by Love Belvin
Jimmy Wright’s…half dead?
A scrawny body laid in a hospital bed with mad tubes running in and out of him, the biggest was to his throat. It ran into a brace wrapped around his neck. His eyes were closed and the systematic chirps of the machines he was hooked up to beeped to a beat that, that quickly became rhythmic. The room was cold and smelled stale like a damn hospital.
What the fuck, man?
Why was she showing me this? Did my pops know he was sick like this? Did Underwood know? Henderson? Eli Richardson?
Then my eyes shot over to Parker, who stood against one of the doors with her hands behind her. There was something new in her eyes. I couldn’t decide between anger and arrogance. She was damn sure making a statement with letting me see this man like this.
My eyes rolled back over to the skeleton laying helplessly in the bed. What was up with him? Did he have the package?
Shit!
Did she? And did she give it to me? Was she a carrier? Them motherfuckers were healthy as fuck, tricking the shit out of innocent asses like me!
“It’s time for you to leave now.” My fucking heart dropped to the floor when I realized Parker was right up on me, close enough not to have to speak much louder than a whisper.
The expression in her eyes now was hard. Protective. No way I could miss that. I backed out of the room and she led me to the front door. Once again, I couldn’t find my damn words. But Parker’s quick cold mood made me spit out something.
“What the fuck was all that?”
I was out the door, on the front porch when she smiled for the first time tonight, but slickly. “Me teaching you not to believe everything you hear. You don’t know me, Rut. Your sources don’t either.”
When I thought she’d explain her point, the door was slammed in my damn face.
“It’s bothering you.”
“No. It’s not.”
“I believe it is, Amare.”
I sat up from the white chaise and looked at her. “We ain’t about to make a big deal out of nothing just because I’m giving you something to talk about.”
She smiled the “I know I’m fucking with you” smile. Then she took a fake deep breath, trying to hide the cocky ass smirk.
“I applaud you on taking the initiative and going to see her. You got ahead of the situation. It showed accountability and leadership.” She ended it with a nod.
A nod that confused me. Was she fucking with me? I couldn’t decide and didn’t like it. Therapist or not, ain’t nobody smart enough to play me. I laid back down.
“I’ve been trying to find out what he’s sick with. At first I thought maybe he had the shit.”
“What’s that?”
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. “AIDS.”
“Oh.”
“But when I was in the gym today, I asked around. Nobody could give me a complete answer, but I gotta bunch of letters that weren’t HIV or AIDS.”
My mind began to drift with all the things I’d heard from two assistant coaches and a trainer who had been in the Kings’ camp for years. I knew not to ask Brooks. My pride wouldn’t let me no ways.
“Do you care?” That question snapped me from my thoughts.
“About what?”
“About this woman, her fiancé? Do you care about what’s going on with them?”
My face went hard and head pushed back into the cushion of the chaise. “Why the fuck would I care about a nigga and his girl? I couldn’t give a flying shit.”
“Then why, of all topics you choose to finally share with me since beginning this journey a month ago, would it be of this young woman?”
The muscles in my face hadn’t smoothed when I shot back, “Because it relates to why I’m here in the first place. This job. This chick is connected to my boss. Her man is his mans. I gotta make sure this shit don’t give the head bosses more of a reason to sleep on me. I fucked up and banged the wrong broad. The last thing I need is for these fucks to think I can’t control my dick. Or worse.”
“What’s worse?”
“That I got issues with women. I heard Eli still be on that bullshit with me and that thot in college.”
“Then why don’t you change the narrative?” My head whipped to her and found her staring at me with one brow in the damn air.
“I’m a man with pride, miss. Ain’t no way I’m going to my boss with my nuts in my hands, claiming to be a sucker. I ain’t no pussy.”
“I doubt you are. I’m suggesting you start on a micro level and stay ahead of this situation. Use this woman as an opportunity to get to know a woman. Understand her needs, position under her circumstances, and who she really is. Try your determined theory of women having ulterior motives out on this one.”
“Maaaaan…” I hummed, not with the shits. “I ‘on’t know. I really don’t care to be proven wrong. I accept females for being females. All I ask is for them to accept me for being the man I am when I decide to dodge all their bullshit.”
“And if you’re wrong?” She lay her tablet on the coffee table.
“Wrong? That ain’t possible.”
“But if you are? You said she cares for an invalid at her tender age. And one who apparently abused her. That alone is a selfless act of a woman.”
He did. My trainer told me he saw the pictures. I Googled Wright’s name with the word assault and found gory pictures of Parker’s beautiful face unrecognizable. It was crazy.
“But there’s more to it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s gotta be. Females stay with the shits. Maybe she’s in his will…got her living off a few stacks he left her before he went down.” I groaned, rubbing my eyes. “I ‘on’t know.”
“And you won’t unless you talk to her.”
“And say what?”
