by CoraLee June
My lungs felt like they were filling with sand. My eyes watered as I willed my voice to work. “Please don’t take him,” I choked out, but it sounded like more of a whisper.
“Oh my God, she looks like she’s going to puke again,” Legacy shouted.
Strong arms wrapped around me, and I was guided outside by a female officer. “Someone call the paramedics,” she said into her radio. No. I didn’t need paramedics. I needed to get to Oakley. “Sit down on the concrete and put your hands over her head.”
I helplessly did what she said as she spoke into her radio again. Outside, blue and red lights flashed across the pavement. My throat kept closing up. My vision was speckled with anxiety. “I think it’s a panic attack,” another officer said.
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again only to see Oakley thrashing against the cops holding him so he could get to me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as they forced him into the car. And when the door was slammed shut, locking him inside, my chest constricted.
“Fuck,” I croaked.
“Hey, girl,” the female officer said, sounding impatient. “Who do I need to call for you?”
I tilted my head back and let the events of the night swallow me whole. “Call Coach Howard.”
I was sitting on a bench outside the police station when Coach Howard emerged from his car. He refused to acknowledge me, though we had locked eyes. It was four in the morning. The remnants of my panic attack still rocked me to my core, and I couldn’t shake the impending sense of doom traveling up my spine. Everything was ruined. Everything.
I continued to sit outside, waiting for word. The police officers got my statement, and I made sure to tell them about Chuck grabbing me. They asked if I wanted to press charges for assault, and I told them yes. I was tired of letting people from my past run all over me. I wasn’t the same girl that left a crying mess. And I certainly wasn’t going to let him get away with tormenting me any longer. Besides, it would help Oakley’s case if a judge knew he was defending me. I didn’t even have to be a good publicist to know that.
Coach Howard stayed in the police station for five hours. Given that it was the weekend, I doubted a judge was able to release Oakley until Monday, but surprisingly, they both emerged from the station a little after nine.
I immediately stood up when I saw them, and Oakley ran to my outstretched arms. “I was so fucking worried about you,” he whispered against my neck before pulling away to look me over.
“Both of you get in my car right now. It’s a miracle the press isn’t swarming this place already,” Coach Howard grunted. I lowered my head and clutched Oakley’s hand as we made it to Coach’s rental sedan.
“What in the hell happened here tonight?” Coach seethed. He was so angry he was barely able to get the words out.
“That asshole grabbed her, and I just saw red—” Oakley started to defend himself.
“Not you. I’m talking to Amanda. I just spent the last five hours listening to your side,” Coach cut him off. Directing the conversation back to me, Coach said, “You were supposed to keep the players in the hotel. Nobody in, nobody out. So I will ask you again. What the hell happened?” Coach was on a warpath. He spat his words through gritted teeth, and his knuckles turned white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry, Coach.” I started to try to explain the night’s events. “I, um, stepped inside my room for a moment.”
I tiptoed around referring to Oakley and my room as “our room,” and I did not want to volunteer the details of what exactly was going on inside the room that distracted me from playing warden. Although, the entire team knew what was up, so I was sure it was only a matter of time before Coach found out that Oakley and I were well on our way to bumping bellies instead of babysitting.
“There was a knock on the door and someone was yelling.”
“Kyle, it was Kyle at the door,” Oakley interjected.
“Yes, Kyle was at the door to let us know that Dale had snuck out by taking the back stairs. I honestly don’t even know how long he was gone, because I stayed at my spot near the elevators for most of the night,” I explained.
“Except for when you stepped inside for a minute,” Coach growled.
I sighed and kept explaining. “Kyle told us where Dale went, and well, you know the rest.”
“Yeah, I know that my star player got into a damn fist fight the night before a huge game. Over his publicist. Who was supposed to be keeping the team from getting into any fucking trouble,” he yelled.
We rode in relative silence the rest of the way back to the hotel, the tension-filled quiet only broken by Coach occasionally cursing or mumbling about how his team was full of idiots.
We walked into the hotel lobby all together, and I tried to apologize to the coach one more time.
He turned to look at me and spat, “Pack up and go home. You’re fired.”
I knew this was coming, but it still hurt all the same. “She did nothing wrong. Dale snuck out the fire escape. You can’t hold her responsible for this.”
“I can and I will,” Coach Howard yelled. “She should have called me the exact moment she learned of Dale’s behavior. She absolutely shouldn’t have brought you along. You had scouts today that were going to see you play. And now, according to league rules, I have to bench you for the most important game of the year—fuck—the most important game of your life, Mr. Davis.”
Moisture collected in my eyes. He was right. I handled everything wrong, and now all the progress we’d made with Oakley was ruined. I slowly averted my eyes, staring at the concrete in slumped shame. “Go home. If I have to repeat myself, it won’t be pretty,” Coach said.
I ran inside the hotel room with Oakley hot on my heels, choking back sobs as I went. Coach Howard was screaming at Oakley to stay put, but he ignored him. I guess things couldn’t get much worse, so it didn’t matter.
