Down By Contact: A Making the Score Football Romance

by Tawdra Kandle

  The first night, I’d downed most of that bottle of Jack as I’d poured everything out to Zelda, confessing the relationship I’d kept under wraps. She’d suspected that I’d been seeing someone but hadn’t known it was Tate, whom she only knew vaguely through Leo and Quinn. She’d listened to me spill my guts about how amazing Tate was, how wonderful he’d been to me, and then she’d fastened me with that classic Zelda stare.

  “If he’s as fan-fucking-tastic as you say, why the hell aren’t you still with him? Why did you end everything between the two of you tonight?”

  I’d sniffled, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my shirt like the loser I was. “I don’t deserve him. I’m not good for anyone, Zelda, and definitely not for Tate. I fooled myself for a little while, thinking I could just enjoy it and enjoy him, but I got in too deep. And so did Tate.”

  “I call total bullshit on that.” She’d tossed back a shot, only her second since I’d gotten there. I was up on her by at least five, which was probably why the room was starting to look all tilty and spinny.

  “’s not bullshit.” I’d pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. “It’s the truth. I’m poison. I’m toxic. I ruin anything I touch.”

  “You’re heartbroken and drunk. That’s what you are.” She’d spoken with exasperated tenderness. “Take a few days to get your head on straight, and then talk to him. You’re throwing away a good thing, G. Don’t be crazy, okay?”

  What she didn’t realize at the time was that crazy was my own particular watchword just now. I’d hidden away in her guest bedroom all the next day, ignoring the non-stop buzzing of my phone. I’d let it die by early afternoon, just so that I didn’t have to feel my heart turn over every time the screen lit up with another call or text.

  The next day was Monday, and I got out of bed and left Zelda’s apartment only because even down in the depth of my despair, I knew that missing work or school would take me down an even scarier path than the one I was on. I sleep-walked through the mundane tasks at the studio and the lecture at my evening class, even as I wondered if Tate would be waiting for me outside the door. I was fully prepared to cut and run, but it wasn’t necessary; he wasn’t there.

  The days took on a depressing sort of monotony. I moved from Zelda’s to the studio to school during the week, and then I stayed in bed all weekend long, breaking up stretches of sleep with junk food or liquor—sometimes both. And then I got up on Monday morning and started it all over again. It was like an eerie bizarro-world throwback to my life before Tate, only now it wasn’t taking place in my own run-down apartment; the setting had moved to Zelda’s gorgeous home. At least I was making some progress, I reasoned.

  I thanked Zelda constantly for letting me stay. When I’d been with her for two and a half weeks, she met me at the front door as I came in after class.

  “Okay, gorgeous, listen. I’ve been thinking about this, and we need to talk.”

  My heart had plunged into my chest. Apparently, I’d worn out my welcome. I swallowed over the lump in my throat and nodded.

  “Okay. If you can just let me get through this week, I’ll pack up and move out on Saturday morning. Thank you so much for letting me stay—”

  “Whoa, there. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” She leaned one hand on the back of the sofa. “I was just thinking that we’re coming up to the middle of the month. Why don’t you give your landlord notice that you’re moving out? It’s crazy for you to pay rent there if you’re staying here.” She patted my arm. “And you’re welcome here as long as you want to stay, sweetie. But let’s cut your ties with that dump. This is part of your new start.”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t have any particularly strong attachment to the apartment that had housed my meager existence for over a year, but I did have some fond memories of the last months I’d lived there. It was where Tate had become my friend, and then more than that. It was where he’d cooked for me, laughed with me and . . . and loved me.

  If that was over, then it made even more sense to do what Zelda suggested. The problem was, I’d still been holding onto the notion that maybe I could undo what I’d done. Maybe, now that a few weeks had passed, I could talk to Tate and explain that I’d been spooked by his talk of houses and love and forever, but that if he wanted to go back to how we’d been before that awful day, I’d be willing to give it a shot.

  The truth, however, was that I already knew what his answer would be. Tate, for all of his wonderful qualities, was an all or nothing type of guy. Now that he’d stated his case and admitted his feelings, he wouldn’t go back—and he was so honest and straightforward that he wouldn’t even pretend to do it for my sake. If I wasn’t ready to make a commitment, I shouldn’t even bother him again. I’d only serve to hold him back from finding the life he was really meant to lead.

  And it would have been cruel to talk to him now, when his daily texts and calls had finally begun to drop away. He hadn’t stopped calling or sending me messages, but now they’d taken on a tone of resignation that I hoped—and secretly feared—were a precursor to him finally moving on.

  So I’d agreed with Zelda, and that Saturday, instead of moving out of her apartment, I officially moved in. She went with me to my old place as I boxed up the last few things that were worth taking, gave it a decent cleaning and locked the door behind me for the final time, stopping downstairs to drop off the keys. The landlord had actually been cooperative, as he’d found someone who’d wanted to move in right away. I’d even gotten my entire security deposit back.