Her hands flipped upward from her tiny wrists. “‘Hi. I’m not the guy you thought I was and I want to give you an opportunity to prove you’re not the type of woman I think you are.’” When I looked at her like she was a fucking mad woman, she kept going. “You know,” she sat up, crossing her legs and placing her elbow on her propped knee before laying her chin on her palm. “I believe your perception of women is limited to the ones you’ve grown up with and others you chose to have in your life. You attract what you are. You attract only what you know appeals to you.”
“What that mean?”
“It means you’re comfortable with your position on women because, at some point, you developed an armor to that type of energy. You’ve learned how to identify it and created a buffer to repel a specific class of women. This group of women share unfavorable traits you’ve come to believe is general for all. I can’t guarantee this woman is different from that toxic group, but I have to say you not dismissing her could be an opportunity to learn something different.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I could, at least, include in my evaluation notes shared with your boss you’ve taken steps toward personal development, corrective actions, and measures toward creating and contributing to a genial environment in the Kings’ family…” Her shoulders rose and dropped. “Some lengthy verbiage like that.”
I lay back on the couch, thinking about it.
“It ain’t gone change how I feel about females in general.” I wanted to make that clear. But there was also an upside to it. “It could prove my point about them all.”
“You’ll never know unless you get to know her more. And it’ll be a deliverable in terms of your participation in these sessions. Help me earn my pay.”
My head swung over to her and she winked. It made me wonder how much head doctors earned. Did she see other Kings players?
It didn’t matter. I had to do this. If it was a game I’d play to get past this mandatory therapy shit, then I’d play to win. I always did.
“I’m game,” I more or less mumbled.
“That delights me.” Her tone didn’t reflect it though. “One last thing…”
“Sho
ot.”
“No sex.”
My head swung over to look at her again. Then I sat up, placing my feet on the floor. Was she fucking crazy? Had to be!
She nodded, confirming what I thought I heard. “That’s right. No sex.”
“Doc, ain’t shit celibate about me and if you think you gonna impose that on my personal life—”
“With her.” She made clear without raising her voice. “Your views on women are skewed, too. You only deal with a specific type. You admitted earlier to encountering them online on your social media’s direct messages, at the club, and most recently, in the strip club. You target the same type of women you despise: those who are attracted to your popularity. You understand in advance they’d be game for whatever usage you have for them, which is always sex. When you get to know someone, it’s a less complicated process when you do it without that intricate element.”
She was talking too much now, using too many damn words. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter.
“I’m good. Parker’s cute…sexy and all that, but I come across bangers every day. She’s no unicorn.”
Besides, I’ve already had her.
When I pulled back the door and recognized the uninvited guest, I could feel my face fall. I’d thought last night would be the last time I’d see him here.
Rut didn’t speak for a while. His strange regard bounced between my face and the ground he stood on. His nostrils were flared and mouth twisted. Clearly, he was thinking. And hard.
After an impatient twenty seconds or so of waiting, I finally prompted him.
“Are we going to make this thing weird?”
He didn’t take the bait right away.
“It just don’t make no sense to me.”
“What?”
His eyes fixed in the direction of Jimmy’s room, though he couldn’t see inside from where he stood. I caught on to the subject matter but not necessarily the details of his confusion.
I rolled my eyes and exhaled. “It’s been a long day of experimenting with new scents and textures, cleaning a tracheostomy tube, and it took all eleven of my working brains cells to repair a tube for suctioning phlegm after it malfunctioned.” My head shook softly, apologetically. “I’m tired and hungry. You’re going to have to come in while I finish dinner if you want a coherent explanation on anything from me.”
I turned to go back into the kitchen where I was just cutting up the last vegetable for my salad. Unable to explain why I knew he’d be on my heels, I was confident he was. I also couldn’t wrap my brain around my comfortable level in letting him into the house. But tonight, I was too tired to deduce why.
I swallowed the last of my unsweetened iced tea with a single slice of fresh lemon and exhaled. My head reared and palms went to my belly for a rub before they rose to my face for a full wipe. I was unbelievably drained.
Sitting up, my attention went across the table to where Rut was clearing his second bowl.
“Good?”
I made a Greek salad with grilled shrimp. It was my second time making this particular recipe and this one was better than the last. Rut didn’t meet my eyes when he grumbled something resembling yes. I checked the time on the microwave, knowing I’d have to change Jimmy’s urinal before hitting the sack. I also knew I’d have to take out something to cook for dinner tomorrow.
Rut’s fork finally dropped in his empty bowl.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Okay. So what can I do to clear up your confusion?”
“Huhn?” His thick brows met in bewilderment.
“When I opened the door, you mentioned something not making sense…” I prompted again.
I’d basically silenced Rut the moment we stepped into the kitchen when I began busying myself with cutting the last of the cucumber, plating the salads, and tossing jumbo shrimp on top. Though on my days off like today, I lived in complete silence from not having anyone around other than a muted Jimmy, tonight I was especially bushed and needed the sustenance before taking on a guy like Rut. I was honestly surprised to see him again.
His phone went off again. It had been blowing up since he got here. At some point earlier, he silenced the ring tone, but it continued to vibrate. This time, he dismissed it with a push of a button. Then he sat back with his eyes to his lap—thinking heavily again.
