KISMET

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KISMET Page 10

by Leigh Ann Lunsford


  “You?” he scoffs.

  “Or whoever makes her happy,” I point to the picture, “and doesn’t put that bullshit smile on her face.” I pause, making sure I’ve said everything. “I’ll see myself to the door.”

  I make it to the threshold. “Brody, I’m pissed. Not sure if it should be directed to you or myself, but she couldn’t do better than you. Thank you.” I don’t turn but just keep walking to the exit. I sit in my car taking deep breaths and releasing the anger I didn’t know I carried.

  Needing relief, I head to the campus gym, determined to get a bone weary work out in. Just my fucking luck the baseball team is there today in weight training. Fuck. I meet Mason’s gaze, realization dawning of who I am if his stance is any indication. Chest puffed, shoulders pulled back, arms flexing. A fucking peacock strutting his feathers. I salute him and go about my business. Until three shadows come into my vision. I sit, pushing off the weight bench, and stare at each of them. Bring it boys.

  “Can I help you?” I ask all of them while targeting Mason with my eyes. The only other guy to have his dick in my girl.

  “You Brody?” I roll my eyes because that’s weak. He fucking knows who I am.

  “Next.” I’m being a dick, but they tried the intimidation factor of three to one.

  “I’m Caden, and this is starting out fucking awkward.” The quiet one steps to me with his hand extended. I shake it and relax my stance.

  “Deacon.” Shake.

  “Mason.” Nod. I can’t shake his hand.

  “It’s been established I’m Brody. Any reason for this introduction?” I try to curb the attitude, but I can’t when I’m staring at Mason.

  “Lee Lee,” Caden enlightens me.

  “What about Embe?” I challenge him to correct me. His sly smile is the answer I get.

  “You know the shit she pulled?” Mason pointing her wrongdoings out pisses me off. Hell, him breathing pisses me off.

  “Some. I don’t need you up in my face listing her shortcomings.”

  “Whoa.” Deacon smiles. “Careful or you’ll lose your man card.”

  “Revoked, dumb ass. I revoke them. I don’t take them because I don’t need yours. I have plenty to offer on my own.” Fuck, I want to punch him for no other reason than him standing in front of me.

  “As I was saying,” Deacon punches Mason’s arm, “you know the shit that went down with her dad?”

  “Just left his house. Got the news a few days after it went down, and I needed some time to figure how I was gonna play it.” They all nod.

  “Sounds like my girl.” I raise my eyebrows. “Nah, not like that. She laid into Mr. Winchester pretty good, taking him to task with the way he treats his daughter.” Deacon’s pride is evident.

  “Your girl, huh?” Last I knew Emberlee caused friction with them.

  “Yeah. Saylor. We just wanted to introduce ourselves because if you’re gonna be around we didn’t want shit uncomfortable.” He looks between Mason and me. “But I can see it is. Y’all wanna whip your dicks out and measure to determine the winner?” Deacon is a clown.

  Caden snickers, and I tense. “There isn’t a stick long enough to measure Mason Jr.” I don’t want to laugh at his antics, but I do. I give in and hoot at his dumb ass.

  Mason steps forward and puts his hand out. I shake it this time. “Shake it more than twice you’re playing with it.” He winks at me. Deacon cracks up, and I shake my head at him. “Seriously, you hurt her and die.” I step back and level my glare at him.

  “You just say that to me after all the shit y’all put her through the past few months?” My temper flares when you threaten me in regards to her. “You can back the fuck up and take your threats with you.”

  “Hold up. I’m not threatening you— just stating facts. We didn’t put her through shit, but it isn’t my story to tell. We still don’t have the full story but know we’re all trying. She wants to fill you in that’s her choice, but you won’t get shit from us regarding her.” Mason doesn’t back down and at least she didn’t choose a pussy to fuck in my absence.

  “I feel ya. But, fuck she’s stubborn.” I hate admitting it, but it’s the truth.

  They all laugh at me, with me, fuck if I know. “That she is, but that girl is so sensitive. Takes the world upon her shoulders and forgets to deal with her shit.” Caden is wise— speaks when he has something to say so you tend to listen.

