by Teagan Kade
Even when I look at myself in the bathroom mirror it’s hard to recognize the face staring back. Gone is the stress, the lines of worry and sunken eyes. A new, brighter Heather has emerged.
But don’t you dare forget where you came from, I remind myself. You have an obligation.
I think to everyone freezing under that bridge less than twenty minutes away and almost want to scream, but I keep it to myself.
I hear a familiar voice as I turn into the hallway exiting the bathroom. I round the corner expecting to find Phoenix, and he’s there, but he’s not alone.
Stone’s there, though hardly dressed for the occasion in his team jacket and track pants. He’s with a guy I vaguely recognize as Phoenix’s agent. Jamie, was it? It’s hard to tell from this distance.
I pull myself back out of sight, but I can still hear their voices.
“I need more time.” It’s Phoenix. “It’s not an easy decision.”
Stone: “It’s not going to be any decision if you don’t hurry the hell up.”
The agent: “Listen to your father, Phoenix. I’m begging you. I need an answer and I need it right now.”
My skin starts to crawl. They’re ganging up on him.
Stay out of it, I warn myself. He can handle himself.
“Now,” Stone repeats. “We need an answer now, son. Not tomorrow, not next week. Now.”
The warning in his voice is clear.
There’s a pregnant pause before Phoenix speaks again. “Actually,” he starts, “I was thinking of taking a bit of a sabbatical from the game, clear my head.”
Stone loses it. “A fucking sabbatical? Can you hear yourself?”
“Easy,” Phoenix warns. “Just a break. The offers aren’t going anywhere.”
“Like hell!” Stone bellows.
I shouldn’t be eavesdropping like this. I go to walk away but there’s a rush of women heading to the bathroom, blocking the way out.
The agent’s trying to intervene. “Phoenix, those offers won’t necessarily still be around months from now. You know how the game is, how quickly a star can fade, so give us something. I’m begging you.”
“I’ll have a decision by Monday. How’s that work for you two?” He sounds reluctant.
Stone goes to say something, but the agent interrupts him. “Sounds like a plan, but no more goose-footing around, got it? Come to me, tell me what team you’ve decided on, and we’ll make you a superstar.”
There’s a murmur I can’t make out, footsteps echoing down the hall. I take the opportunity to leave now the path has cleared, surprised at how fast my heart is beating once I’m back in the hall.
I almost scream when someone taps me on the shoulder. Phoenix catches me with one arm. “Hey, you all good?”
I force a smile. “Couldn’t be better. Pity your dad couldn’t come.”
Phoenix rubs the back of his neck, looking away. “Yeah, guess the old man had more important things to do.”
Damn, I think. So Stone’s visit was for Phoenix alone. He must be desperate.
Phoenix takes my hand. “Come on. I’m not done showing you off yet.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PHOENIX
The auction is a success. I knew it would be, but it has exceeded my expectations. Already we’ve made enough to cover the building for the soup kitchen and a year’s worth of operating costs.
Heather’s naturally pleased as punch, took the opportunity to run around the venue thanking Alissa and my brothers one by one.
Peyton draws to a stop beside me, swipes a glass of champagne off one of the waiters passing by. He sips and holds the glass up. “Mmm, you really spared no expense.”
“You can thank our dear father for that.”
“Notably absent, of course.
“Of course,” I concur.
Peyton scans the room. “I have to say, this is damn impressive, bro. You must really have a thing for this girl—more than a boner, by the looks of it.”
I change the subject. “I didn’t catch who won you in the auction?”
Peyton tucks his hand under his arm and sips again before speaking. “Some Crestfall football fanatic.”
“Male or female?”
“Male, thank Christ. Erin would go all green-eyed if I picked up a hottie like you.”
I sigh. “Ah, yes. Bria. That’s going to be fun.”
Peyton picks up on the sarcasm, smiling. “At least she won’t spend the whole session hassling you for plays and picking your brain on the best way to build muscle, or maybe you’ll be showing her a muscle of a different kind…”
I lower my voice. “Not a chance. She’s not my type.”
“She’s got a vagina and a face, doesn’t she?”
“I’ve changed.”
He bellows. “Bullshit.”
I stab a finger into his shoulder. “Says the only King brother who’s put a ring on it.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll pay that. Why, what’s this other girl offering that’s so special? And don’t tell me it’s because she can put her legs behind her head, because that shit, nice as it is, is no foundation for a solid relationship.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” I tease, “but she’s different than the usual riff-raff around here. She’s intelligent,” I tap my head, “street smart. She has more life experience than the rest of Crestfall combined.”
Peyton’s eyes drift behind me. “Speaking of the riff-raff…” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Good luck,” he says, spinning and heading back into the crowd.
“Can’t believe I won.”
I try not to let Bria see me grimace as I turn around, attempting to look cordial. After all, she—or her father—did pay a significant amount of money to spend time with me. “Neither can I, but congrats. I imagine you want to set up a time to play?”
She slinks sideways, pressing her chest out and twisting her lips together. “Mmm, ‘play.’ I like the sound of that.”
