Don't Lie

by Violet Paige

  “I can spell it out for you, so your people get it right on the screen. It’s B-L-A-K-E. Bob Blake. You think it’d be an easy name to spell, but they sure do like to get creative with it.”

  I reached out to grab hold of the police car. I blamed it on the heat.

  “Do you need to sit down or something?” Officer Blake stepped closer.

  Embarrassed, I faked a smile. “No. No. I’m ok. Would you mind showing me the damage and the vehicles? I think my photographer is up ahead getting the footage.”

  “Sure. Let’s stay on this side of the road so you don’t have to worry about the glass.” Office Blake pointed at the debris. “It started five cars ahead with that trailer.”

  I looked around the side of the tow truck. Are you kidding me?

  “Seems like whoever the suspect is hit that boat up there first, which lead to this chain reaction.” He whistled.

  I looked at the wooden boat sitting on the back of the trailer. My stomach lurched into the back of my throat. All I could think about were the nights out on the sound with Blake. The way he steered us where he wanted to take me. How he showed me the beauty of the island again. That there was value in facing where you came from, even if it hurt.

  The truck. The boat. Seeing my summer flash in front of me like this. It was too much. I shouldn’t be here. I couldn’t.

  “Hey, where are you going?” the officer called as I ran toward my car.

  I didn’t see the people on either side of me, or the cars rolling past.

  I didn’t bother to answer the officer. Either the universe or my heart were talking to me. It didn’t matter which, because they both were saying the same thing.

  31

  Blake

  Two weeks later

  I stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac in DC. The crisp air filled my nostrils. It was the closest anything had felt like home in a long time. It was fall. This was what seasons meant. Change. Movement. Football.

  I didn’t get this in Florida. And for a quick second it reminded me of what I was missing on the island. Oyster roasts and hunting season. Bonfires in the backyard with my cousins drinking beer. Hauling wood inside the boat barn for the season to keep the stove going. All those things I did before I left for good. Before I traded my roots for a life in the AFA.

  I was being fucking nostalgic for no reason. I shook my head. What in the hell was I doing?

  Jones ran up behind me, slapping my back. “Ready to beat the Sharks?”

  “Hell yeah.” I nodded. No one thought we had a chance. The Sharks were having a killer season.

  Playing them at home wasn’t going to be easy. We were the warm-weather team invading their outdoor stadium like fish out of water. But I believed we could win. If the rest of the team got their heads out of their asses and played. We would win. We had every reason to believe it could happen.

  I climbed onto the bus the team chartered to take us to the hotel. We had a light practice tonight and I had press meetings afterward. I knew what the questions would be. They were always the same. I had standard answers about the season. A way to explain why we were underperforming with exceptional talent. Our public relations director sat down with me before every press conference. He had scheduled the same meeting tonight after practice.

  I sat back in the seat while the bus chugged forward with a puff of diesel. My legs were cramped in the small seat. I knew the one question that was coming tonight that I dreaded: where did I fit in that equation? Did I let the team down by not leading them to be something better? Was I responsible?

  I heard the guys laughing and talking behind me. They played music and showed each other their social media posts. To them it was a game. They reveled in their celebrity status. The money that rolled in because they were professional athletes. But what they hadn’t figured out was that it was going to be short-lived if they didn’t start winning games. Contracts didn’t mean shit when the numbers were low.

  I could let them learn the lesson the hard way, or I could tell them everything was on the line. We were nowhere near being in the lineup for the Super Bowl, but we had to eke out a winning season.

  I didn’t hear Coach until he cleared his throat. “You look like a man lost deep in thought.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s supposed to be my job.” He switched seats, landing into the open spot next to me.

  We hadn’t talked much this season. When the Thrashers first drafted me, Coach Benson took me under his wing. He included me in meetings. He asked me about the routes. We stayed late in the offices watching film together, ordering pizza and splitting a six-pack. And at some point, he handed over a majority of the offensive decisions to me. Most twenty-two-year-old men wouldn’t have been able to handle it, but he had faith in me. Faith I hadn’t known except from my own father.

  “Just thinking about the game tomorrow.”

  He nodded, chewing his gum with the side of his mouth. “Different season this year.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “Son, I’ve noticed something different about you.”

  “What’s that?” I stared straight ahead.

  “Usually you come back from your break a little different.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  He slapped his knee. “Hell, I’ll stop sugar coating it and just say it. We all see it. You’re angry, Blake. Mean as a damn snake.”

  “Warrior mentality.” I brushed off his comment. “This team is going to hell. They need someone to give them the reality shock to wake them up.”

  “That’s not it.” He shook his head. “I’ve known you going on five years now and you’ve never been a son of a bitch like this. Hard working sure. Tough as nails. But not a dick to your teammates.”

  My head cocked to the side. “Excuse me?”

  “What happened? Is it grief? The fans? What is getting under your skin?”

  “I’m good. What you see is determination to dig this team out of a losing season.”