  I’d insisted that Zelda let me pay a portion of her rent and utilities, but it was still a huge savings for me. In gratitude, I tried to do everything I could to keep the apartment tidy and to stay out of Zelda’s way when she had company. That wasn’t so difficult; although she’d admitted that she and Tuck were actually getting pretty serious, she visited him more often than he came to her place, since transportation was an issue for him and his wheelchair.

  I’d lived there with Zelda for just about a month when my phone beeped one Saturday afternoon. I ignored nearly all of my calls and messages lately, since they were either Tate or my mother, but this one was different: Leo’s name popped up in the incoming message announcement.

  I looked at it warily; I wouldn’t have put it past Tate to persuade Leo to try to talk sense into me. On the other hand, he hadn’t done it yet, and while Leo had been keeping me up-to-date on the activities of the Matt Lampert Foundation via texts and email, he hadn’t mentioned Tate to me at all.

  Hey, Gia. I’m in California to surprise Quinn, only I got here and realized I have no clue how to find her. I don’t have her address. I know I should’ve thought of this before I got on a plane and flew across the country, but . . . hey, points for trying, huh? Do you happen to have her address?

  I smiled before I could help myself. I might be a hopeless lost cause when it came to romance, but it gave me an undeniable happy that my friends were finally making it work. I answered him right away.

  I actually don’t, but I know who does. Hold on.

  I stood up to go find Zelda, and then paused to add, And awwwwww!! Q is going to be SO happy to see you! What a great idea!

  Zelda, however, didn’t share my enthusiasm. “What do you mean, he’s in California? Did Quinn ask him to come? This is supposed to be her time for figuring shit out and healing.” She whipped out her own phone. “Read me off his number. I’ll send him her address.”

  “Don’t give him a hard time, Zelda. Seriously. I think this is the real thing for these two this time.”

  She arched one eyebrow at me. “We’ll see. The number, please.”

  I recited Leo’s number and then watched Zelda’s fingers fly over her tiny keyboard. When she’d obviously finished the exchange, she clicked off her phone and set it down on the table. “He says he has good intentions. I hope he’s telling the truth. I reminded him of the consequences if he hurts her again.”

  “Well,” I began. “Technically, h
e hasn’t done anything to hurt her since high school, since it was Quinn who broke up with him last time.”

  Zelda held up one hand to stop me. “Details. Don’t bother me with them.”

  “Ooookay.” I shook my head. “You know, it’s too bad Tate doesn’t have a friend like you on his side. Someone who might’ve warned him away from me before it was too late.”

  To my surprise, Zelda nodded. “You’re right on that. If I’d known Tate, I would’ve told him to run, not walk, in the opposite direction before getting mixed up with you.”

  My mouth sagged open. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Zelda shrugged. “Hey, you said it, gorgeous. I’m just agreeing. If Tate is half the guy you tell me he is, he deserves someone who will love him the way he loves her. Someone who will see him for the rare prize he is and want to build a life with him.”

  “And that’s not me? That couldn’t ever be me?” I crossed my arms over my chest. She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t told myself a million times, but still . . .

  “Gia, you’re clinging to your need to hurt the same way a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood. As long as you do that, you can’t be good for anyone. And there’s no sense in starting something that doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of survival.”

  Deep pain skewered me. It was one thing to think these truths myself, but yet another to hear them coming out of the mouth of one of my best friends. “Fuck you, Zelda. You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

  “Hey, G, you can get mad and you can curse at me, but I’m probably the one person who does get it. I’ve been there, honey.” She fiddled with a strand of her hair, and it struck me that she was anxious about what she was about to say. Zelda had virtually no nervous tics. She drew in a deep breath.

  “I’ve been in love with Eli since our freshman year in college.” She paused, letting that sink in. “Yup. That long. And most of that time, I’ve spent pulling him closer just to push him away. I’ve hurt that boy seven ways to Sunday, and all because of something that happened a long time ago.” She waved her hand. “This isn’t about me, and I’m not going to bore you with the epic saga1. But suffice it to say that I do know some of what you’re going through. I know what it’s like when the only things you can believe in and trust are the pain and the anger.”

  I worked my jaw, feeling tension rise. “I’m not angry.”

  Zelda laughed and raised her eyebrows at me. “Aren’t you? If you’re not, then you should be. You should still be fucking furious at Matt for the way he treated you and then for offing himself so he didn’t have to deal with the consequences of hurting you over and over—and so that you never got a chance to heal. He took himself out of the equation by committing suicide. Because how the hell are you going to be mad at a dead man? That’s not fair, is it?”

  Tears that I’d been unable to cry for a solid month filled my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. “You’re saying I should be pissed at Matt for killing himself? That’s awful. He had a mental illness. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Oh, wasn’t it?” Zelda stood up, walking closer to me. “How many times did Leo try to get Matt to seek help? How many times did you? How many chances did you give him? That summer when he lived with us at Birch—that was his big opportunity to make a change, remember?” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, some change. He fucked around the campus, he was high or wasted or both almost all the time, and he put you through hell.” She hesitated, and I could sense she was trying to decide whether or not to go on. When she spoke again, her voice was softer.

