Rush

by Samantha Towle

  Because I’m allowing myself to mistake friendly things he does as something more, which it isn’t. Like, when he passes me something and his fingers brush over mine, my wanting mind tells me that he did it on purpose. Or, when I think I’m feeling him watching me, but when I look at him, he’s not.

  My stupid heart is whispering foolishness to my brain, and I need to put a stop to it.

  Ares sees me as a friend only. And that’s enough.

  It’s more than enough.

  It’s way more than I ever thought I would have.

  After the crash, I thought my life was over.

  But look at me. I have a job. It might not be the one I want, and I still might not be painting, but it’s a start.

  I haven’t had a drink in seven months.

  I have two new, great friends in my life. I might have the hots for one of them—Ares—but that’s just a crush, and it will pass soon.

  Life is good.

  I’m still smiling when I reach my dad’s office door. I knock once and then walk in.

  He’s on the phone when I enter, so I just go over and take the seat across from him, putting my bag on the floor by my feet.

  He lifts a finger, telling me he’ll be a minute, and I nod.

  I take a moment to watch him while he’s on the phone.

  My dad is a handsome man.

  He’ll turn fifty next year, but he looks like he is in his early forties. His hair is full and dark with only a hint of gray at the sides. He’s this tall, gigantic beast of a man. Still in great shape for his age.

  He still gets women checking him out. The hostess at the restaurant he took me to the other night was openly flirting with him. Not that he even noticed. I actually felt a little bad for her.

  God, I remember the arguments it caused between him and my mom when she was still alive. I always felt bad for him because it wasn’t like he ever did anything to incite those women looking at him and flirting with him, and he never noticed back then either.

  But then he never noticed my mom. Maybe that was the problem.

  He’s more interested in football. Always has been, and he always will be.

  He played professional football before I was born, but a knee injury took him out early in his career.

  When I was a little kid, he would pick me up with one hand and sit me up on his shoulder, and I remember how safe I used to feel up there because I knew he would never let me fall.

  I thought nothing and no one could ever hurt me while I had a dad who was as big and strong as he was.

  How wrong I was.

  “Yep, sounds good, Bill,” he says, finishing off his call. “Next week. Yep…yep. See you then.” He hangs up the phone and looks at me. “How are you doing?”

  “Good. You wanted me?”

  “Yeah.” He leans back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, and steeples his fingers together. “Ares has been driving you to and from work.” It’s not a question; he knows it’s a fact. “Is there anything I need to know?”

  I frown. “Such as?”

  “Are you dating him?”

  “No.”

  “Sleeping with him?”

  “Jesus Christ, Dad.” I shake my head, annoyed. “Not that it’s any of your business who I date or sleep with—”

  “You’re my daughter, so it is my business. And especially if it’s one of my players that you’re seeing.”

  Right. So, this is actually about his precious player, not his daughter.

  Why am I not surprised?

  “Well, you can rest easy, Dad. I’m not doing anything with Ares Kincaid, except riding in his truck—and not riding in the biblical sense. He knew I lived in the city and that I was taking the bus in, so he offered to give me a lift.”

  “So, you’re just friends?” He seems surprised that would even be an option.

  Gee, thanks, Dad.

  I don’t want him knowing that Ares and I hang out. If he has a problem with me riding in his truck, then he’ll definitely have a problem if he knows Ares spends time at my apartment.

  “I wouldn’t say friends…but I have hung out with his sister a few times.” I say this to put his nose on a different scent.

  “Missy. Yeah, I’ve met her.” He nods. “She seems like a nice girl.”

  Unlike me.

  “She is.”

  He pauses a moment, tapping his fingers together. I stare at him, waiting for him to say whatever he thinks he needs to.

  “Look, Ari…I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be riding around in Ares’s truck.”

  “I didn’t know I needed your permission.”

  His lips tighten. That’s his tell when he’s frustrated. “He’s my quarterback. You’re my daughter. People talk.”

  “News flash: people always talk. It’s the beauty of the gift of speech.”

  “Don’t be smart, Ari. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re in a vulnerable place right now, and you don’t need people talking about you.”

  “More than they already have, you mean? I’m pretty sure everyone in New York knows the worst of what I’ve done. But that’s not it, is it? No, this is about Ares. You don’t want people talking about him, especially not in the same sentence as me, right? It’s bad press if people think the quarterback is lowering his standards to the coach’s messed up daughter. Well, don’t worry, Dad; Ares is most definitely not doing anything with me that will bring disrepute to his name.” Tears are stinging the backs of my eyes, so I stand. “And I’ll go back to taking the bus home from now on. Don’t want to tarnish the shiny reputation of your star player.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.”

  “Bullshit. That’s exactly what you’re saying. Trust me, Dad; I know where your loyalty lies, and it sure as hell isn’t with me.”

  Hands on his desk, he pushes to his feet. His face is tight with anger. “My loyalty isn’t with you? Right, so it wasn’t me who pulled you out of the mess you’d gotten yourself into. Got you in rehab. Got you cleaned up. Gave you this job. News flash: all me, Ari, whether you like it or not.”

