Down By Contact: A Making the Score Football Romance

by Tawdra Kandle

  Chapter 14

  Gia, Now

  “Babe, your mom is calling. Again.”

  Tate was stretched out on my bed, reading, while I worked on the final draft of a paper for my ethics of journalism class. I’d left my phone on the table next to my bed, and its vibrating had caught Tate’s attention.

  “Ignore it.” I scrolled down on my computer screen, checking for a reference I wasn’t certain I’d cited correctly. “You can turn off the vibration so it doesn’t bother you.”

  “Why don’t you just answer it? Or call her back?” He marked the page in his book and set it down on the mattress. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  “From one point of view, maybe. From mine, no.” I found the citation, added the page number I’d needed and hit save. “If I call her back, I’ll have to explain why I haven’t done it before now, and then I’d have to listen to her gripe about how I’d probably call my dad if it were him trying to get in touch with me. And then she’ll repeat the story about running into a mutual friend of theirs who described my father’s girlfriend’s outrageous behavior and how can I even think about condoning what they’re doing. Which is ridiculous, because aside from both Dad and Isobel being insanely materialistic and elitist, they haven’t done anything wrong. And when I don’t take that bait, she’ll have to tell me in excruciating detail about what’s happening in the lives of my sisters. Finally, when I don’t make enough of a fuss over them, she’ll ask me what’s going on in my life that’s so important I can’t return a phone call.” I stopped for a breath. “By which time I’ll be ready to claw out my own eyes.”

  Tate stood up, stretching. “Isn’t that going to happen no matter when you call? You should just get it out of the way. Bite the bullet and get it done.” He set my cell phone on the table next to my computer. Picking it up, I slid it into my back pocket so neither of us had to see if my mother decided to call again.

  “You’d think, but no, that’s not how it works. If I ignore her long enough, she’ll have one of my sisters call. Probably Lu, since she’s the one who’s usually given the job. I’ll tell Lu that Mom is making me crazy and that if she doesn’t back off, I’m going to join the Peace Corps and stop shaving my legs and arm pits. Then I call Mom a few days later, and she’s surprisingly well-behaved.” I spread my hands. “And that’s how it’s done.” I pushed my chair back from the table and rose to my feet. “How about we have some of that hummus that’s left over from last night?”

  “That sounds good.” Tate came over to me and circled his arms around my waist. “How’s the paper coming? If you want to take a break in a little while, I thought we could go for a walk. It’s a beautiful day.”

  I glanced out the window. “Paper is done. All I need to do is submit it to the anti-plagiarism site and print it out. I think I could manage a walk. Want to go over to Fairmount Park?”

  He drew circles just below my breasts with his thumbs, the teasing touch making me shiver. “We could. Or we could go check out this neighborhood I was just reading about. Do you know where Point Breeze is?”

  I frowned. “I’m not sure. Isn’t it off Washington? Not far from the Italian Market?” Though I hadn’t been raised in Philadelphia, like most others who grew up in South Jersey, I considered it my city, the same way people in North Jersey thought of New York as theirs. I knew it nearly as well as if I’d been born here.

  “Yeah, that’s it. It’s bordered by Passyunk on the other side.” Tate bent his head to kiss the side of my neck.

  “Why do you want to go over there?” I struggled to keep my mind on what Tate was saying and not what his lips were making me feel. For a guy who’d been a virgin up until a month ago, he sure learned fast. He loved to find new ways to give me pleasure, and like just about everything else he set his mind to, he excelled at it. Although I’d noticed he was careful not to let the physical side of our relationship dominate us—we still went out fairly often, and we still had long and deep conversations on all manner of topics—there was no denying that the spark between us flamed bright and hot.

  As a matter of fact, some days I had trouble remembering what my life had been like before Tate Durham had come into it. That made me panic more than a little; realizing how much power over me I’d given this man was terrifying when I stopped to think about it. There wasn’t any denying that we were in a serious, committed relationship, and I’d heard him refer to me as his girlfriend. I knew it gave him a thrill to say that, so I never objected, even though I felt a little like a fraud. I already knew what a failure I was in that role, and the idea of letting Tate down made me sick.

