenly was at a loss for words.
He stuck out his hand for a handshake. “Can we start again?”
“Do we need to?”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were when we met?” Mitch paused, a thought that hadn’t occurred previously began to take shape in his head. “Did you remember me from school?”
Austin leaned his weight against the half-open door but didn’t invite Mitch in. “Of course I did. Everybody knows who you are.”
“Knew,” Mitch corrected. “Past tense. Now I’m some guy who works part-time and is going to school. Isn’t that what you’re doing? So I’m nothing special.”
“To me, you are. Always have been.”
Mitch couldn’t help but smile at Austin’s words, which sounded heartfelt. “But why?” he replied honestly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I hardly remember you at all. Did we even have a class together?”
“One.”
“I can honestly say that I don’t remember you … in class, that is.”
“I sat behind you.” Austin’s face showed no emotion. He was a blank canvas, and Mitch was having trouble reading him.
“How did I treat you?”
“Like I wasn’t there. Like I was invisible.”
“You’re far from invisible now.” Mitch looked down at his hand still hanging in the air between them. “My arms beginning to feel weird.”
Austin took Mitch’s hand and shook through a half smile. “Would you like to come in?”
“Aren’t you meditating or something?”
Austin jerked Mitch through the open space playfully. “Do you blame me for feeling embarrassed?” Austin asked, closing the door.
“I’m the one who’s embarrassed. I didn’t act like an adult, I acted like a—”
“Someone who’s still in high school?” Austin finished. “Let’s forget about it, and I’ll take your suggestion and start all over.”
“That’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask you out … on a proper date.” Mitch watched for any signs of happiness or even mild surprise in Austin’s expression. Disgust didn’t register so he continued, “Dinner, possibly dancing? There’s a new club that opened. I’m hearing good things. Go-go boys wearing colorful short shorts and matching tube socks.” Mitch rubbed his hands together and smiled devilishly. “Who doesn’t like that?”
Austin finally laughed, his lithe body rising and falling between breaths. “That’s what you call a proper date?”
“What, don’t you? Whatever your definition of a proper date is, I’ll do it. Ride on a roller coaster. Horseback riding along the beach. Anything.”
“Jump out of an airplane?”
“Only if we can go tandem. I don’t want to go splat alone.”
Austin’s smile broadened. “Dinner and dancing sounds perfect.”
“How about tomorrow night? I would say tonight, but I don’t want to appear too eager.”
“Meet here around seven?” Austin asked.
Mitch risked taking a step, Austin’s fresh soapy scent drawing him like a magnet. “Let’s seal it with a kiss.”
Austin didn’t move away.
Mitch slid his hands around the man’s lean waist, Mitch remembering Austin nude from the waist up. Only an inch away from Austin’s parted lips, Mitch said, “I’m looking forward to more of this.” He leaned in and claimed a kiss, heat searing through him. He inhaled through his nose, drunk on Austin’s intoxicating aroma as he pushed his tongue into Austin’s slick, warm mouth. Emitting a small moan, Mitch could feel Austin relaxing into the kiss and his caress. And it took all of his strength to pull himself away from the man he couldn’t get enough of. “Tomorrow?” Mitch whispered heatedly. “At seven?”
Through a breathy pant, Austin replied, “Make that six-thirty. I don’t think I can wait until seven.”
Mitch gave a quick but still firm kiss before agreeing. He inched his grasp from around Austin’s waist, feeling sparks of electricity along his forearms and palms. Heaven, Mitch thought. Sweet, unadulterated heaven.
“Until tomorrow then,” Austin said as Mitch made his move to leave when he still had the strength to. If he stayed just one second longer, he wouldn’t be responsible for what his raging hormones wanted to do so damn badly.
Mitch took one more glance at Austin before saying, “Until tomorrow.”
* * * *
If he was going to start making things right, Mitch figured he’d might as well take a ride to his father’s house and attempt the effort, if not for his sake, for his mother’s.
While driving over, Mitch practiced a few opening lines, playing over possible scenarios they might discuss with feasible and non-confrontational responses. One conclusion he did realize while pulling up in front of his father’s Mediterranean two- story house, matching Range Rovers parked in the drive, was he’d allow his father to bring up the pregnancy thing. Mitch had no clue whatsoever how to broach that subject. But one thing he did know was that eventually, it had to be dealt
with before the second Mrs. Montgomery started to show.
