Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  “Later, hot stuff.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I said, when Angel was out of earshot.

  Nicky snickered, settling into the flattened pillows on the couch, his tokes slow and lazy. “What? I’m jacking off to your girl when you leave. It’s only fair you should know.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “And I don’t wanna be cured,” he cried. “See you at the gym, brother. I’ll beat it out of my system then I’ll burn it out.”

  I snatched up his baggy of weed, my fist close to crushing it. Nicky’s eyes bulged.

  “I’m kidding, you crazy son of a bitch.”

  “I know you are.” I flicked the baggy at his head, his demented laughter trailing me out the house.

  I let Angel into my SUV rental and drove her to her dad’s. She sat in silence most of the way, only speaking to say how sick she felt. We pulled up on Beacon Hill and she took off her seatbelt, shifting to her side and relaxing against the headrest. “So much for curing me the night before,” she said with an accusing, raised eyebrow. “It didn’t work, in case you’re wondering.”

  “No problem.” I shrugged. “I wasn’t.” She smiled, thin and effortless. She had no energy to laugh. I glanced out the window at her dad’s huge brownstone, towering as proud as all others on the historical, cobblestone street. “Want me to come in there with you?”

  She looked at the house a few seconds and then shook her head, her face giving up even more dejection. “No. Go see Taj and I’ll come by later.”

  Something about that bothered me, but I said nothing while I wasn’t sure what it was. “Okay, I’ll be at home. I’m meeting Nicky at the gym at five.”

  “I’ll come by before you go. I don’t think I’ll be awake past six. I thought getting wasted would help, you know? Make this whole death thing easier to understand. But all I feel is like crap. And Nellie’s still dead.”

  “Alcohol never helps.”

  “I already knew that.”

  And we both know how.

  “My flight’s at ten o’clock. I’m leaving for the airport around nine. If you can’t swing by later, just call. I’ll come here. I don’t know when I’ll see you next, and I don’t want to go months again if I can help it.” My tone had cooled, and Angel’s brows furrowed, her expression suddenly unsure.

  “But you’re making the funeral, aren’t you?”

  “Find out when it is. I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise you anything without a date. You know how tight my schedule is. I’m lucky to be here now.”

  Tight wasn’t the word, and neither was lucky. I’d made it here by the skin of my teeth and Marlon Good, the Dolphins’ head coach, wasn’t impressed with me asking to leave when there was training and a walkthrough the next day. Monday’s were easy-going, especially if we’d won Sunday’s game—which we hadn’t—but we picked it up on Wednesday with a twelve-hour day consisting of practice, working out, meetings and video analysis.

  It was as if the whole car had iced over, and Angel’s mouth pursed before she grumbled out the words, “Okay,” and then let herself out of the car, the door closing too heavily not to have a hidden meaning.

  “Angel!” I called out the window, but she ignored me, hurrying into the house and out of the cold. It was another freezing day, in more ways than one, but it was a break from the stifling Southern Florida heat.

  I drove home, pissed. Mom was at work and Taj was at school, then he’d be going to his speech therapy session, so I wouldn’t see him until later. I didn’t realize until now how much I’d missed my little brother. It had been over two months since I’d last seen him. It was too long, but the situation was out of my hands during the regular season. I wouldn’t be handed another pass like this one. Requesting extra days off was a liberty, and too early in my career to be taking them.

  Just like before, even though I sent Mom money every few weeks, the fridge was verging on empty, and the cupboards were filled with shit. Kraft macaroni cheese, crackers, chips, pancake mix. I swept boxes and cans into a plastic sack and put it in the trunk of the SUV to drop off at the foodbank on the way to the store. Someone out there would eat this garbage—purely because they had no other choice—and I couldn’t face just dumping it in the trash. It’d still been paid for with hard-earned money.