“Ball,” I correct.
She brings up a finger, tracing it down my chest and tapping once against my waistband. “I prefer the contact sports myself, but I couldn’t pass up the offer.”
Oh, sweet Jesus. This is going to be painful.
I see Heather watching from the back of the room. She’s talking to someone from the Academy, diverting her attention between us. I put my arm behind Bria’s back and gently guide her to the side of the room out of Heather’s sight. I want to get this over with. “So, about that time…”
“I’m good the next few days if you are.”
“Sunday afternoon, school gym. Does that work?”
“I’ll be there with bells on,” she trills, “or maybe nothing at all.”
I don’t have patience for the flirt-fest. I’ve got bigger things on my mind, read: the looming decision that going to affect my entire future. Bria and her female hard-on’s the last thing I want to deal with.
I point randomly back to the crowd. “I’ve got to get back to it, but I’ll see you Sunday, yes?”
“It’s a date,” she replies, but I’m already moving and weaving my way to the other side of the room to find Heather.
She wraps up the conversation she’s in and moves over to me. “How’s Miss All That?”
“Thinks she’s in Bring It On,” I tell her.
“Is she going to behave, or do I have to go all crazy girlfriend on her?”
I squint, looking into Heather’s eyes. “Holy shit, is that jealousy I see in there? Because you are looking a little green.”
She shoves me. For the first time tonight, I notice she’s removed her nose ring. “If anyone’s looking green tonight it’s your better half.”
I follow to her eyes to where Titus is leaning against a wall looking like he’s going to puke.
“One too many canapes, I’d say.”
“I’m not jealous,” she tells me, returning to the Bria situation. “Honestly.”
“I know.”
“But I am tired. I think I’m going to head h
ome, let you Kings wine and dine and do what you do.”
“My brothers can do what we do. I’m driving you home.”
“How much have you had to drink?” she asks.
“Not a drop. Thought it best I had my full faculties tonight.”
“Restraint,” she nods. “I like that.”
I want to rush forward to sweep her away to the nearest bedroom. Hell, a dark corner would do, but I use the aforementioned restraint to hold back. “Don’t go teasing me now.”
“My god, is that all you think about?”
I wish it were that simple at the moment, but that damn decision that’s hanging over my head keeps barging in and making a mess of the place.
I take her hand. “Come on. Let’s blow this joint.”
Heather can’t seem to stop talking about the auction on the way home. I try to remain upbeat, to join in the conversation when I can, but the decision that was pressing before has become an all-out assault. It’s preoccupying me completely. I know Heather has sensed my shift in mood, doesn’t seem to mind I’ve stopped answering her questions.
By the time we pull up I’ve gone from the high of the auction to a new low considering how in the flying fuck I’m going to deal with this nightmare. Either way I go, there are consequences. There’s no easy answer. I don’t want to play, but the fallout from giving it up would be brutal.
It reminds me of a quote my father used to roll out when we were younger and didn’t want to work out: What comes easy won’t last. What lasts won’t come easy.
But there’s more to it this time than a better body. Everything is at stake.
“You okay?” Heather asks as we enter her place.
I’ve got a headache. “I don’t want to get into it right now.”
“I’m going to go freshen up. You good out here?”
“Sure.”
She disappears and I find myself drifting to the kitchen my head still swimming into thought.
Almost automatically, I open the pantry and sum up the ingredients there, start grabbing things and putting together a mental list.
Soon I’m weighing out ingredients and suddenly those thoughts diminish.
It’s only when I’m reaching for the mixer I realize I’m making cookies.
It’s weird how baking has become my go-to when I’m stressed. There’s something calming about the process of it—‘procrastibaking’ I heard someone call it.
If you had told me a few weeks ago I’d enjoy this kind of thing I would have slapped you in the fucking face, but here I am deciding the ratio of brown sugar to castor and whether the butter’s soft enough for creaming.
Heather enters the kitchen wrapped in a towel, drying off her hair with another. “Not what I expected.”
I’m busy rolling the doughballs and placing them onto a baking sheet. “You don’t like it when I bake, or you don’t like my baking?”
She leans against the counter. “On the contrary, I find it incredibly sexy, would take off your pants and go to town right here and now if I didn’t think it was somehow important you keep going.”
“They’ll be fifteen minutes in the oven.”
She presses up to me from behind, her body warm and soft against my back, hands snaking around my waist. “And that’s all you need? Fifteen minutes?” She looks past me into the mixing bowl. “My god. You baking for an army?”
“I may have miscalculated.”
“Can I give out the extras with the sandwiches tomorrow?”
My mood, precarious as it is, swings in the opposite direction. I place the last doughball down and pull away from her to find a fork in the cutlery drawer, my frustration growing when I can’t find one. “I don’t think it’s a good idea you going down there anymore.”
“Not this again, Phoenix. I told you—”
“You’re risking serious trouble, Heather. It’s a bad idea.”
I see the irritation my words cause, and it only makes me angrier.
I slam the drawer shut. “Where’s a fucking fork when you need one?”