  “We’re almost at the hotel. After we check in if you want to grab a drink and talk you know my room is always open. I’m here for you. I’m never too busy for what’s going on in your life. Whatever it is.” He eyed me.

  Maybe that was his problem. He was too worried about personal issues to look at the bigger scope of his team. It was falling apart.

  “Thanks, Coach. We’re going to win tomorrow. That’s what I’m focused on.”

  “Well, on the way to victory, maybe you could ease back a little on these guys. You’ve been riding them pretty hard the past couple of months. Just think about it.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He stood as the bus came to a stop in front of the hotel.

  I hung back while everyone filed off and searched the luggage stack for their bags.

  Finally, I joined them on the sidewalk and heaved my travel bag over my shoulder.

  “Want to get a jog in?” Jones asked me.

  “Nah. I think I’m going to review some Sharks film before practice.”

  “Come on. It feels awesome out here. We can run and not even break a sweat in this weather.”

  I shook him off. “Maybe later. I think I’m going to change a few of the plays. I’ve got to get that ready before practice.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. I’m running. Don’t let the Shark fans hear this, but I love DC.”

  “Yeah, I won’t say anything.”

  I headed to my room and locked the hotel door behind me.

  The anger was there. It had been there ever since the wedding. Only I couldn’t think about it. I wouldn’t let myself dwell on it. I couldn’t give into it. But Coach had seen it and sensed it. Apparently the whole damn team had. And it was like a dam getting ready to break.

  I wanted to unleash the resentment. I needed a place to bury the rage. So far that place had been on the field. I had run the team into the ground. I had barked and yelled. I had cursed in their faces and threatened them. I had come close to knocking a few to
the ground.

  And why? Because I let Sierra back in? Because for a few weeks out of the summer I stopped being the man I was and let myself be the man I used to be. An island guy with nothing but time on his hands. A guy who loved with his heart and soul. And it blew up in my face.

  The instant I let my guard down she did what she had always done. She destroyed me. She ripped through my soul. It wasn’t one thing. It was lash after lash of layers of lies. The baby. My father’s role in our breakup. The inevitable way things were going to end a second time.

  I stood at the window. I saw Jones take off on his run.

  Coach was right even if I couldn’t say it at the time. Things had to change. I couldn’t carry this anger around. It was killing me and wrecking the team.

  I wasn’t a man who lived with regrets. I had forgotten that.

  The leaves across the street drifted to the ground. They held deep colors of auburn and scarlet. It was time to let go. Move on. Push forward. The summer was in my past.

  32

  Sierra

  I sat on my couch, crunching ice chips and digging into a bag of chocolate chip cookies. The game was on. I had avoided watching the Thrashers until tonight. They were in DC to play the Sharks. All the commentators said there wasn’t much of a chance they would win. The season had been dismal for the Orlando team.

  I was afraid if I saw Blake on that field, I’d melt. Or cry. Maybe both. I didn’t scroll online for his name anymore. I didn’t watch Sports Now. I did everything in my power to avoid the topic of football for over a month. That wasn’t an easy feat living in Texas. I had actually been proud of myself.

  Until now.

  I had no idea his season had gone so wrong. There was a pit of guilt in my stomach for not finding out until now. He couldn’t be happy about that. He was a champion. He only lost a handful of games when we were in high school. And I remember how hard he took those. It was as if the light in his eyes went out when the scoreboard showed the final score. He didn’t like to lose. He never had.

  I held my breath when he jogged toward the line of scrimmage. My heart seized as soon as I saw him. He was tall. Domineering. Powerful in front of all those men. He held himself with a kind of confidence that was undeniably sexy.

  I leaned forward involuntarily as if that somehow put me at the game instead of half a country away from him.

  The whistle blew and then everything was a blur. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I didn’t hear what the announcers said. All my senses were focused on one thing—Blake.

  Somehow four hours passed like that. With my eyes glued to the screen and my heart desperate to cling to any glimpse of him I could. When he took his helmet off on the sideline, I sighed. Sighed loudly enough to shake me out of my stupor.

  What was I doing? Drooling after him like some kind of Thrashers groupie?

  When I saw him I didn’t feel like a groupie. He wasn’t some unattainable man on the cover of a magazine or in a movie. Blake was my reality. He was always going to be the first boy I’d ever loved. I looked down at the empty bag of cookies. I had stress eaten the entire bag. I would have moved on to a second if I had one.

  Blake was no longer that boy I crushed on from high school. I needed to realize he was now the man I loved. And that love had grown over the summer in a way I didn’t know was possible. He had moved into a new place of my heart. A place that had been filled with years of precious memories.

  Once again I was responsible for where we were. If I had only said yes to him, I’d be the one greeting him on the field. I’d be the one in his arms. I’d be the one sharing his bed tonight.

  I buried my face in my hands as the sobs wracked my body. What had I done? I’d never felt more alone in my life than I did at this moment.

  I was homesick for the island. I missed Aunt Lindy and the comforts of the house I grew up in. I missed the smell of salt hitting my nose in the mornings. I missed the cruises to the Dock House and the music Blake liked to play.

