Scorched Turf

by Lilah Grey

  11

  Corinne

  “No.” Chloe’s mouth hung wide open as her eyes flitted between the text and me. “Seriously?” Another pause. “He signed his text? With a single letter, too? Who is this guy? My grandpa?”

  I swiped my phone from Chloe. “Very funny.”

  “I thought so,” she replied, flashing a cheesy grin at me.

  “Seriously,” I said, “what kind of apology is that?”

  “It isn’t one,” Chloe said. “Well, it’s not a sincere one at least.”

  I knelt down and put my phone in my bag. As I stood back up, a sharp pain shot through my calf and behind my knee. It was quick but painful enough to make me stumble.

  “Are you alright?” Chloe asked, grabbing my arm as she tried to steady me.

  I grimaced, nodding quickly as I sucked in a quick breath. “Yeah.”

  And for some strange reason, it wasn’t a lie; the pain had vanished. No residual aches, only that initial burst of pain. It left me more than a little confused because I’d gone through the entire practice without issue. I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling growing inside me. I paid close attention to my knee as we walked to the main building.

  “The fuck am I paying you for then?”

  James’s gruff voice jerked me from my thoughts. He was pacing back and forth around the sideline, screaming into his cell phone. At least this time he waited until after practice to check his phone. Progress. Kinda.

  “Anger issues much?” Chloe said.

  Apart from our meeting, and these outbursts, I’ve yet to hear him utter a word. During practice, he just stood there, arms folded, impassive face. I don’t know why he’s volunteering; I just wish he’d figure it out.

  I glanced at James as he finished his call; he was staring at me, waving at me, too. Nerves flashed through me, but I turned my head and kept walking, pretending I hadn’t seen him.

  I know I was being silly and childish. I couldn’t keep ignoring James for the rest of the season. As much as it hurt hearing those hurtful words during the meeting, it would hurt even more if I missed my chance to learn from someone of his caliber. I would be foolish to throw away this opportunity.

  The regret would eat me alive.

  “Are you coming to Trevor’s party tonight?” Chloe asked as she finished lacing up her shoes.

  Trevor was on the men’s team. His parents were loaded and owned a mansion not far from campus. Since they were rarely home, Trevor often threw parties. I met Tyler at one of his parties.

  “Don’t we have practice tomorrow?” I asked, knitting my eyebrows.

  “Yup!” Chloe said. “This is our last hurrah before the season starts. Live a little, Cori!”

  I thought about it. Maybe I needed to release a little steam, loosen up.

  Chloe, sensing my reticence, added, “You’re not going to tank your whole season by drinking a little alcohol or staying out past ten o’clock.”

  My cheeks reddened. I actually liked going to bed early. And not drinking alcohol had done wonders for my body. I drank a little during my freshman year but found that I became sluggish during practice—a good enough reason not to drink.

  I smiled sheepishly. “I’ll think about it.”

  Chloe gave me a knowing look but didn’t say anything else.

  “Cori!” Violet screamed as I opened the front door of our apartment. “How was practice?” She walked toward me from the kitchen, granola bar in hand. “Did you clear things up with James?”

  “No. Not exactly.” I sighed, dropping my bag in front of the door before shaking off my soccer slides. “I never really had a chance.”

  I had filled Violet in on everything: James; our backstory; the meeting; his non-apology; everything I could think of. Well, except for the small crush I had on him when I was younger. I left that part out. That was between me, my middle school diary, and the poster of James hanging in my old bedroom. The things that poster had endured…

  Violet thought I was reading too far into what James had said. No one could be that big of an asshole, she reasoned. She figured that I should at least confirm if he was indeed a complete asshole or not before ignoring him. Besides, I should put forth a little effort to catch up with him.

  It was perfectly reasonable advice; I knew that. And after sleeping on it, I agreed that I had overreacted. It wasn’t that James didn’t think I had the talent to play for the Blazers. He simply outlined why I wouldn’t be a good fit for them. At least, I hope that was his intention.

  But still, I couldn’t drag myself to actually act on Violet’s advice.

  “Are you working tonight?” I asked, hoping to shift the conversation away from James and me.

  “Yep,” she said, taking another bite from her granola bar. “I want to get in as many shifts as I can before classes start. I’ll hardly have any time after this weekend. Graduate school applications are just around the corner!”

  I groaned. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  Not only was I stressed about balancing soccer with school, but I also had to think about graduate applications. Yeah. Really. My mom’s stipulation for helping me: I had to apply to graduate school.

  We never saw eye-to-eye. I had one plan for my life, while she had another. I didn’t mind it when I was younger. We would visit museums and art galleries and learn all sorts of interesting things about art and history. It was fun, and back then, I thought I might become curator.

  But then I found soccer, and nothing was the same after that. It grabbed me by the heart and wouldn’t let go. I had no choice in the matter; I think some things in life are like that. It’s embedded deep in your marrow, into your very core, and no amount of fighting will ever weaken its control.

  “Your mom texted me again,” Violet said as she walked to her room. “I think you need to call her.”

  “I will…” I said, collapsing into the couch. Although it was the last thing I wanted to do at this point, I knew that it had to be done; that is, if I wanted to continue living here.