Putting his Axe deodorant spray to the test, Mitch stepped from his car, the moist air from Sarasota Bay only a few blocks away dampening his already moist cheeks. Shutting the car door, he noticed the lush landscaping that must have cost a mint, leading up to the oversized walnut wood doors, two large shining brass doorknobs that resembled something from a fairy tale looming in front of him. Coaching himself to relax and reminding himself that he shouldn’t be nervous about visiting his own father, Mitch rang the doorbell and waited. He listened for footsteps or any signs of life, his feet itching to abort the somewhat spontaneous visit and make a break for it.
A woman’s voice chimed “Coming” then the clickety clack of high heels against marble floors assaulted his senses. There was a deep thud of mechanisms turning, then a hushed sweeping noise followed.
“Mitchell,” a blonde dressed in a cream-colored linen shift dress greeted him, her hair fastened into a high ponytail.
Mitch smiled and mumbled “Mitch” under his breath.
“Come in, come in.” Ashley’s voice was a light, friendly lilt that grated on Mitch’s nerves.
“Is Dad around?” Mitch asked, stepping inside the cavernous foyer, the view of a crystal blue pool and the bay beyond reflecting the late afternoon sun in his eyes and causing him to squint.
Ashley’s smile set firmly in place, the petite blonde tapped the side of her cheek with a well-manicured finger. “Is he expecting you? He didn’t mention that you’d be coming over.”
Mitchell shoved his hands in his jeans back pockets and rocked on his heels. “Hopefully, I’m not interrupting your dinner.” He stole a quick glance at her Pilates-sculpted stomach, no hint of a baby bump in sight.
Like tinkling crystal, Ashley’s laugh echoed into the house. “Gracious no. We had early dinner plans with friends. We just got back. We went to Le Pave. Have you been there? It’s lovely.”
She didn’t wait for a response before walking to the kitchen, Mitch suspected that she was only making the required amount of small talk before leading him to his father who was drinking a post-dinner bourbon in the state-of-the-art kitchen.
“Look who’s here,” she announced, coming into the kitchen.
Christopher stood in front of a fabric-covered bench that made up a built-in breakfast nook with a million-dollar view. “Mitch.” His baritone sounded pleased and genuinely surprised. “Is everything all right?” Christopher walked over and enveloped Mitch in a hug.
“A-OK,” Mitch responded, uncomfortable in his father’s embrace. Christopher had never been a father who doled out hugs on a regular basis. Mitch looked into his father’s face, the smell of bourbon and aftershave wafting across Mitch’s nostrils. He wasn’t sure if it was the effects of the alcohol or the impending birth of a child, but Christopher appeared happy and vibrant, a vast difference from the years leading up to his divorce. “How have you been?”
“How’s your new place? How many parties have you had, or has it been one continuous party?”
“Christopher,” Ashley interrupted, “Where are your manners? Can I get you something to drink, Mitch? Coke? Ice Tea?”
“I’m good, Ashley.” Her name didn’t slide easily off Mitch’s tongue. It’s not as if he disliked the woman who was less than a decade older than himself, simply it was still that he wasn’t used to having a stepmother.
She waved, her hand nothing but a boney birdlike flutter. “Well, I’ll leave you two boys to spend time together. I’m going to have a rest and watch my television programs.” Her accent was one of a cultured Southerner, but around the edges, Mitch could still hear stripper. People came to Florida for many reasons, leaving their past behind topping the list after retirement and the weather. Ashley wasn’t tanned or nowhere near retirement age.
“Night,” Mitch said.
“Love you, babe,” Christopher called after his wife, his look lingering at her retreating backside. It was obvious to Mitch that his father was deeply and completely in love with his wife.
They took a seat on the bench, Mitch sitting opposite, a table between them, the sun coming through the bay window warm on Mitch’s face and casting a golden glow on Christopher’s.
Christopher raised his glass, the melting ice cubes dancing in the amber concoction. “Would you like one of these?” he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
“I can’t believe you’re offering me alcohol?”
“Don’t play the virtue card with me? If I remember correctly, you ruined a good bottle of my bourbon by adding water to it.” Christopher dropped his chin and narrowed his gaze. “Like I wouldn’t have noticed. And that’s the oldest trick in the book. I did it to my dad and got busted for it.”