  I didn’t know if it was because she no longer had to feed me the right diet or because she was too busy, but Mom wasn’t looking after anyone anymore. Seeing that she could feed Taj and herself that processed crap tightened a knot of guilt in my stomach. But it wasn’t as easy as moving them to Miami and living in happily-luxury-ever-after. Taj had therapy to attend five times a week, and audio-visual therapy. He had speech-language pathologists to see, and counselors. He couldn’t just uproot and start a new routine somewhere else when he was barely settled as it was, five minutes into his new life, learning to get to grips with hearing and understanding basic sounds for the first time. And I had a job to do. When I wasn’t practicing or training between games, I was spending hours in team meetings, or being dragged into advertising and media campaigns, with only one day off at a time.

  But they were still in this shitty house, and I had to do something about it. I’d speak to Mom tonight about moving to a more suitable place in a decent area. She wouldn’t let me pay for everything; she’d handle her own bills. But I’d clear the down payments and real estate fees.

  I didn’t waste time in the grocery store. I hated shopping, especially for food, and I got what I needed quickly, paying and getting the hell out in under fifteen minutes. I was loading the bags when a voice said, “Julian?”

  Stuffing the last bag into the SUV, I turned around, not particularly thrilled with who was standing behind me.

  Kit looked the same as ever. Her hair was still blonde, but cut shorter, resting on her shoulders. Her figure still held its slim and curving silhouette, her eyes were still alarmingly blue, and I still couldn’t stand the sight of her.

  “Kit,” I said, closing the trunk and walking around to the driver’s side. There was no risk of me staying to chat.

  “Can we talk?” She followed me, her cold fingers connecting with the skin on my arm. “Please?”

  “I’ve got nothing to say. And there’s nothing I want to hear you say.” I didn’t need to be here, doing this. She wasn’t important, and I didn’t have the time to waste.

  “It wasn’t all me,” she said, and I stilled, my hand on the door handle. “It was you, too. I was a bitch, but you started it. You made the bet, Julian. We were both the bad guys.”

  I faced Kit. “You deliberately hurt her.”

  Her defenses tightened, her whole posture stiffening. “What, and you didn’t?”

  I was more than aware I was the one who hurt Angel worst of all, but that mistake had been resolved. We’d moved on. “I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

  “Then come for a drink with me. There’s this really crappy dive bar not too far from here.” I was ready to say no when she stepped forward, her eyes pleading with me. “Please, Julian. I just want to explain myself, and hopefully you’ll leave without hating me any longer.”

  Doubtful. Truth was, I didn’t think about her to hate her.

  “One drink.” I locked the SUV. “Can we walk there?” last thing I wanted was to end up with no place to park. That situation could turn into a nightmare real quick.

  “Yeah.” Kit’s expression lifted, a smile simmering below the surface. “We can walk.”

  We sat at the bar. It wasn’t packed, but the dimly-lit, oppressive space was busy enough that I failed to slip in unnoticed. After agreeing to pictures and refusing drink offers left, right, and center, I ordered a bottle of mineral water and a white wine for Kit. She took a huge mouthful, then sat silently, her finger swirling through the condensation on the cold glass.

  “I want you to know that I’m proud of you, and I never got a chance to say it, but I knew you would make it to the NFL. I always did. There wasn’t ever a day I didn’t bel
ieve in you.” Thanks refused to leave my lips, but I nodded that I got it. I remembered those days. “And the worst thing I ever did was rat you out to Angel. And not because I didn’t want her to know the truth, because I did. I wanted her to hurt as deeply as I was hurting. But I hurt you, and that was never my plan.”

  “Plan,” I repeated quietly. Sounded vindictive as fuck, and it made her only just as bad as I had been. “How fucked up were we?”

  “I won’t lie, I hate that you love her. It kills me, even now.” Kit’s voice cracked and I turned my head, my forearms on the scarred mahogany bar top. If she started crying now, I was out of here. “But more than that, I hate that we don’t speak. I miss you in my life. Three years, Julian. That’s a hell of a lot of time to rip away from someone.”