  The glow from my phone’s screen woke me up.

  I had fallen asleep on the couch after a long talk with my mother. After a lot of groveling, and a little bending of the truth, I was able to convince her that I was on track with her plan. Of course, she attached yet another string: I had to meet with my faculty advisor, Dr. Collins, and discuss prospective graduate programs.

  Even though I was safe for another month, the process drained me entirely.

  I pulled off the blanket that was covering me—Violet must have returned from work. I smiled; I don’t know what I’d do without Violet.

  My muscles screamed as I tried to sit up. I might have to reconsider my personal workouts. Two practices a day were going to kill me.

  My phone dimmed as I reached for it. I hit the unlock button and saw two missed calls, a voicemail, and three texts.

  All from Tyler.

  12

  James

  Pete was already seated on the veranda of the cafe when I arrived. He pulled back the sleeve of his suit, checked his watch, and then glanced at the stream of people passing by on the sidewalk next to him. His hand shook as he grabbed the glass of water in front of him and sipped.

  I’d known Pete since the beginning of my professional career; he was my first and only agent. We had a mutual respect for each other. He understood that nothing was ever off the table in negotiations, just as I understood nothing on the field was impossible with the right mindset and habits. Neither of us were rattled easily, no matter the challenge.

  Or so I thought.

  Pete’s eyes met mine. He waved me over as he set down his glass. It toppled over, spilling ice water everywhere.

  “You alright?” I asked as I pulled out the chair across from him. He was busy trying to stem the flow of water off the table with his napkin. There was already a glossy sheen of sweat building above his bloodshot eyes. His brown hair was disheveled but paired well with his crooked tie and wrinkled shirt. He l
ooked like hell. This didn’t bode well.

  “Yeah, yeah. Good.” His eyes flitted nervously to mine and then back to the mess in front of him. A waitress came by with a small metal pail into which she scooped the remaining liquid, ice cubes, and soaked napkins.

  “It’s no problem at all,” she assured Pete before leaving.

  Pete sighed, ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it, and leaned back in his chair. A few moments later, another waitress came by and asked if we were ready to order.

  “They have a great corned beef hash.” Pete smiled. “Comes in a cast iron skillet.”

  “It’s delicious,” the waitress added, leaning toward me. She wore black slacks and a tight white shirt. My cock twitched as I considered the thought of her full, red lips wrapped around my cock. It had been a long week, and I had an idea of how to unwind.

  I smiled back, and her cheeks flushed. “Coffee will be fine.” My eyes lingered on hers a moment longer. “For now.”

  She hesitated for a moment before turning to Pete and clearing her throat. “And for you?”

  “Make that two,” Pete said, a grin spreading across his lips.

  “Two coffees it is!” she said, tucking her pen and pad into her apron.

  “I know that look,” he said after the waitress left.

  I shrugged. “So where am I moving to?” I asked, skipping the small talk.

  “Moving?” Pete raised an eyebrow. “The only moving you should be doing right now is to Philadelphia.”

  I laughed. “That’s a joke, right? Because you know I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted out of my contract, right?”

  Pete’s lips spread into a thin line. He looked at me in silence for a moment. “I know that. But you don’t exactly have that many options here, James. Most teams have already allocated their budgets for the season. They don’t have enough resources to buy out a contract as expensive as yours on top of paying your salary.”

  I kept silent as I studied Pete’s face. He had at least a decade on me, but could be confused for someone a good deal younger. Thin stripes of gray hair across his temples were the only thing about him that hinted at his age.

  “But there still are options, right?” I asked after a brief pause.

  “Sure,” Pete said with a quick shrug, “there are options. I haven’t reached out to every team yet. And I haven’t started looking overseas.”

  “Then I don’t see what the problem is. You just haven’t found the right team yet.”

  “Right…” Pete said, hesitating for a moment. “But so far every team has said the same thing. It’s the same thing I told you and the same thing the next ten teams will tell me. They don’t have the budget. And even if they did, their rosters are locked. You wouldn’t see game time until next season. You’re better off riding out your suspension.”

  I laughed. “Ride out my suspension? That’s not going to happen.”

  But the expression on Pete’s face told a different story. A sick feeling bubbled up in my stomach, but I forced myself to focus on the waitress who had finally returned with our coffee.

  Not a bad distraction.

  I watched as she leaned in and set a mug in front of Pete. She had long legs and a curvaceous hourglass figure. She reminded me, vaguely, of a ballerina I dated for a short time, back when I still believed in relationships. Tori. A Los Angeles transplant in London. We clicked on almost every level, but there was something missing. Something I could never put a finger on. It was a sort of empty feeling, a hollowness that grew until I felt like I had no other option but to leave.

  Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever settle down. Maybe I’m just not that kind of person.

  I let the waitress catch me checking her out. She blushed and smiled as she set a mug in front of me. “Would you like cream?” she asked in a honeyed tone, before whispering, “James.”

  Celebrity’s a funny thing. Usually by the time I meet someone, they already have a sense of familiarity with me, albeit distorted. They’ve pieced together their own version of me from interviews, magazine articles, and random TV appearances. They feel like they know me without ever having interacted with me. But for some reason, that fact never registers with them, and they believe that the person in front of them is exactly like the idealistic version in their head.