  “Yeah, you saved my ass! Well done, you. But where the hell were you when I needed you after Mom died? Before she even died, when things were bad at home?” I slam my hand to my chest. My face is hot. I shouldn’t be saying these things, but I can’t seem to stop. “On the football field! That’s where you were. Where you always are! So, let’s not pretend like you didn’t do it out of anything but obligation and to get a handle on the bad press it could bring to you. Not because you actually give a shit.”

  His eyes darken. “I give a shit, Ari.”

  “Like you did with Mom.”

  He looks like I just slapped him.

  It was a low blow, and I know it, but I’m angry and hurt, and I don’t care right now.

  I grab my bag from the floor and walk out of his office, slamming the door behind me.

  My eyes are stinging as I descend the stairs.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  I don’t stop when I reach the bottom step. I walk straight through the lobby and past the reception desk where Marissa, the receptionist, is talking on the phone. I hide my face behind my curtain of hair, and I walk out of the building.

  Fortunately, Patrick isn’t at the security gate, so I don’t have to stop and talk to him about why I’m leaving early.

  And I keep walking as it starts to rain, and the irony isn’t lost on me right now. And I guess it won’t matter if I cry. No one will be able to tell the difference. So, I let the tears fall.

  I intend to stop at the bus stop, but when I reach it, I keep walking.

  And I keep on walking right into town.

  And straight into the first bar I see.

  “How’s it going?” Luke takes the stool next to me, resting his arms on the bar top.

  “I’ve been better,” I answer quietly.

  My arms are on the bar, chin resting on them, my eyes fixed on the glass of wine s
itting on the bar in front of me.

  I called Luke five minutes after I ordered the wine. He told me to sit tight, and he’d be there soon. He wasn’t kidding. That was twenty minutes ago, and he lives in the city. He must’ve broken all the speed laws to get here.

  “I haven’t drunk any,” I tell him, my eyes still fixed on the wine glass, seeing the distorted reflection of my face in it.

  My real face.

  “I know,” he says gently.

  “I want to though.”

  “I know that, too.”

  I let out a sad-sounding sigh.

  “Do you want me to get rid of it?” he asks.

  “Not…yet.” My eyes slide to his. “I’m not going to drink it, but…” I trail off. I’m not ready to let go yet.

  “I know,” he says in understanding. “If you were going to drink that wine, you would have done it by now, and you definitely wouldn’t have called me. Trust me; I know.”

  Luke is eight years sober—drugs and drink. He’s in his early thirties. A self-made millionaire. He owns a tech company. Nearly lost it all on drugs, alcohol, and women. It took an overdose that nearly killed him to wake him up.

  “I’m sorry to have dragged you here.”

  “Don’t be. You know the rules. Never be sorry for asking for help. I’m your sponsor. This is what I’m here to do—help you when you need it. And, Ari, you’re seven months clean, and this is my first call to a bar from you. I’d say, you’re doing great.”

  I snort out a dry laugh. “Only you would say I’m doing great when I’m sitting in a bar with a glass of wine in front of me.”

  “I see the positive in everything. I’m a ray of sunshine. What can I say?”

  I laugh again; there’s still no humor in it.

  “So”—he props his chin on his hand—“you want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay. So, what do you want to do?”

  “Drink.” I throw him a wry grin.

  “You’re a comedian.”

  “I do try.”

  “Just don’t give up your day job.”

  The bartender appears, asking Luke, “What can I get you?”

  “Diet Coke, for me, and one for her, too. And, if you could get rid of the wine, it’d be appreciated.”

  “Killjoy,” I mutter as the wine is moved from my line of sight by the bartender.

  “I know. I’m sensible and boring.”

  We don’t speak for a while. Our Diet Cokes are placed in front of us. Luke pays for them.

  He’s waiting me out. Waiting for me to talk.

  He doesn’t have to wait long. I fold like a cheap suit.

  I let out a sigh. “I had a fight with my dad. A big one.”

  “Okay. What about?”

  I sigh again and tilt my chin in his direction, eyes looking at him. “Ares…the guy I told you about.”

  “Your dad’s quarterback.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “You know he’s been driving me to and from work after what happened with Kyle.”

  “And I agree with Ares that you should consider getting a restraining order against Kyle and also that you should tell your dad.”

  I sigh, shaking my head. “Well, my dad doesn’t like me spending time with Ares.”

  “Why? The guy’s a friend, right? And a positive influence, by the sound of it.”

  “My dad doesn’t want me spending time with him…for Ares’s sake, not mine.”

  “Oh.”

  “He thinks it’ll be detrimental to Ares’s reputation—you know, the coach’s screwed up daughter hanging with the star quarterback. He doesn’t want the negative press. Not with the season about to start.”

  “He said that?”

  “In not so many words…but yeah. Then, I got angry and said some shitty things to him about my mom.”

  “Were they true?”

  I meet his steady green gaze. “Yes.”

  “Then, don’t feel bad for saying them. You know that I think you should tell your dad how you feel about him not being there when you were younger, when you needed him. I’m not saying, if he’d been there, you wouldn’t have started drinking—no one can say that—but he let you down when you needed him most, Ari.”