  He was answering my question, and I forced myself to pay attention.

  “. . . been reading about the best neighborhoods to invest in now, and I thought it would make sense to find something convenient to both the sports complex and to the television studio. I know it’s a little far out from the University, but you won’t be there much longer. I found a couple of townhouses that look promising. One of them is new construction, three stories and kind of narrow, but cool and modern, with that sort of Ikea look to it. The other one that caught my eye is actually two units next door to each other. They’re both older, but I was thinking if we tore down the wall between them and made it one big townhouse, it would give us a lot of options. And then we could make it exactly what we want.”

  My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. He was talking about a house. Us, getting a house. Building a house. And then it only made sense that he’d expect me to live there with him. Without thinking about what I was doing, I pushed away from him and walked into the kitchen to open the fridge, hoping he didn’t notice the way my hands shook as I pulled out the hummus and vegetables.

  “Gia.” Tate sighed. “I’m not pressuring you or rushing us into anything. I just thought it wouldn’t hurt anything to look around. I’ve never lived any place but with Pops, except for when I was in the dorms in college. The dude who handles my finances thinks it would be a good idea to make some kind of real estate investment, and it would be smart to do it sooner rather than later. If I’m going to buy property, I don’t just want something I’ll rent out. I want something that I can fix up and eventually live in—preferably with you. But I’m not hiring a moving van and telling you to give your landlord notice. I’m just saying, let’s check it out. Let’s explore options.”

  “That’s how you get me every time, isn’t it?” I heard the sharp edge to my voice, the one I didn’t mean to be there, and I hated it. “You tell me that we’re not rushing into anything. We’re just thinking about things. Exploring our options.” I lowered my voice, mocking his words. “Then the next thing I know, I’m hip-deep in moving boxes and trying to figure out what color I want to paint the kitchen. And I don’t even care what color a kitchen is.”

  “Whoa.” Tate held up his hands and approached me, caging me against the edge of the counter. “Time out, babe. Where’s this coming from?”

  “I don’t know.” I crossed my arms, but even so, I couldn’t resist leaning into his chest. Something about the sheer strength of Tate got me every time. He was irresistible. “I know you don’t mean it this way, but it feels like too much. Not so long ago, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep living, and if I did, I didn’t plan to do it with anyone else, ever. Now we’re together, and I love that, but I can’t wrap my mind around us buying a house as a couple. I’m not that grown-up yet.” I rubbed my arms.

  Tate brushed his fingers through my hair, studying me. “Is this about your mom calling? You always get all stressed whenever she calls or texts.”

  I lifted one shoulder. “Well, it sure doesn’t help. She wants me to be tied up neatly with a sensible job and a husband and two point five children and a sheepdog, because it’s what worked for my sisters, and she looks at me as a total loss because I’m not even remotely on my way there.”

  “I can’t pretend to even understand those dynamics,” Tate admitted. “I guess I always figured that moms ha
ve their kids’ best interests at heart, even when they come across as annoying or interfering. And since I haven’t met your mother—or your father or your sisters—it’s hard for me to get that things can really be that bad. It’s all way beyond my life experience.”

  I bit my lip, trying to keep from being annoyed that without mentioning a word about his own lack of parental involvement, he’d still somehow made me feel small and immature for not giving my own mother and father the benefit of the doubt. The exasperating part was that I knew he wasn’t playing the sympathy card, not deliberately, anyway. I’d never heard Tate or his grandfather ever act as though life had dealt them a bad hand, even though there were others who would’ve milked the hell out of the excuse of the premature death of a wife or the abandonment of two parents.

  “Don’t you ever wonder about your mom? About either of your parents?” I studied his profile, watching for any sign of hurt, any flicker of distress. “I mean, Tate, they left you when you were a baby. Why doesn’t that bother you? How is it that you’re so healthy about all of it?”

