by Lila Felix
“What in the hell does that mean?”
By the time I got the question out, Geraldo was long gone.
~~
The knocking began early the next morning.
“Oh! Sleeping late? You lazy king you. You’d better be glad I’m back. I almost turned you over to the other physical therapist in this town. She’s a big, big girl. If you don’t do what she says, she’ll just sit on you. Then again, maybe you’d like that.”
Blake, I’d finally learned his name after he made me say it after every knee lift saying that he wanted me to equate his name with pain, was really pissing me off. Then again, he was kind of growing on me.
“Shut up and get in here. What is it today? Yoga?”
“Nope. Today we are walking outside. Brush your teeth and get some shoes on. Your breath is nastier than Satan’s asshole.”
As fast as I could, I threw some shoes and a shirt on and took my time brushing my teeth. I was more than eager about getting to go outside though I was sure there were no goals involved.
“I’m ready.” Blake had foregone the scrubs in favor of gym shorts and some charity t-shirt.
He was probably that type. You know, one of the ones who ran for babies or some shit.
“Good. Now, we can just walk around the block or you can trust me enough to drive you to the park.”
“The park. I need some sun.”
“That you do. You’re losing a little bit of that athlete’s tan. Getting a little like Powder.”
“Huh?”
He began walking towards a tiny little black car that was the exact replica of the first toy car I ever got from my grandfather. It was quickly taken away and replaced with a soccer ball, but I remembered it despite its absence.
“Powder, that movie? It’s a really pale guy.”
As if I cared about whatever shit he was talking about.
We got into his car. I was afraid the rickety thing would buckle under the weight of us, but it seemed to hold up just fine.
“So, I thought we could just take it easy, walk the field, see if you can get up some of the stairs—put some weight on it.”
“Sounds good.”
I didn’t think there was a chance in hell that I could put weight on my knee, mostly because I’d already tried and shortly after saw stars. But I’d agree to just about anything that got me out of the house in a way that didn’t include Eric, the wayward uncle.
The park, as I soon discovered, wasn’t really a park at all. A park, in my eyes, was a place with grassy property and maybe a few slides and swings scattered for the brats.
This was not a park.
It might’ve been the definition of the opposite of park.
“There’s ducks and geese.”
“There’s a nutria rat too, but you have to work hard to spot him.”
I wasn’t a wildlife person, not by a long shot, so ducks and geese were bad enough. I didn’t even know what a nutria rat was.
“This isn’t a park.” I noted, out loud as we got out and Blake began to stretch. What he was stretching for, I had no clue. Unless he was going to chase the ducks.
Okay, so it wasn’t that bad. There was actually a paved walkway that rounded the pond and at equal intervals there were circuit training centers set up.
It could be worse. You could be sitting on your ass at home.
“So, we are going to try to make it around this circuit twice and you have to do ten reps at each station, unless it’s on your legs, then just five and only on your good leg.”
“One round? How long is it?”
“A quarter mile.”
Pfft.
“I can do a quarter mile in my sleep.”
“Whatever you say superstar. Let’s go.”
That pseudo park must’ve been right above the center pit of hell because the heat seemed to come from the ground and meet the sun’s rays right at my face. My tanned complexion had paled of late.
Not for long.
We began walking while Blake talked, mostly about his wife. I found myself actually listening to what he had to say. Not because I cared. He was going on and on about how she was pregnant and throwing up all the time. I couldn’t imagine putting up with a woman or anyone who was constantly throwing up. I paid attention out of pure boredom.
It was a little bit too needy for me.
“We can’t decide if we want to know if it’s a boy or a girl. I really want to know just so we can be prepped. But Janie says this is one of the few surprises life gives us. What do you think?”
Why in the hell did he care what I thought?
“Wouldn’t you need to know so you can buy clothes or whatever?”
Babies wore clothes, right?
“Well, yeah, I guess. We are just trying to save up for a crib right now. The kid might have to deal with diapers and blankets for the first couple of months.”
Not thinking he was serious, I turned to him and tried to determine his attitude. He was serious all right.
“You’ve got nine months, right?”
“We’ve got seven months.”
“I’ll be long gone by then.”
Time was measured in increments of how long I’d be off the field.
“Yes, you will. Next station is pull-ups. You got this lazy bones?”
“Please. I’m…”
“I know. You’re Crown Sterling. Crown Sterling can do anything. Crown Sterling’s shit doesn’t stink.”
It didn’t carry quite so nice when he said it like that.
I pounced on the bar and bend my knees as far as I could so I was hanging.
I pulled.
I pulled some more—and barely got my chin to the bar.
“Dude, two weeks and you’re weak. You’ve been taking meds and resting. You were bound to lose some muscle mass.”
“No excuses.”
“What?”
I looked at him, so naïve about who I was and what drove me. I didn’t need excuses. I needed to be pushed.
“No excuses. That’s what my dad used to say. If I didn’t make a goal or messed up he didn’t care why. He would just say no excuses. There wasn’t a reason big enough or rich enough to cover whatever I’d done.”