  I nod. “You and Saylor?” I ask Deacon.

  “Yep. She begged me to take her back a little over a week ago.” Mason bends and cackles like a schoolgirl. “She did. But if she hadn’t, I would have kidnapped her and tied her to the bed. She’s mine.” He smiles the entire time he talks about her.

  “That’s why I revoked his fucking card. Pussy.” Mason jabs a finger at him, and I agree. Pussy whipped. But he looks happy.

  “I’m gonna lay it out there. I hate you’ve been with Emberlee.” He starts to interrupt, and I put my hand up. “Let me finish. I accept it, but I hate it. I know what it was so I don’t guess you’ll be an obstacle.” I pause letting him acknowledge me, but the fucker jumps in.

  “I wouldn’t have been with her if you hadn’t disappeared and broken her. Fucking ruined her, man. So instead of spewing this bullshit, fix what you fucked up. If you want me to enlighten you about how I found her the day your fiancé showed her face I will, but considering your show of claiming her I think it’d break you, and I’m outta fucking space— my list to revoke rights in the man club is long. So we won’t have a problem if you don’t fuck her over again.”

  “She wasn’t my fiancé. She wasn’t anything to me, but I did what I had to.” My fists clench, and I want to punch him. Standing there telling me what I did wrong, how she was hurt— I fucking know all this. The end result is the same . . . I fucked up, he fixed it in a fucked up way. I want to be angry, and I am— at myself. He’s been a friend to her, what she needed when I wasn’t, and by the way he’s taking me to task I know he cares for her, and I can’t be angry. Jealous, yes. Angry, no. I smirk, “So you’re not going to be an obstacle?”

  He shakes his head. “Not in the way you think, but she sheds one fucking tear that’s your fault, and I’ll be the biggest damn hurdle you’ve ever encountered— one you won’t make it over.” Fair enough.

  “Now that we’re all done with this pissing match, we have shit to do.” Caden nods my way and goes back to finish with his weights.

  “Join us?” Deacon extends the olive branch.

  “Sure.” Baby steps. I’m being calculated getting in with her friends, but I’m not above playing dirty. Fair, but definitely dirty.

  I wouldn’t call it friendship, but we’re a work in progress. Our workouts have become regular over the past two weeks, and I’ve found out through the grapevine Emberlee is in regular counseling and forgiveness is a slow process on their end, but it’s happening.

  “Dude, when you get her to talk to you again . . . word of advice. Don’t let her cook for you. I don’t think I spent more than five minutes out of the bathroom all night.” Mason is regaling me with tales of Emberlee’s pardon path. She’s doing anything and everything to make amends. Seems like cooking shouldn’t be on that list.

  “It was bad. I was the smart one who ate one chicken wing and stopped— there’s one thing I want to be pink when I eat it,” Caden quips and has us all chuckling. “Still, Imodium became my best friend that night. She offered to make me dry toast to settle my stomach, and even that scared me.”

  Shit. I like food. I need to eat. I guess we can survive on take-out and my minimal culinary skills. That isn’t a deal breaker for me. What is a fucking deal breaker is her ignoring my calls— again. “Hey, where did Saylor get those shirts her and Julie wear to the games?” I ask Deacon. I’ve been going in hopes of seeing Emberlee, but no luck yet.

  “Hang on.” He whips his cell from his shorts and shoots a text. “She says some place called Bulldog. I’ll send you the number.” He hits a few buttons, and my
cell vibrates with his text.

  “Thanks.” I smile with my plan.

  “You gonna wear my number next game?” He winks. “You’ll make the others jealous with our connection.” He blows me a kiss, and I shake my head with his antics. Those three feed off each other, and I’ve managed to somehow fit in.

  “Fuck you.” I go back to working the bag.

  “Why’d you leave the party last night?” Mason asks Caden between lifting.

  “That was some used-up shit floating around. I wasn’t feeling it.” They’re pigs.

  “Well you aren’t the fucking Virgin Mary. You’re shit ain’t pure.”

  “You know what they say, if it smells like fish eat all you wish— smells like cologne leave it alone. That was some Summers Eve smelling shit up in that house. I’ll pass. I don’t need fucking cold sores to mirror the shits Emberlee gave us.”