  It’s laughable, but it’s not without benefits. For example, I can bypass that whole getting-to-know-you phase and move straight into the bedroom with no more than a few sentences. Sometimes a simple look, nod, or gesture works just as well.

  I slid my mug toward her. “Just a bit. I’m trying to watch my figure,” I said, smiling at her.

  She tittered. Although her hands were shaking slightly, she poured a small amount of cream from a silver pitcher into my mug without spilling.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked, the sweet smell of vanilla surrounding her.

  “I think that’s it for now,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “What’s your name again?”

  “Sarah,” she said. “My name is Sarah.” She repeated it as though reinforcing to herself that it was indeed her name.

  “Sarah,” I said. “That’s a lovely name.” Splotches of red appear on her neck and jawline. She mumbled something and then turned to leave. She glanced over her shoulder once on her way back inside.

  “What?” I asked Pete as he gaped at me.

  He snorted. “Nothing. Nothing at all…”

  We finished our meeting not much later. Pete promised to continue his search, but reminded me that nothing would happen overnight. These deals took months of negotiations, and I would have to be patient.

  Patience. What little of it I had left in reserves was quickly draining.

  I turned back and watched Sarah staring at the check. A small smile crept on her face as she read the note I left her. It was short but straight to the point. When she finally pulled her eyes away from the note her smile had turned into a wide, toothy grin.

  And with that, I knew my plans for later tonight. I pulled my phone from my pocket to call an Uber just as Jack called me.

  “What’s up, Jack?”

  “Is it true?”

  “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Jack.”

  “I just got a call from Reggie.” He paused for a moment. “He saw Pete meeting with Jake Kelly and Steve Landis a few days ago.”

  “Pete is Reggie’s agent. Nothing weird about meeting with a client’s Coach and General Manager.”

  “Except the meeting had nothing to do with Reggie. Reggie called Pete the next day, and Pete seemed to give Reggie the impression that the meeting was about you.”

  What the fuck was Pete doing? How hard was it to make something up?

  “Care to explain what you think you’re doing?”

  “Keeping my options open. If Harvey wants to fuck with me, I have no problem going elsewhere.”

  “Jesus, James. This isn’t about you. Don’t blame Harvey for trying to do what’s best for the team. You have no one to blame for your situation but yourself. This might be hard for you to understand but your actions affect other people. Blowing off practice. Blowing off any and all responsibilities to the team. I mean, have you even met the new recruits? How is there supposed to be team unity when the captain is a no-show?”

  “I’m sure you guys can take care of yourselves. You’re big boys.”

  “Your blinded by your arrogance. It’s probably best for the team if you do part ways.”

  The line went dead.

  What the fuck had gotten into Jack? He was supposed to be on my side. He was supposed to be looking out for me. How could he not see that Harvey was slinging his dick around, trying to make me out to be some fool.

  My phone flashed a message from an unknown number: What time should I come over? :) -Sarah

  The sooner the better.

  13

  Corinne

  “Corinne… Babe…” Tyler’s voicemail began.

  The sound of his grav
elly voice, which I hadn’t heard in a long time, sent a fluttering sensation through my chest. Against my better judgment, I didn’t immediately delete his voicemail last night. To be honest, I thought I’d dreamt the whole thing.

  But it wasn’t a dream. When I woke up the voicemail and texts were still there, and I found myself listening to the voicemail without even thinking about it. It just happened. Muscle memory.

  I listened, trying to decipher Tyler’s slurred speech over the obnoxious music and loud conversations in the background.

  “Shut the fuck up! Not you babe, not you. I was—” Another break. I should stop listening… end it before he says something sweet, unraveling all the work I’d done to put him behind me. All it would take is a few quick taps on the screen.

  If only it were that easy. I can feel two parts of me pulling me in opposite directions.

  You were together for a long time. You loved him, and he loved you. Why not give him a few seconds of your time? It wouldn’t hurt to hear him out.

  While the other, more rational part, piped in: He cheated on you. With a teammate. He’s worse than scum. Cut him off now.

  But I can’t seem to pull my phone away from my ear.

  “I just wanted—”

  I dropped my phone as Violet knocked on the door. Heat rose in my cheeks. “Yes?” I asked, my voice shaking as I covered my phone with a pillow.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Uhh, yeah. Come in.” I straightened my back, still sitting crosslegged on the bed. Thankfully, Tyler’s voicemail wasn’t playing on speaker.

  Violet poked her head through the door and smiled. “I’m making pancakes. Would you like some?”

  Again? My stomach lurched. “No thanks. I think I’m going to grab something at the Union. Thanks though.”

  She winked at me. “I’ll save some for you just in case.”

  I smiled but it came out more like a grimace instead.

  “I know. I can’t believe class starts tomorrow either.”

  I’d forgotten about this whole school thing. Classes. Homework. Tests. And grad apps…

  My mind drifted to my conversation with my mother. This year was doing all it could to kill me.

  I sighed. “Yeah. But at least we have a class together … with Dr. Collins!”