All of the sudden I was a bleeding heart.
“Let’s go to the next one. It’s sit-ups. I bet you’ll kick its ass.”
I grunted my response. “Yeah.”
We got through the circuits. I couldn’t do half of them because of the bum knee. The rest of them I barely finished. When we got here, I’d planned on showing my ass, making two or three rounds, really giving ‘ole Blake a run for his money.
When we got back to the beginning, I was done.
After one lap—one.
“There he is.”
It was paps. I knew it was. They’d caught a broken down Crown Sterling hobbling back to life and were here to document it.
“Where?”
“Right there, the nutria rat.”
Fury wracked my chest. My fists bunched and balled with utter frustration. Where were they? The news, the photogs—ESPN. Where were they? I’d seen other players get stalked to the point of tears when they were hurt.
They couldn’t be hiding me that well.
“Look Blake, I don’t want to see a stupid rat or hear about your woman puking her guts out. We came to work out. We’re done. Let’s go.”
His posture flinched the slightest bit. I hadn’t meant to say that. I didn’t care if he wanted to talk to me about a rat or a puking woman. In fact, I kind of enjoyed his company.
“Let me bring you home.”
Shit. The only person I could stand to be around for more than five minutes and I’d pissed him off.
Blake didn’t say a word on the way back to the apartment. He pulled up in the driveway and shifted around uncomfortably. I didn’t know how to do it. I could apologize to my father, easy. Somehow, this was harder.
“You want to know something?” He looked at my place as he spoke a
nd threw the car into park.
“What?”
“You’ve been here a couple of weeks. I know you’ve got millions of fans and managers or whatever. The way I see it, they’re not here. I’m here. That fine woman is next door.”
I almost broke my neck looking at him.
“What? I’m married, not blind. Anyway, she looks like she’s nice. You’ve got that uncle of yours and her wife. Chela, I think that’s her name. She cooks for the church sometimes. In fact, she cooks like she sold her soul to the Food Network.”
“You got a point?”
“My point is you’ve got all those people in soccer land, but they’re not here. I’m here. She’s there. Eric and Chela are here. You can’t have too many friends. You’ve still got weeks left—unless you like spending all that time alone.”
I didn’t. I hated it. Solidarity wasn’t so bad when I was in my own home, fully entertained by my own career. Here, being alone blew.
“I shouldn’t have said that—before.”
He laughed and put the car into reverse.
“I should’ve Instagrammed that shit. Crown Sterling half-ass apologizes. I could’ve been famous. Damn, I missed it.”
“Shut up.”
“Keep up your exercises, weakling.”
“Got it, Coach.”
I got out of the car and kept my cool to the door. Every muscle ached like I was training for the first time. When I got inside, I collapsed on the couch, not even having enough strength to get the bottle of pain meds.
Chapter Ten
Lyra
Elephant Humping
It didn’t matter how old I get or how mature I think I’ve grown—it didn’t even matter how my big girl panties didn’t come from a package anymore.
I was still completely petrified about my parents coming to my house.
It was like clean room inspections all over again.
As soon as I’d hung up with my parents, I had called every maid service within a ten mile radius but none of them had anyone available to drive to my house and give the whole place a thorough scrubbing and leave it looking like I hadn’t had someone come in and clean it—all within the span of four hours.
Bastards.
My house wasn’t messy—just lived in. Cleaning, in my list of priorities, came after work. Which meant it came last.
I was too busy to clean.
While chucking most of the dishes into the dishwasher, un-rinsed, because I was a rebel like that, I heard a thumping—more like two elephants mating in the apartment next door. At first, I ignored it and just rolled my eyes—maybe there was—something—humping next door. I certainly wasn’t going to bust over there again, half-dressed, unless said humping started talking about bitches and their asses.
Gah! I bet I had looked like rabid badger going over there and causing a rebuttal of his music by breaking his stereo equipment and pushing him out of the way.
He’s only here for a few months. Just ignore it. Consider it practice for dealing with unsavory people. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
His cloudy eyes came into my mind. They showed so much of him, which is probably why he tried to hide his stare from me and everyone else. There was something underneath his layers. I couldn’t see it and I didn’t know what it was, but it drew me in and made me more intrigued than I had been about anything in a long time.
Though the last time I got curious, I found truths that stabbed me and left me bleeding.
Not having time to cook anything, I bolted to the local bakery and picked up an almond cake with raspberry filling, mine and my mom’s favorite.
That should’ve buttered her up well.
When I got back, my parents were in front of my door. I wasn’t as anxious as I thought I’d be as I saw how happy they were. As long as we kept the conversation floating on the surface, we’d be fine. What did concern me was the company they had kept while they waited.
Crown, thumper-humper himself, stood on the stoop of his place, leaned against the wall, chatting up my dad—my dad. He had no shirt on and those damned basketball shorts on, riding way too low to be carrying on a conversation in front of my mom. She was one of those moms who would comment that my guy friends were hot. When the Olympics came on, she was the mom who would elbow me or one of my sisters in the ribs every time there was a package shot—which was a lot.