  “Ah, the single life. Ain’t it glorious?” Deacon laughs. Their coach walks in and shuts them up. He snickers at them because he heard every fucking word.

  Stopping in front of me, he reaches to shake my hand. “Coach Gill. You been working my boys?”

  “Sir?” I don’t know if I’m in trouble for being in the weight room when the baseball team is.

  “They’re looking good. More defined, stamina increased since I’ve seen you in here with them. You play?”

  “No, sir. I did a tour in the Air Force and didn’t have much time. Played a bit in high school but not like them.” I feel like I’m disappointing him.

  “Thank you for your service, Son. Have a proposition for you.”

  Mason doesn’t know when to shut up. “Damn, Brody. You know you got it going on if Coach is propositioning you.”

  “Well dipshit— that’s twenty extra laps for you today. “ Coach Gill doesn’t miss a beat. “Brody Collier, right?” I nod. “I did some research on your grades. You want to be my trainer for these pansies?” I’m speechless. “You’ll have to travel with us, I need you here for practices. If we need to rearrange your schedule, we have staff to help with that. You’ve taken my three best players and made them better— if we want to keep winning, I need you to overhaul my team. You in?”

  “Uh . . .” I don’t know how this works.

  “It’s a paid position.” Sold. I don’t need the money. I have my scholarship, grants, and stipends, plus my savings, but I can stand to add to it. Prepare for my future.

  “Sold.” I smile thinking of the research I’ll need to do, and I need to ask him what and who he wants me to target.

  “Come in my office. After we discuss the particulars, I want you to watch some tapes and you can figure out where they need work. I want you to watch practice a few days this week, and next week, start kicking their asses.”

  I clap my hands, giddy at the prospect of running PT again. There are some things I miss from being in the service. Brotherhood. Camaraderie. Loyalty. Something this team has. “Yes, Sir.” I pick up my bag, “See you girls later.” They’re all standing their stupefied. Deacon shrugs, he knows he’s the least likely to be punished.

  Until I got word he was the one spearheading the plight to keep Emberlee from her friends.

  I hate missing the guys’ games, but working through my issues is more important. If I can’t find a way to patch myself together, I can’t be any good to them. Therapy with my dad sucks . . . he’s trying, but I’m stagnant. I can’t force myself to ask the questions, blow up the picture perfect family illusion we’ve got going.

  Illusions.

  We all get lost in them. Our own perception skews the realism that lies beyond them. Outer appearances show I’m put together. Pretty. Unobtainable to some. Inside . . . contaminated beneath the surface, I’m a wreck. Ugly. Buried so far in my self-imposed rabbit hole, Alice is jealous.

  Many people don’t bother to peel back layers to see what lies beneath them. That girl with the smile— she’s happy. In actuality, she’s battling demons, threatening to take over her tormented mind— but she’s laughing so she must be fine.

  Truths.

  They can be horrid or they can be salvation— you have to listen to the honesties spoken and not twist them to your beliefs. If someone says sorry, it’s up to your heart, your mind, to decide if it’s honest or false. Sometimes ‘I’m sorry’ is just that— an apology. An act of kindness. Other times it’s to dismiss the constant hurt they have stacked on you to feed their own agenda.

  And that’s where I’m stuck.

  My dad hasn’t said sorry . . . he hasn’t felt the need. Until therapy. Until a complete stranger told him in a roundabout way he’s been a selfish asshole. So that’s my crux; do I believe the words he speaks or do I hold him to the actions of the past? Letting go isn’t easy. I weigh the positives and negatives of each scenario. When you let go of past transgressions and they keep being repeated, does it nullify the apology, or does it corroborate the type of person one is? I’ve heard actions speak louder than words, but do they?

  If you’re used to the same actions day in and day out, how can you believe that someone changed in the span of weeks? It doesn’t make them less authentic, but it makes it harder to trust.

  Me versus my dad.

  My dad versus his behavior.

  When does the cycle stop? I should be grateful he’s willing to work, willing to say sorry— many don’t offer up the words. I’m a believer in if I’m right or wrong, knowing or unknowing, I’ll shout those words if I hurt you. It doesn’t mean I’m giving you platitudes or half-ass feelings; it means I feel too much and care too much what others think of me.