  “You didn’t leave me much choice.”

  “And you didn’t leave me much choice. Can we just be honest here?” I allowed my silence to answer. “You knew I was in love with you, but you didn’t give a shit. And everyone just expected me to be fine with you seeing someone else? I couldn’t do it.” She sighed, twirling the delicate stem of her glass. “I did a terrible thing, and I’m sorry. I should have handled the situation better.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not. I never led you on. I was always clear on where we stood. Or, I thought I was.” It was my turn to sigh. “Maybe I could have been clearer or ended things sooner.” I uncapped my water and took a drink. “If we’re working things out, I want to leave all that shit in the past. I don’t ever want to talk about it again.”

  “Of course.”

  “So, we’re good?”

  “Yes,” Kit said with a burst of excitement that bled into unsurety. She was pleased with the straightforward truce, but she was incapable of hiding that she still wanted more—that she was also disappointed this hadn’t ended some other way, girlfriend or no girlfriend. She was going to make this do-over really difficult, and next time she fucked up, I was cutting her off cold-turkey. No regrets, no guilt. No looking back.

  “I mean it, Kit. Not another word about it.”

  Her mouth flattened into a line of obedience and she brought her glass to her lips. She finished her drink and I bought her another. I had time to kill before anyone would be home, and Angel was busy. Kit and I talked about anything but the past. An hour later, my phone pinged with a message.

  Angel: You weren’t home. I’m taking Taj to his speech therapy and then maybe somewhere after, if he feels like it. I could use the distraction. Call me when you get back from the gym.

  There it was again. That annoying discomfort. The message was pretty straight forward, but it rubbed me the wrong way. I didn’t send a reply because I had no idea what to say.

  “You want another one?” I asked Kit. She was relaxed, enjoying herself, and I’d already missed Taj, so I no longer had anything to rush home for.

  “I’m hungry, aren’t you?”

  “I’m meeting Nicky at the gym. I’ll eat after.” I prized a grubby menu from a metal stand and passed it to Kit, my fingers sticking to the greasy plastic. “Get whatever you want.”

  She ordered her food and we talked for the rest of the afternoon, swapping numbers before we both went our separate ways. It wasn’t that I was glad to have the old Kit back, so we could chill the way we used to, before we ever started fucking. I was agitated with Angel and I was killing time with the easiest available way. But damn right would I be calling Angel tonight. I didn’t care who the fuck had died, she wasn’t pulling away from me that fast, or that easy. I was going to make it straight up impossible.

  “N ellie would not want to be buried,” I insisted, following my dad around the kitchen island like an ignored puppy. “You know she wouldn’t.”

  “No. I don’t know that.”

  My dad had been forced into taking a week’s bereavement, and he wasn’t handling it well. If it didn’t make him look like an absolute A-hole, he would have settled for a day’s absence, and only because he would at least be required to take the day. As things were, I had little expectations of him lasting the whole week. There was a college game on Wednesday and practice later today. How he would survive missing both of those painted a very unlikely scenario. He wouldn’t do it. It was a matter of time before he caved and slinked back to work. He just had to get a few technicalities out of the way first. Like his mother’s burial.

  “Why would she want to lie rotting in the ground?” I argued. “If she wasn’t already dead, the idea would outright kill her. Do I really know her better than you did?”

  Grandpa Killian walked through the French doors, inserting himself into our argument. “She’s right, Michael. Your mother wouldn’t want to be restricted like that. If she hadn’t been losing her memory, she would have hated that she was in that goddamn nursing home. Would have strung both of us up by our balls if she knew we were even thinking it.”

  “Oh, I doubt it,” I said to my dad with a sarcastic grin. “You don’t have any. Do you?”

  “Fine. Cremation it is,” my dad snapped. He picked up his green Lions jacket and stormed into the living room. “I don’t know why we’re even discussing this. I’m clearly not needed. If you decide you want my opinion, I’ll be at work. I’ve got freshmen to prepare for the rest of their shitty, little, disappointing lives.”