  “I never wanted to tell you this, Gia, because . . . holy shit, I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe at first because I thought you wouldn’t believe me, which was stupid, because you’ve never been anything but a loyal friend. And then later—well, there wasn’t any reason to say anything. But if you’re looking back at Matt now and seeing him through the suicide-colored glasses, you should know the whole truth. That summer he lived with us, Matt . . . he attacked me. He tried to rape me.”

  All of the blood in my body drained to my feet, and I reached for a chair to steady myself. “What . . . oh, my God, Zelda. Why didn’t you . . . I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “He was drunk, and he was buzzed on something else, too. He was wired. You were out—the two of you had had a big fight—and I was in the apartment alone. Matt felt that my reputation meant I’d be more than happy to spread my legs for him, too.” She blinked slowly, staring at the floor. “I’m strong and I’m tough, G, and I protect myself. Even in those days, I didn’t go into a hook-up without an escape plan and a bottle of pepper spray. But this time, I was in my own bedroom, and I was utterly unprepared. He was crazy strong, and if Eli hadn’t come along . . . I don’t know what would’ve happened. But he did. All Matt was able to do was push me onto the bed and spout off a lot of shit. I was okay in the end—just freaked out.”

  I was dizzy. “Zelda, God. If I’d known, I’d have . . .” My voice trailed off. What would I have done? Kicked Matt out? Called the police? Or tried to smooth it over and convince myself that Zelda was overreacting? I wasn’t sure. I hoped it would have changed things.

  “Hey.” Zelda rubbed my back. “I’m not telling you this so that you’ll feel guilty. I want you to see Matt for who he was, and to realize that it’s okay to be mad at him for what he did before he killed himself. You’re right that you can’t blame him for the suicide. I wonder sometimes if Matt didn’t face his own monsters that night and find out that they all wore his face. He was weak, G. You don’t have to hate him for that, but you don’t have to live the rest of your life in penance, either.”

  I nodded, my lips numb. “But what if that’s the only way I know how to live anymore?”

  She smiled and drew me close for a tight hug. “I think I know someone who can help you with that, if you’re really serious about getting better.”

  It was scary. I felt as though I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and while the thought that there might be a bridge to the other side gave me a flicker of hope, it was still safer to stay where I was, gazing down into the terrifying canyon below.

  But on the other side of the bridge was hope and light . . . and maybe the future. I thought of Tate, and my heart contracted painfully. If there was anyone who I’d cross that bridge for, it was him. I was afraid to believe we could still have a chance, but there was only one way to find out.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I think I’m ready.”

  That had been two months ago, and after many sessions with Darla, the therapist whom Zelda had recommended to me, I knew I was making progress. We’d talked about my childhood, and my mother had even agreed to come down for a joint session, during which, miracle of miracles, she listened more than she spoke. Afterward, she’d been quiet and thoughtful, and although I was hesitant to believe the change could be genuine, I had to admit that she’d been trying more. So was I.

  On the other hand, my dad had resisted any kind of session and refused to believe that there was anything wrong with me, let alone that he might have had any culpability.

  “Dad, I’m not blaming you. We’re just looking for a way to move forward, so that we can be healthier together.” I’d heard the almost-pleading note in my own voice and hated it.

  Still, he’d remained stubborn. Darla had reminded me that this was his choice; I’d opened a door, but it was his decision whether or not to walk through it or to close it.

  I’d talked to Darla a lot about Tate. I’d described our time together in detail that frequently left me crying, but she assured me that these were healthy, healing tears.

  And while it was true that Darla had agreed I might not be ready to face Tate in person yet, she hadn’t said it as definitively as I’d made Zelda think. Rather, when I’d protested that it was too soon, Darla had only nodded and reminded me that it was my choice and my timeline.

  Being so close to his house today had been weird. I’d been inundated with memori
es of the afternoons we’d spent with Pops. I wondered if the older man hated me now for breaking his grandson’s heart. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. Some days, I still kind of hated myself for that.

  But lately, the days of hope were outnumbering the days of despair, and despite myself, I was daring to believe in the possibility of tomorrow.

  Chapter 17

  Tate

  “Hey, Durham. Great game today.”

  I turned to glance over my shoulder as Clive Hanson, a middle linebacker, slugged me on the back. He was sweaty and filthy, too, just like we all were after our hard-fought victory over Dallas.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “Not a bad way to start a season, huh?” He elbowed his way closer to the lockers and began to strip off his pads. “Or maybe even better, what a way to say welcome to the City of Brotherly Love.”

  I forced a grin. “No complaints here. I had more play time today than I did in a month of Sundays in New York.”

  “And you made the most of it, too.” He sat down on the bench to untie his shoes. “So, a bunch of us are going out to celebrate after. You in?”

  I hesitated. “Who’s going?”

  Hanson counted off names on his fingers. “Ahhh, Skeeter, Douglass, DeLain . . . you know. The single guys. Gonna hit a couple bars, hang out.”

  I swallowed back a sigh. There had been time this year when I’d looked forward to not being numbered among the unattached team members. Stupid, naïve me had pictured telling my teammates that I couldn’t go out to party, because my girlfriend and I had plans. In my mind, those plans had been very private ones and a hell of a lot more fun than hitting the bars.