  I hide those emotions with a shield. A bitch personality. A mean girl dichotomy. It’s my guard and some days it sucks. I want to ask him for the truth concerning Adriane. I want to confront him with what I believe the truth is . . . but I’m scared. If he validates what I believe, I’m forced to confront living a lie for so long. One he and my Mom perpetrated. If he denies it and has another explanation, the hurt I caused my friends is quantified, and the abandonment issues he’s given me are my existence. There is no clear-cut winner, and I haven’t prepared myself to face the outcome.

  “Emberlee, where’d you go?” Dr. Ross asks in his soft voice. I realize it’s saved for me. With my dad, he’s no nonsense— it’s what my dad responds to.

  “Nowhere.” I plaster the grin I’ve perfected.

  My dad clears his throat. “You know this is our safe zone.” I refrain from rolling my eyes. I’m twenty, and we have safe zones like I’m a toddler at a water park.

  “I know. It takes time.” I say it every week. Each week they let me slide.

  “Whatever’s swirling in your mind isn’t going to be fixed if you lock it there.” No shit. Did he need a degree to tell me that?

  “I’m not there yet.”

  “Maybe next week.” My dad— poster child for optimism. His big hand takes mine and squeezes. This should make me feel safe. Instead, I’m restless. Fidgety. His patronizing pat against my leg forces me to end this session.

  “Have to go.” I stand, but my dad pulls me back down.

  “I had an interesting visitor last week. I was waiting to see if you would bring it up, trust me enough to tell me.” I wrinkle my nose, staring at him with confusion. “Brody.”

  Oh shit! “What does that have to do with me?” I try to remain calm, I’m anything but.

  “He shared his philosophies on my parenting. Seems everyone saw the errors of my ways but me.” He raises his eyebrows and faces me. “Also he gave me quite the history lesson.”

  Throwing a pleading look at Dr. Ross, I’m sure I appear pitiful. “Aren’t we supposed to avoid the past? Move forward and all that jazz?”

  Both men in the room chuckle. “Not exactly, Emberlee. You both are here because of past behaviors. We’re here to listen to them, in hopes of putting them to bed so you can move forward.” Fuck me sideways with an out of stock dildo. How ‘bout them apples?

  “It’s okay, Lee Lee.” My dad’s voi
ce is timid, unsure.

  “It is?” I squeak.

  “Not really,” his fake smile is pained, “but I don’t have a choice. You couldn’t do any better than Brody. I trust him with my life; I just don’t know how I missed it.”

  “You weren’t looking.” Simple. It’s anything but. When I say this shit to him, the truth, he winces like I’ve physically dealt him a blow, and I feel guilty. “Sorry.”

  “You have to quit apologizing, Emberlee. If it’s something that is truthful, or you’re harboring, you have to release it.” Every week Dr. Ross tells me the same thing.

  “Lee Lee, I know I was blind.” Him being anything but formal throws me off. Using my nickname is fucking with my psyche. “I hate you suffered. I hate we are here— but we are, and we need to make it work. I’ve lost enough time with you.” I nod. When he goes all dad-like, I freeze. I don’t have a rebuttal. I don’t have armor for this offense because it isn’t one I’ve experienced.

  “I’m trying.” Honesty. Well, half-truths. Part of me is trying. Part of me is terrified of hoping for a different outcome than what we have.

  I don’t know what I’m hopeful for. Do I want his concern? Advice? Hell, I don’t know if that stuff comes with his love because I’ve searched so long for it I don’t know what it entails.

  Fear. I fear the unknown of us. I fear keeping with this cycle we’ve created. I fear myself because what if I’m the reason he can’t love me. Won’t love me.

  “Same time next week?” Dr. Ross stops my meltdown. Both my dad and I nod in agreement. “Emberlee, I have an assignment for you.” My breathing halts. “I want you to write down one thing you’re holding back. You’ll give me the paper.”

  “No,” I argue. He can’t force me.

  “I won’t disclose what is in it. We won’t discuss it until you give me the okay, but if this is going to work, I have to know what we are up against.” I shake my head.

 

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