Yet there he was in all his glory just standing there all Crownified.
Crown was a gladiator among men. You couldn’t help but look at him. I didn’t know abs like that existed in real life. They weren’t the super muscly ones that looked as hard as a refrigerator. Instead, they gently curved in and out in all the right places—just simple and toned.
He was enticing to say the least.
Crown made my belly flutter even when I begged it to stop.
Until he opened his mouth.
When Crown opened his mouth, I wanted to bust him over the head with a lasagna pan.
Men like that couldn’t be trusted.
And then one look in those eyes and I was done for. It was a seriously messed up cycle.
Reaching for the cake, I saw my mom fan herself and reposition her sunglasses while she faced mostly away from Crown—mostly. I knew that move. What she was really doing was looking directly at him, getting her eye candy fill for the day while her glasses gave off the façade that she was casually admiring my garden.
When in reality, the cougar was molesting him in her mind.
I used to find it all very offensive and embarrassing. As I got older, I found it funny.
Even my dad found comedy in it—most of the time.
“Hey y’all. Sorry I’m late. I was picking up treats.” I held up the cake as proof.
“Um, Crown, you’re welcome to join us.”
Oh Mom, come on girl, keep it classy.
“I’m good. Thank you.” He didn’t struggle so much with the thank you that time which I found surprising. I moved past my parents to unlock the door. They came in wordlessly and my mom started looking around with her glasses still on. She was scoping me out.
“It’s so quaint.” She regarded.
Quaint was good. My mom had always gone on and on about owning a quaint little cottage in the country. She was all Jane Austen until a hot guy bleeped on her radar.
“Thank you. The landlords let me paint it without fussing.”
“And work?” My dad asked. He was all about making sure his girls were okay financially. He’d never been the best at the emotional stuff but we’d never wanted for anything material.
“Work is good. I just finished a job in Italy. But I’ve got plenty in the bank, so it went into a savings account.”
“Huh.” He bellowed, sitting down at the table. “You should’ve invested it.”
“Now Henry, don’t meddle. It’s obvious she’s doing well for herself. What’s this talk about cake?”
For the rest of the afternoon, we talked around things. They asked how things were going for me without actually asking anything specific. I knew what they really wanted to ask. They wanted to know if I was taking my meds and how often. They wanted to know if I was still hyper-paranoid about windows and cameras and most things electronic and reflective—which I was. They wanted to know if I could sleep at night without feeling watched—if I was scared or not.
I had a right to be, damn it.
My dad kept tapping his fingers on the table and the fourth and fifth taps were on my mom’s hand signaling his readiness to split.
We said our goodbyes and my mom lingered behind while dad got into the car and started it.
“Look at me, Lyra.”
Her voice had changed to the one she used on me and my sisters in times of trouble. I looked her straight in the eye, not knowing what to expect.
“Are you really okay?”
“I’m okay, Mom. Really. I have my fits now and then, but as long as I know I’m safe, then I’m fine.”
“One more thing and I’m dead serious when I ask
you this.”
Oh shit, this was it. She was going to hit me with the real reason for their visit. I hope she wasn’t sick or my dad wasn’t sick. Oh no, not one of my sisters.
“Are you getting busy with that boy?” She canted her head quickly toward the apartment next door.
“Mom!”
“What? If I was young and single and hot like you I’d be on that like rind on a watermelon.”
“You’ve got to stop, Mom. I’m gonna tell Dad.”
She frowned and then kissed my cheek. “Bye, Lyra. Take care.”
Going back inside, I took a long deep breath and put the cake away and did the dishes for the second time—which was a crime. I decided to laze around for the rest of the afternoon. Emily Bronte was calling my name.
Mr. Heathcliff won the broody award every time.
I loved a wounded man.
I changed into Loungy Lucy, loose fitting, kimono style dress, and curled up with a blanket.
Two chapters in, which was a lot of Bronte pages, the elephants started mating again. This time it made me laugh since I couldn’t fathom what would make that much of a noise. I tried to ignore it again, and mostly won, until a cracking knock sounded on my window.
Throwing the book across the room I screamed harder and louder than I had since Tippi crept up behind me one night in Germany and scared the strudel out of me.
Crown was looking into the window and as much as I wanted to believe it wasn’t in a creepy way, a tidal wave of memory came back to me at the sight.
“What?” I screamed at him. Not that he could hear me over the humping.
Somehow I found comfort in the fact that the humping wasn’t him.
I threw the back door open, but calmed myself before having another rabid animal moment.
“What is that?”
“I broke it.” In the glow from the light of my back porch, I could see how pale the situation had made him.
What could he have broken that would cause that much of a ruckus in its dying breaths?
“Show me.”
I expected a blown up water heater or the place being flooded by some plumbing disaster.
Instead, he wretched open the sliding closet door that hid the washer and dryer and pointed to it. “I swear, I followed the directions.”