I let my tears fall freely as I frantically shoved all of my clothes into my suitcase. Oakley grabbed my hand in an attempt to get me to stop, but I shrugged him off. I had to just get out of here. Like, now. I was mad at myself for not thinking to call Coach, I was mad at Oakley for getting into that fight, and I was mad at Dale for sneaking out in the first place. Fucking Dale.
But, mostly, I was embarrassed. Oakley had seen the most shameful moment of my life, and I was forced to relive it with the people who made my life hell. I was embarrassed that I managed to fuck everything up for about the millionth time, and I brought Oakley down with me. I just couldn’t take it.
I headed for the door, and Oakley followed, this time reaching up for my shoulders and gently spinning me toward him.
“I’ll come home with you,” he said gently, not a trace of judgement in his eyes.
“No. Absolutely not. You need to stay here and support your team,” I replied firmly, wiggling out of his grasp.
“Amanda, if this is about the video, I don’t care.”
“But I do. It was embarrassing. I can’t escape it,” I cried out. “And now it’s affecting you. I can’t believe you saw that.” I shook my head.
“You know what I saw?” Oakley asked, and I didn’t want to hear the answer. He stepped closer, locking me in with his body and hard stare. “I saw my beautiful girlfriend struggling. I saw people taking advantage of you. I saw people shaming a body and a person that’s very precious to me. I would stand by your side and defend you every time if given the chance.”
More tears streamed down my cheeks. “Oakley, can’t you see? Somehow in this dynamic, I’ve become the problem. I’ve got to go. What you did was very sweet, but I might have already ruined both of our futures. I just need space.” I opened the door, took one last look at Oakley, and walked out. I just needed to be alone.
27
The condo my parents rented out for the weekend was in the heart of Southern California. When I called them this morning to say that I was fired and being sent home, Mom insisted that I just meet them there.
I showed up with red eyes and wrinkled clothes, clutching the handle of my suitcase. “Oh baby, it’s okay,” Mom said, flinging open the door and rushing to hug me. “Come in. I made pancakes.”
I could barely eat. My stomach was in knots, and it was embarrassing to tell my parents what had happened. I told them about Dale escaping, and my reunion with Chuck and Legacy. I expected disappointment or frustration from them. This was the second time I’d fucked up, but surprisingly, their reaction was the opposite. “Oakley defended you?” Dad asked.
“He punched Chuck. The dude was out cold when paramedics arrived.”
“Good,” Mom sneered. “What hospital is he at? I’m going to skin him alive. Did he hurt you when he grabbed you?”
“I already filed a police report,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“I knew I liked Oakley,” Dad grumbled. “Is he okay? Does he need anything?”
“He needs to stay far away from me,” I said in a low voice while stabbing my plate. My phone started buzzing, and texts from Oakley started coming in rapid fire succession. His ears must have been burning.
Oakley: Did you get a flight?
Oakley: What flight are you on?
Oakley: Call me when you get home.
Oakley: I just want to make sure you are safe.
Not that I was planning on answering, but if I was, he was barely giving me a chance to read his texts, let alone send a response. I looked at my phone for a minute and then did something that I never did. I turned it off. I didn’t put it on silent or do not disturb, I turned it completely off.
“I’m exhausted. I didn’t get any sleep last night,” I announced to my parents as I stood up from the table. “I think I’m going to try to take a nap before the game.”
“Ok, honeybunch,” my mom said. “I love you, and we’ll talk more when you’re up for it.” I loved that my mom got me. She just knew that I was going to want to talk about this later, but I wasn’t able to right now.
I made my way to the spare bedroom and crawled under the covers, not even bothering to take off my clothes. I snuggled way down, pulled the comforter over my head and cried. I cried for my pride. I cried for the girl of my past. My future. Oakley’s future. I choked on sobs as exhaustion took over. I was so wrapped up in my own sadness that I didn’t hear the bedroom door open. It wasn’t until the mattress dipped beside me and Mom snuggled under the covers that I realized I wasn’t alone.
“Baby, talk to me,” she said, wiping at my face. “You can’t keep beating yourself up for one mistake. At some point, you’ve got to forgive yourself.”
“I just am so embarrassed.”
“Have I ever told you my most embarrassing story?” Mom asked, nuzzling deeper into the mattress.
“The time your dress fell completely off in a public park?” I asked dryly.
“No.”
“The time your phone started going off during a parent teacher meeting and your ringtone was ‘My Neck, My Back’ by Khia?” I offered again.
“No. But that one is up there,” Mom replied with a laugh.
“The time you bought a stripper pole for your bedroom to spice things up with Dad, and you broke your arm and knocked yourself out while practicing alone, and the paramedics found you in your neon stripper gear?” I rushed out on a single breath. This was a more recent story.
“No—can you please stop guessing so I can spit some wisdom?”
I cracked a smile. “Sure.”
Mom let out a sigh before responding. “When I was in high school, I got dared to flash the hot soccer coach. He was Brazilian, baby. Brazilian men are just a different league of sexy,” she said dreamily.
I blanched. “Did you do it?”