  It all felt so overwhelming. How did I leave that behind for a second time?

  One of the sideline reporters rushed toward Blake and shoved a microphone in his face. The camera caught the steam from his sweaty forehead and the frost in the air when he spoke.

  “Blake, congratulations on your win,” she shouted.

  “Thanks, Mindy. Pretty happy about the team right now.” He grinned. I felt my core seize. God, I missed that smile.

  “What did it take to bring your guys back from a first half deficit? You were down by two touchdowns coming back in the third quarter. What did you say to them in the locker room?”

  Blake rubbed the back of his neck. I sighed just at the sound of his voice. “I looked around and saw a lot of long faces. But I believe in this team and that’s what I told them. We just needed to believe in each other and get the hard work done on the field.”

  Mindy touched the side of Blake’s arm and I felt a ripple of jealous surface. “The Sharks brought their defense tonight. How are you feeling? You took a few big hits out there.”

  He nodded. “Nothing a little rest won’t work out. Thanks so much, Mindy.”

  He stepped around her before she could draw him back in for another question. I watched him disappear into another throng of reporters and my heart sank. I wanted another glimpse of him. I wanted to hear his voice again.

  I reached for my phone. I wanted to call him and tell him I saw his big win. I wanted him to know I watched every second of it and I was rooting for him. Did that matter to him? Would it count? Did he even care?

  I hesitated. I held the phone in my palm before I lowered it to the coffee table. I had ruined our chance. It didn’t matter that I would walk out of the station tomorrow and never look back if only he would ask me again.

  Again wasn’t ever going to happen. I curled on the couch and cried myself to sleep.

  33

  Blake

  I stared into the pint of beer on the bar. Jones slapped me on the back.

  “We fucking won, man. We actually won in DC.”

  I nodded, chugging in the process. “We did.”

  “You should have gone on that run with me. I think it did something. There’s something in the air here.”

  I laughed. Jones was drunk. He sounded poetic.

  “It was a hell of a game.” One of the lineman plopped down next to me.

  “Thanks for covering my ass.” I tipped my stein toward him.

  It looked like most of the team had poured in here after the game. The bar was across the street from the hotel. There were bound to be Sharks fans in the area. DC was crawling with them. The fans were loyal and diehard. They weren’t a new franchise like the Thrashers. I bet some had watched the game from this very barstool, but they had most likely gone home to lick their wounds by now.

  “Anytime.” He grinned a big goofy smile. “Feels like it was different team tonight.”

  “Yeah it was.” A lot had registered with me tonight. The way we had come together in the second half. The victory meant more than just a W to these guys. It felt like a turning point.

  I felt a soft hand glide over my shoulder and rest on my bicep.

  “Hi.”

  Fuck.

  I looked toward her. She had full lips and a set of tits no man could ignore. She was wearing a Thrashers jersey she had altered to show off her best assets.

  “Hey, there sweetheart.”

  Jones and the lineman chuckled to each other. “I think I see Haynes over there. Be back.” Jones hit the other guy on the back to take a hint. They moved from my left, opening up a couple of bar stools.

  She slid in next to me. Shit. Her skirt barely covered the tops of her thighs. I could smell her perfume as she leaned in closer.

  “Is it ok if I sit here?” she purred.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” I’d played this game a million times. It always ended the same way, with the girl under me, while I fucked the lights out for both of us.

  She dropped her
eyes, crossing her legs. I followed the path her leg made over top of the other one. My cock throbbed for a quick second. And I realized it had been way too long since I’d gotten laid. Since the night on the beach with Sierra. That was the last time I had held a woman in my hands. The last time I had felt the rush of sex. The thrill of skin against skin.

  And why was that? What was I waiting for? Why had I been holding out like some virgin rookie afraid fucking would ruin my season? Was that my excuse? No sex this season?

  I turned toward her. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  “Jessica.” She smiled.

  “Blake.” I winked.

  She blushed shamelessly. We both knew what was getting ready to happen. Women like her didn’t drop into the seat next to me for a romantic night on the town. I’d never be a wine and roses man. My reputation wasn’t decorated with romantic gestures and sweet overtures. Women knew what they were getting into. Jessica knew exactly what she wanted.

  “Congratulations on your big win,” she commented. “It was a great game.”

  “Thanks. We needed it.”

  And what I needed was to stop cock blocking myself. In the past month every time I got to this point I made an excuse for why I had to get home or back to my hotel room. Sometimes I led the girl outside just so the guys didn’t see me back out at the last minute. They didn’t know I hadn’t fucked anyone this season. It wasn’t any of their damn business.

  Did I think something was going to change? That somehow Sierra was going to be someone she wasn’t? That if I held off on other women for a little longer that it meant something? Because it fucking didn’t. It didn’t mean anything to her. And I wasn’t eighteen any longer. I had let her punch me in the heart back then—I was too old for that kind of game now. Jessica was my kind of game.

  The kind where the only thing that mattered was sex and football. No emotions. No feelings. No way to get hurt.

  I looked at the brunette. “Want to get out of here?”