“I don’t get how a woman your age is taking care of a man this sick,” he finally revealed his thoughts. “I mean… I know he takin’ care of you and got you straight, paper-wise, but…” He hesitated. Then his head shook in frustration it seemed. “I don’t get why you doing all this. How much money is worth…this?” One hand flipped in the air.
My lips squeezed together as I considered his curiosity. “I don’t get paid to take care of Jimmy.”
Rut’s head jerked back as though the concept was incredible. “You expect me to believe Wright ain’t got you in his will? Put you on a monthly payroll while he’s down? I heard he got some bread from the big settlement.”
I nodded. “Jimmy was awarded a decent settlement from the league’s concussion lawsuit. He was diagnosed with ALS—”
“What’s that?”
“Lou Gehrig’s disease. It’s also called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or ALS.”
“Oh. That’s what them people was dumping ice water on their heads for on social media a while back?” It was a sincere correlation on his behalf.
“Yes, but I’m not sure they were all actually donating. But yeah, Jimmy was diagnosed less than a year before the 2014 ruling. It so happened that ALS was assigned one of the highest payouts. He was lucky with the timing of it all, but I wasn’t.”
“Why you say that?”
“Because, like you said, I was young. Jimmy and I had just gotten engaged and then a shit storm of drama hit us and never stopped.”
“How long y’all been together?”
I was curious about his concern. I didn’t know Rut, but he didn’t strike me as a guy who extended himself past his own issues or desires. Just yesterday, I was another “bitch he fucked” and now he seemed to be chewing on every word I gave him.
I took a deep breath, fortifying myself to go back in time. As I did, my spine curled and chest caved. “I met Jimmy in 2013, months before his diagnosis. Of course, I had no idea of his health—he had no idea either. I was twenty-two and just out of college. I’d just started cheering in the league for the Giants.”
“How did you meet?”
“At an event he, Eli Richardson, and few of their friends attended in New York. He asked where I was from, and we made a connection there. Within twenty minutes, he arranged for a private table away from the crowd.” I shrugged. “We talked about how I made it down to New York City. I was honest in telling him why.” I had mommy issues and was rebellious. “He came with good game, asking about my dreams. Because he was a retired player, I was comfortable telling him what my interests were. The cheering thing didn’t inspire me. It was just fun…something to escape to after getting a degree I’d never use. The next morning he called saying he was leaving for Connecticut and would like to see me again. A month later, I was here.”
“When y’all get engaged?” Rut’s tone was suspicious.
It made me wonder if he’d known. Had he heard the stories of that one ugly night that caused me to hit rock bottom?
I took another dramatic breath, unable to look at him, but my words came easy after all these years. “We were never really engaged. Jimmy never asked me to marry him. He told me he wanted to be with me forever and gave me the tool in which he thought would make it happen.”
“What was that?”
“A huge rock.”
His forehead wrinkled. “And you wasn’t happy he bagged you?”
Anger flashed in my chest. “I was bagged all right. But what real woman wants to be bagged?”
His head snapped back and face tightened. “What chick don’t?”
I sat up, placing my elbows on the table as I neared him. “Not this woman. I�
�m perfectly capable of caring and providing for myself.” My next words cut at my core. “I’m no damsel in distress. I come from a strong lineage of women who made things happen for themselves.”
“But you came to live with him. Took the ring. You still here.”
“Because I have commitment issues.” His face fell. I knew that went over his head. “I committed back then to the wrong person. Jimmy. And he was an ineligible receiver of…me. I was young, rebellious, and full of untamed energy. Instead of focusing on me, I allowed him to play director in my life.”
“And what’s wrong with that? He’s a man.”
“There was no one playing producer.” That zonked him. “Every human being is born with a director’s and producer’s gene. Either you’re a director calling the shots or you’re a producer bringing things to life. It’s when you marry that you decide which role you’ll serve in that union. When Jimmy directed my world, he told me where to live, what my role would be in his life, and who my social circle would be. I had no idea how to produce. I didn’t think about those passions and interests I shared with him that first night we met. To be honest,”—I shrugged with my one shoulder and lips—“I don’t think he really cared.”
“Cared about what?”
“Cared about who I was. He’s twenty-three years older than me. All Jimmy wanted was to find a piece to fit into his world. He had no concern about helping me develop my own.” The factor of time still played in the back of my head. I had to close this conversation. “To address your assumption of my compensation of his care, unless you consider me staying here rent free sufficient payment, there is no compensation. I pay for my food and most of the utilities.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s what’s needed around here and what I can afford.”
“What about Jimmy? I heard he had a trucking business after the league. He gotta be sitting on something after that settlement, too.”
I snorted. Like hard. It was so loud and abrupt I covered my mouth.
“Jimmy’s condition is draining his finances. That settlement money went to lawyers it cost to get it, loans needed to sustain his quality of life those first few years of his diagnosis when he could speak and clean himself, and to close out his trucking business that was failing.”