“Yes. But I didn’t realize we had an audience. Half the soccer team saw me, and I got expelled. It completely derailed my graduation plans. I ended up taking an extra semester. It was so incredibly stupid, and not only did I get in trouble, he was fired. It was a different time. People thought he was encouraging the attention of his students. I ruined his career.”
Wow. That was awful. I couldn’t imagine doing that. “What did you do?” I asked.
“I did what I had to. I moved on. I felt guilty. But at the end of the day, we all make mistakes. And I have it on good authority that he’s now a successful coach for the International Soccer League. Sometimes, things have a way of working out. We can’t give our mistakes all our energy forever. I’ll always regret what happened, but I’m not the same stupid seventeen-year-old I was. And you aren’t the same girl anymore, either.”
Knowing that my mom had done something shockingly similar actually did make me feel better. My mom was one badass human being, and if I turned out to be anything like her, I would be proud. “Thanks for sharing that, Mom. I love you.”
“Learn from your mistakes and have grace for yourself. You will be unstoppable,” she finished.
After a hug and a kiss on the forehead, my mom asked, “Do you feel up to watching the game? Your dad has prepared a feast.”
I actually did feel like watching the game, so I followed my mom to the living room. In light of recent activities—i.e., their daughter showing up in tears—my parents decided to watch the game on TV instead of going. I loved the hell out of them.
My dad had made enough potato skins and Frito pie to feed the entire football team. We grazed lightly on cheese and crackers in the shape of footballs and tiny meatballs as we watched the pregame show. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I wasn’t too concerned with the calories, but I still picked around the most carb-laden snacks.
The host started talking stats and highlighting some of the players. Oakley’s photo flashed on the screen, and the host greedily started spilling why he wouldn’t be there, like a sorority sister with juicy gossip.
“Oakley Davis, star running back for the University of Texas, was arrested last night by Los Angeles police—” I groaned, and my mom quickly flipped to another channel.
Once the game started, my mom was in her element. She was cheering and yelling at the ref like she had her life savings bet on UT, which was totally for my benefit, because she was a hard-core California girl.
My guys lost, and I felt a pang of disappointment at the score. More guilt laced through me when I realized they probably would have played better if Oakley were there. I also noticed that Dale was benched for the game. I’m glad he at least was punished too.
“There’s always next time. Oakley won’t be benched forever,” Dad said, turning off the game and patting me on the shoulder.
“Yeah. Next time.” I chewed on my nails. Guilt was eating me up. No longer feeling social, I kissed my parents on the cheek, then made my way to my guest room. Giving in to the exhaustion, I finally fell asleep.
“Baby, wake up,” my mother said while shoving me. “Baby. You gotta see this.” My room was pitch black aside from the faint glow of my mother’s cell phone illuminating her tired face.
“What?” I replied, my voice deep with sleep.
“I was just casually checking Oakley’s Instagram…” she began.
I checked the clock. “At two in the morning?”
“Don’t judge me. That boy is fine. And I had purely innocent motivations. Honey, he’s at a bar and is getting tagged in sloppy posts. I know you care about him—”
I grabbed the phone and stared at the screen, groaning when I saw Oakley slumped over a bartop and swaying on his seat. Two girls wearing jerseys were posing with him, pressing against his body like he wasn’t drunk as hell and out of his mind.
“Shit,” I croaked before shuffling out of bed and grabbing my phone. I quickly turned it on and immediately got a slew of messages and missed phone calls.
Oakley: We lost the game.
Oakley: Where are you?
Oakley: R you breaking up with me?
Oakley: solvr what are u doing
Oakley: call me backkmmm
“Oh shit. I have to go get him,” I said, looking at my mom.
“Yes.” I probably would need her help to get his drunk ass in the car.
We pulled up to the bar within ten minutes of my mom getting me up. I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my flannel pajama pants and tank top. My hair was piled into a messy bun on top of my head, and I had thrown on flip-flops as I left the rental. I looked a hot mess.
I asked my mom to wait in the car and headed in solo. It didn’t take long to find Oakley; he wasn’t exactly trying to hide. He was sitting at a table, surrounded by women, making a complete ass out of himself. He was definitely drunk. I didn’t see any of the other players. After everything that happened, Coach must have threatened them with their lives if they stepped out tonight.
The girls at Oakley’s table were leaning in as close to him as they could get from across the table, their low cut tops putting everything on display. They were laughing like Oakley was saying the funniest thing they had ever heard. There were a couple of women standing behind him, and one was even perched in his lap. I was too tired and emotionally drained for it to even register that I should be upset about that.
I headed directly for Oakley, prepared to drag him out by his ears if I had to. As I got a little closer, I realized that there was something familiar about the girl with perfect shiny brown hair sitting on his lap. Fucking Legacy.
She ran her hand through his hair, and I saw red. I couldn’t even hear the over-the-top comment she flirtatiously tossed his way over the roaring in my ears.
“Problem,” I said loudly while pushing through the crowd. Some looked at my pajamas and messy hair with disgust. Legacy looked me over and smiled coolly, moving her hand from Oakley’s hair to his chest.
Oakley turned to face me, his expression twisting from confusion, shock, and then finally excitement. “Solbeeeeer,” he replied.