  “According to him, he was there when it mattered most—after the crash, when I hit rock bottom.”

  “Putting a loved one in rehab and bailing their ass out isn’t being there. It’s doing something proactive and right to help them. But being there is about giving them your time and listening when they need it. Your dad doesn’t do that. In the past, with your mom, he ignored the problem because he didn’t know how to handle it, and he left you to deal with it. He couldn’t leave you to deal with this, and there was no one else to do it, so he’s had to step up, but he’s not doing enough. He should be doing more.”

  My eyes are stinging with tears. I can’t speak because, if I do, they’ll spill over. I take a sip of Diet Coke and try to steady my emotions.

  “Shall we get out of here?” Luke says.

  I nod, and he slides off his stool. I pick up my bag and clamber down from mine.

  My legs tremble as I follow him outside to his car, a sporty bright blue BMW.

  He unlocks it, using the key fob, and I get in on the passenger side. He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

  “Where am I taking you?” he asks me.

  “We could hit up a club.” I give him a sad-looking grin, letting out an empty laugh. “Home,” I say quietly.

  I don’t really want to go home to my empty apartment. But I don’t have anywhere else to go.

  I put my seat belt on, and Luke pulls the car out onto the street.

  We’re only a few minutes out of town, heading for the city, when I remember that I’m supposed to be going to the cinema with Ares tonight.

  God, I can’t go out with him, not while I’m feeling like this.

  And I don’t want him to know how close I was to drinking today.

  He’d be disappointed in me, and I couldn’t bear that. It’d probably tip me over the edge.

  I get out my phone from my bag and tap out a text to him.

  Hey, I’m gonna have to bail on tonight. Sorry. Left work early, as I’m not feeling well. Rain check?

  While I wait for him to text back, I run a hand through my hair, and it gets stuck in the tangles. On my phone, I switch the camera to selfie mode to look at my hair.

  I almost scream when I see myself.

  Mascara and eye makeup are smudged under both my eyes. I look like a panda. And my hair is a damp, knotted mess.

  I look like I used to the morning after a heavy drinking session.

  “Jesus Christ!” I whine. “I look a mess!”

  “Yep.” Luke nods, chuckling.

  “Thanks a lot! You could’ve told me that I looked like this when you came into the bar,” I complain, trying to rub the mess away from under my eyes.

  “Sorry.” He shrugs. “But I didn’t want to push you over the edge by telling you that you looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. I figured you’d have downed that wine in one go if I’d told you. I know I would’ve if I’d been in public, looking like you do right now.”

  “Ass,” I grumble.

  He chuckles. “And that’s the reason you asked me to be your sponsor.”

  “Because you’re an ass.”

  “Because I’m truthful.”

  I look at him and smile for the first time since the argument with my dad. “True that.”

  Luke pulls the car to a stop outside my building. I stare up at it, knowing what is waiting up there for me.

  An empty apartment.

  “Thanks for the lift and the save,” I tell him as I take my seat belt off.

  “Anytime. Do you want me to come up and keep you company for a while?” he asks.

  “Yes.” My response is so quick and eager; it’s laughable. And he does chuckle. “God, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” I groan. “I’m a
grown woman, afraid to be alone in case I succumb to the urge and run to the nearest bar and drink myself into a coma.”

  “You’re not pathetic, Ari. You’re human. And a brave one for admitting that you’re afraid.”

  “Thanks.” I give him a sad smile.

  “I’ve been there, remember? Hell, I’m still there. I know what it feels like. And, also, I can’t let you go to another bar, looking like that.” He gestures to my face, grinning.

  “Jerk.” I chuckle.

  “Come on,” he says, taking off his seat belt and turning off the engine. “You can make me a coffee.”

  Luke follows me up the steps to my building and to my apartment. I unlock my front door, letting us in.

  I kick off my shoes and go to the kitchen to turn the kettle on.

  “You mind if I just take a quick shower and clean up?” I gesture to the mess that is me.

  “Course not. Go ahead. Actually, are you hungry? I skipped lunch, and I’m starving.”

  “I could eat. What are you thinking?”

  “Chinese.”

  “Sounds good to me. There’s Chinese takeout just on the corner of my block.”

  “Perfect. You go take your shower, and I’ll go grab us some food. Anything specific?”

  “Chow mein.”

  “Egg rolls?”

  “One for me.”

  “Got it.” He heads for the door.

  “You want some money?” I ask him.

  He gives me a look that tells me it’s a definite no.

  “Okay. Well, take my keys with you in case I’m still in the shower when you get back.” I throw them over to him, and he catches them.

  “Back soon.”

  I turn down the hall to the bathroom as I hear the front door bang shut. I close the bathroom door and turn on the shower to let it heat up.

  I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror.

  God, what a mess I am.

  And I don’t just mean the state of my face.

  I turn away from the mirror and strip off my clothes. I climb in the shower and put my head under the spray.

  The feel of the hot water is just what I need to help clear my mind of my problems.

  The only bad thing is, they’ll all still be there after this shower is done.