  His shoulder rolled, the muscles rippling under his white shirt. “I don’t know. I never really spent that much time dwelling on it. My Pops and me . . . that’s all I ever knew. He was all I needed. I never felt like I was missing anything. Or anyone.” He paused a minute, his forehead creasing. “Why is that so weird? Maybe I knew from an early age that it was better to be grateful for the person who did love me than to wish for something that might have been . . . bad.” He flipped his hand over and spread his fingers. “Look at you. For anyone who saw you from the outside, it seemed like you had the perfect family, right? Mom, dad, sisters . . . nice house, nice town, plenty of money . . . but it was all an illusion, wasn’t it? Having parents in your life didn’t guarantee you a happily-ever-after.”

  That stung. I pulled back away from him, my spine pressed against the sharp edge of the counter. “Hey, I’m not claiming my family is perfect. I never have. You’ve heard me talk about them, and I’m under no delusions. My parents are fucked up—but with them, it’s about each other. They’ve got serious issues, but they were always there for us. They never just walked away. Not even when I wished they would.” That wasn’t entirely true, strictly speaking; my mom was present for my sisters, yes, and she’d hung in for me, her youngest, through high school, but there was no doubt she’d become preoccupied with her anger for my dad in my teen years and all through college. Still, Tate didn’t have any right to throw my parents’ lacking in my face. Not when his hadn’t even had the guts to stick around.

  “I’m not running down your parents.” His calm and rational tone made me even pissier. “I’m just saying that in the grand scope of things, I could’ve had a worse life. Yeah, my mom and dad had me before they could handle a kid. Yeah, they were two screwed up people who were more attached to crack and heroin than they were to each other or to me. But my mom stayed clean while she was pregnant with me. And once she had me, she gave me to Pops. She didn’t leave me in a dumpster or on a street or even just abandon me in the hospital. So I’ve always thought I did okay, all things considered.”

  I pushed past him to stand a little bit away, my hands on my hips. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying . . . Jesus Christ, Tate. You have the right to be mad about it. You could have gone wild in high school or fucked around in college or been one of the bad boys of the NFL—you have the perfect excuse. But you didn’t. You’re one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, and everyone loves you. You’re just so—so—” I stomped my foot. “So fucking healthy. So fucking well-adjusted.”

  “I’m . . . sorry?” Tate frowned, confusion etched on his face. “What do you want from me, Gia? You want me to act out? You want me to run around, sleeping with all the girls who wait outside the locker room every week after the games? You want me to get wasted and act like an idiot, so people can take videos with their phones and post them on social media? Will that make you feel better about yourself, if I act like a moron? If I act like . . . like Matt?”

  His last words lashed at me with the sharp accuracy of a whip. I flinched, wrapping my arms around my waist. If Tate noticed, it sure as hell didn’t slow him down.

  “Is that what you want, Gia? If I treat you like garbage, screw around, go days without calling or texting . . . maybe smack you around a little here and there, will you like me better then? You want a bad boy, sweetheart? Well, sorry. I’m fucking sorry that I’m not messed up, that I don’t use my childhood as an excuse to do whatever the hell I want. If that’s what it’s going to take to keep you, then I don’t see how we’re ever going to stay together.”

  My hands were shaking and sweaty. Tate had never spoken to me like this; he’d never so much as raised his voice, and he almost never swore in front of me. That he’d just said fuck made me realize that I’d pushed him beyond the boundaries of his patience and understanding, and maybe, on some level, I’d done it on purpose. But I hadn’t expected him to hit me at my point of greatest vulnerability.

  My throat closed, and my lungs wouldn’t work, as though I’d gotten the breath knocked out of me. I tried to gasp, and I couldn’t. Spinning, I stumbled toward the door and wrenched it open.