Mitch chuckled with the memory. Josh and Brains had been by his side, egging him on that summer afternoon between junior and senior year. They caught a buzz and cannonballed into the pool until Brains got a nosebleed and Josh puked. Mitch didn’t miss cleaning up the bodily fluids of his best friends, but he did miss the carefree days they had shared before life became so complicated.
“If I didn’t apologize then, let me do it now.”
“You’ve made up for it in many other ways.”
“I have?”
“Of course.” Surprise mixed with mild confusion registered on Christopher’s face. “You’re a great son, and no matter what, you’ve never disappointed me.”
Mitch had to ask the questions that had been eating away at him, layer by layer, and leaving him raw.
“Did I have something to do with the divorce?”
“W–w–what?” It came out as a half sputter, half laugh. “That was between me and your mother. It had nothing to do with you.”
Consciously or subconsciously—Mitch wasn’t sure which—he rubbed his hand over his old injury. “After my accident, it was as if everything changed.”
“It did, son, but mostly for you, and that had nothing to do with the divorce. You have to believe me when I tell you that. I felt horribly for you. I was heartbroken watching you suffer through those operations, messed up on painkillers and falling behind in school. Your life was unequivocally changed, and I couldn’t fix it. It’s a father’s job to make his son realize his dreams.” Christopher’s voice cracked and his eyes brimmed with tears. “I tried up until then, but after the accident, it was out of my control. Whatever you want to call it, fate, stepped in and…”
“But we stopped playing. Stopped talking. Just stopped.”
Christopher slid his hand across the table and found Mitch’s. “I didn’t want to remind you of any of it, the sport, the times on the field. I felt like if we continued as if nothing had changed that I was being cruel to you, rubbing salt in a wound … and you had enough wounds.”
“I thought that I’d disappointed you,” Mitch admitted. “That I had failed you.”
“How?” Christopher squeezed Mitch’s hand. “I was at that game too, remember? There was nothing you could’ve done.”
Mitch wiped a tear that was trailing down his cheek, unaware until then that he was crying. “I know.” He swallowed hard. “But then shortly after all my mess, you and Mom decided to divorce. It was like my entire life imploded.”
“We all felt that way,” Christopher explained. “Look, Sarah’s happy, I’m happy.” He tapped the top of Mitch’s hand before retracting his. “Are you happy?”
Mitch shrugged and wiped his nose. “It’s not all bad. The apartments cool. The guys”—referring to Brains and Josh—“are doing great. All should be good.”
“But?”
“But I can’t help but think of all the things I missed out on. I really wanted to be a well-respected player, a famous one. Remembered. I loved the game. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“You can still love the game, Mitch, but in a different way. Maybe you can coach. Get into broadcasting. You’re young and have everything in front of you, and above all, you’re smart and can accomplish anything you set yo
ur mind to. I know it. I have faith in you.”
“I wish I did.”
“Then find your faith,” Christopher said. “And find your goal. Focus. Implement the lessons you learned on the field and use them in everyday life. And when you’re feeling overwhelmed or down, you can lean on your mom, on your friends, and on me.”
“You know what I also wish?”
“What’s that?”
“That we had this conversation sooner.”
“If I had thought it would’ve helped, I would have,” Christopher admitted.
They sat in silence, looking out across the bay at the sunset, content to be in each other’s company.
Mitch felt as if he had been relieved of a great weight that he’d been carrying for far too long, and his father’s suggestion of becoming a coach had already started to take hold and begun to grow.
“Congratulations by the way,” Mitch said.
Christopher pulled his gaze from the sunset, thick brows knitted together. He went to speak, but a slow smile filled his lips instead. “Sarah could never keep a secret.”
“I didn’t know if I should say anything.”
“Honestly, I was going to tell you, but apparently we had more urgent things to discuss.”
“Don’t let Ashley hear you say that,” Austin joked. “She might think that the news of her child is the most important thing in the world.”
“As well as she should be,” Christopher said. “Can I admit something to you?”
“Absolutely.”
“If truth be told, I’m nervous about becoming a father again.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to mess it up, make the same mistakes I made with you.”
Mitch leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Mistakes?” he said. “You didn’t make too many mistakes. You’re a great father, and I’m sure you’ll continue to be to the next one.” Mitch meant every word.
“Thanks, Son,” Christopher returned. “Can you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Can you tell Ashley what you just told me? She seems to be nervous about becoming a parent, and it would be nice for her to know that she married a very capable co-parent and father.”
The Boys of Banana Court: Box Set Page 6