She passes me one from the dishwashing rack, holding it firm when I go to pull it away. “I’m not going to bite, Phoenix. I know this has nothing to do with sandwiches, or the stupid mayor. It’s about basketball, isn’t it? You’re still deciding.”
I don’t think I’ve ever known someone to read me so well. It’s disconcerting, makes me even more uncomfortable.
She lets the fork go and approaches me, reaching out. “You don’t have to do what everyone else wants you to do. You should choose the path that will make you happiest. Forget about your father, your brothers, your agent, even me. Do what’s right for you.”
Something snaps in my head. “Fuck. It’s not that easy. What do you think is going to happen in this magical fairytale land? You think I’m going to give it up so we can what? Work together in a kitchen, live in poverty just to do the right thing?” I sneer at her. “You know how it sounds right?”
Funny thing is, I know I’m being unreasonable, coming across as the world’s biggest asshole, but I want a fight. I want the distraction.
“You’re being unfair. I know you’re angry, but—”
“You know nothing,” I snap, pointing at her with the fork and my right brain, all the emotion and pain taking over completely.
“Where’s this coming from? Because it’s not you.”
“How would you know? You said yourself. We’re worlds apart, aren’t we? You couldn’t even begin to conceive what it’s like to roll out there every weekend with a smile on your face looking like you love the one thing in the world you’ve come to hate. It’s fucking soul-destroying.”
She looks close to tears, eyes glossy and wet, but I can’t stop. I’ve gone too far. I know it, but I can’t rein myself back in.
I can see her holding back the hurt, but when she speaks, she’s calm and patient. “Like I said, do what makes you happy, Phoenix, not what I or anyone else wants you to do.”
“You’re talking like a broken record.”
She comes forward. “I just want to help.”
I don’t know why, but I push her aside, slamming the fork down on the kitchen counter. “I need some fucking air.”
“Phoenix!” she pleads, but I’m already walking away.
As soon as I close the front door behind myself, I’m filled with regret. I know I should turn around and backpedal as fast as I can, but the will isn’t there. I’m tired and exhausted and sick to high heaven of trying to please everyone. I know what Heather is saying is right, but it doesn’t make the decision any easier.
Fuck it.
I walk away back to the car, getting in and slamming the driver’s door closed, forehead pressed to the cold leather of the steering wheel.
I’ve never felt this divided or so unsure of myself, and right when Heather comes along and seems to change everything. I might not be sure of what’s happening in the rest of my life but it’s clear I want her to be part of it.
So why are you moping down here in your car?
A valid question.
I look out the window, consider once more going back up and doing my best to explain.
I decide to wait until morning, starting the ignition and pulling away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HEATHER
I find Tina, the dining hall manager, in her office at the back of the kitchen. I tap on the window.
She waves me in and directs me to the sole chair. “Take a seat, hon.”
I shouldn’t be this nervous handing in my notice, but it somehow feels like I’m betraying this place, letting them down.
Tina puts down what she’s doing. “What’s on your mind?”
I place the letter I wrote up this morning on her desk. “My notice.”
Tina doesn’t move to pick it up, smiling instead. The lines on her face say a lot. She’s lived more than one life. “I figured as much, hear you’re getting that soup kitchen up and running again.”
“In a few weeks, act
ually. It’s going to be all-new, three times bigger than the last. There’s a lot of prep work to get through first, though, which is why…” I gesture to my notice. “So, you’ve got me for two more weeks, I guess. Sorry.”
“Eh,” she says, waving her hand in the air, “don’t worry about it, and don’t worry about the two weeks either. I’ve had a bunch of students knocking down my door about part-time employment.”
“Really?”
“You go do what you need to do. I wish you well. I really do.” She looks around. “You’re far too good for this place. Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“You’ll watch that King boy. Don’t let him go breaking your heart, hon, ’cause I’m sure he’s got a pocketful of them already.”
There’s a physical pain at the thought of Phoenix, a blunt object digging around inside my chest, but I refuse to let it sidetrack me. “I will.”
Tina extends her hand over the desk. “I’ve always thought you could handle yourself anyway.”
I take it and shake. “You bet, and thank you.”
“Pleasure. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
I stand. “Yes, ma’am.”
I’m feather light as I exit the dining room, practically skipping my way outside. I didn’t expect to be freed so soon. I’m excited to get started on the soup kitchen, but I also need a distraction after the argument with Phoenix the other night, as one-sided as it was. The last thing I want to do is go home and have that on my mind.
I call Gordy instead.
He answers as he always does. “Yes, my girl. How can I be of assistance?”
“Actually,” I tell him, “how can I be of assistance?”
“I’m not sure I follow. Don’t you have a shift?”
“I got off early, thought I’d come around and help out. That is, if you need my help.”
He laughs. “You know me. I’ll take whatever I can get.”
*
Gordy has somehow managed to maneuver himself under the kitchen sink, all that remains of him is legs. His voice comes muffled from the deep. “You got that wrench?”
I hand it over, can hear him working on the pipes and struggling with the effort of it.