  “Gia!” I heard Tate behind me, calling, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t turn around. I had to get away. Clinging to my last bit of control, I ran down the steps and out onto the sidewalk, half-sprinting as I dodged people, desperate to get away, to run anywhere I could hide in peace. I didn’t think about where I was going or how to get there. I just walked, my head down, my eyes glued to the cement in front of me.

  My phone was tucked into the back pocket of my jeans, and I felt it buzzing against my ass, but I ignored it. I knew it was Tate, probably already regretting what he’d said. Tate, who didn’t have a genuinely mean bone in his body, would be trying to call me even as he followed me out here and was probably scanning the crowded sidewalks for me. He’d be kicking himself seven ways to Sunday about that outburst.

  I knew all this, just as I knew that I wasn’t mad at him. I wasn’t even hurt by what he’d said, now that my head was clearing a little, because I knew this man well enough to be sure that he’d cut off his right hand before he’d willfully cause me pain. What he might not understand—or maybe he did, since he seemed to be scarily intuitive when it came to me—was that I wasn’t running from him right now. I was fleeing my own vulnerability. I was trying to escape the realization that as hard as I’d tried to keep up my walls, somehow there’d been a subtle and gradual shift over the past months . . . and without being wholly aware of it, I’d given Tate the ability to hurt me. I’d opened enough to let him in, even if it was just barely.

  And that knowledge scared the ever-loving fuck out of me.

  I didn’t stop walking. I cut through buildings and questionable alleys, all the while ignoring the persistent vibrating of my phone. I couldn’t face Tate yet. I knew he wouldn’t leave the city before he was sure I was safe, so I briefly considered texting him that I was fine but wanted him gone before I’d agree to go back to apartment.

  That seemed cowardly, though, and even if I was a wimp, I owed Tate more than that kind of blow-off. But I wasn’t ready to see him yet. Not until I could formulate some kind of plan.

  My mind was a terrifying jumble of memory, of taunting voices and images I couldn’t shake. I could hear Matt, telling me that I was the type of girl who needed to be handled rough. And then I heard him pleading with me, begging me not to leave him, telling me that he could be better and we could still make it. I saw myself at the fraternity house, lying on the bed while the camera panned around the room of men whose faces I’d never remember but whose hands I could still feel on me.

  And then I saw Tate, his eyes filled with love and trust for me, privileges I hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve. Would never deserve. I was too far gone, too far beyond repair, and now I was dragging Tate down with me. I’d been stupid enough to let myself think I could handle this. I’d be
en insane to let down my guard and open the door to a relationship—a real relationship.

  I’d been a fool to believe I could walk the line of pretending to be whole and happy and yet still keep myself safe from the threat of pain. If I didn’t end this now, Tate and his crazy belief in me would lure me into thinking I was stronger than I was, and when I let him down, which I inevitably would, it would be even worse than if I just broke off everything now. It would be better for him to be a little hurt now than to be utterly blindsided later. He might hate me, but ultimately, this would be better for him. I believed this with my whole heart.

  When the sun began to go down, I finally pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen was filled with notifications of missed calls and text messages, but I ignored them all and found my RideIt app, pulling it up and requesting a ride from my current location.

  Fifteen minutes later, a tiny red car slid to a halt in front of me, and a woman with bright blue hair cut asymmetrically peered at me through the partially-rolled down window.

  “Hey, you called RideIt? I’m Jazz.” She recited the order number I’d been given, and pointed to the back seat. “Hop in.”

  I climbed into the car, and Jazz pulled away the minute the door was shut. She glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

  “You okay, honey? You look a little . . . shell-shocked. Do I need to call anyone for you?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. I just—I had a big fight with my boyfriend, and I stormed out about four hours ago. I’ve been walking around since, trying to come to some decisions. And now I’m going back to tell him we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

  “Ohhhhh.” Her sympathy threatened to undo me. “Well, wish I had words of wisdom for you, but the truth is, love sucks and relationships are a fucking pain in the ass, no matter how you slice it. So how about I turn on some Pink, and we just forget about all that while I drive you back?”