  “Didn’t take long!” I shouted to his back. “First excuse to get out of here and you’re all over it.”

  “Leave him,” said Grandpa. “He’s dealing with this, even if you can’t see it. Just let him be, there’s nothing else you can do.”

  “How’d you raise someone so selfish?” I asked, truly interested in finding out the answer. “You were good, Grandma was good. What went wrong?”

  “It’s a shame he allows others to view him in that light, and it’s even more of a shame that’s how his own daughter sees him. We all process losing people we love differently. Your dad, he needs to do it on the field. His mother died, Angel.” He was using his reasonable voice to put me in my place.

  “Tell him that,” I huffed. “Has he cried yet?”

  “Come on.” Grandpa smiled, and I caved, folding into his chest, his wool sweater soft against my cheek. I wrapped my arms around his middle and closed my eyes. “He isn’t all bad, all the time. I thought you were the understanding one in the family?”

  “I have limits.”

  “Don’t be mad at him. Not now. Believe it or not, he needs you.”

  “Pfft.”

  “I’m serious. Now, I have arrangements to make with the animal shelter, the homeless shelter…”

  I pulled back, unwrapping my arms. “Why?”

  “Nellie thought wasting so much money on expensive bouquets was a job for the brainless, always has. Especially when the person they were intended for wouldn’t see the benefit. She’d requested donations to her favorite charities in her living will.”

  “Do you mind if I come with you?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of going without you.”

  “That was kinda hard,” I confessed as we left the homeless shelter.

  “Yes, it was,” said Grandpa. “And now, hopefully, those workers and volunteers can go about their duties a little easier.”

  “Uh huh,” I mused, but I wasn’t totally convinced. Seeing how some people lived, with the bare bones of absolutely nothing, had me both enlightened and distraught.

  Grandpa chucked me under the chin. “Don’t look like that. This wasn’t a one-off donation because there was a death in the family. My company donates regularly, to many different charities. I practice giving back just as much as I earn.”

  “I know you do. Good thing you’re rich, huh?”

  The irony in that was darkly comical.

  Grandpa Killian had an appointment with the funeral director, and I went home to pick up my car and drive to Julian’s. The fog from my hangover had cleared, but I was in dire need of some sleep. I was on autopilot, doing what I could to get through the day.

  Julian’s black hire SUV
was missing when I pulled up outside his mom’s house, but I knocked anyway, with the hope that someone was home.

  The door opened, and Olivia pulled me into a hug when she saw it was me. “I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother.”

  I hugged her back. “Thank you.”

  “Let me know when the funeral is. Taj and I want to be there for you.”

  “Where is Taj?”

  “Upstairs. He’s got a few minutes before we need to get going, if you want to say hi.”

  “I could always take him,” I offered. “You must have some stuff you want to do.”

  Olivia had no social life to speak of. She continued to work two jobs, chauffeured Taj to his many, many appointments, and had a house to look after.

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that.” She moved into the kitchen, where a basket of laundry sat on the small dining table. “But thanks for offering.”

  “I want to do it. Maybe he wants to do something after.”

  Olivia glanced at me as she shoveled handfuls of dirty clothing into the laundry machine. “You aren’t seeing Julian tonight?”

  “I thought so. He must be held up… wherever he is.”

  “Have you tried calling him?”

  “No, it’s no big deal. We didn’t have plans or anything specific.”

  Footsteps pounded the staircase and I turned as Taj jumped the last two steps, slinging his jacket over his shoulders. His blonde shaggy hair had been replaced with a slick undercut, combed neatly back from his face. He’d grown too; well on his way to reaching his brother’s impressive height.

  “Hi,” I said, waving. Taj was supposed to be lip-reading at every opportunity, and even though he could hear now, the sounds and noises were muffled. It was going to take years of hard work to reach the point where he could understand whole conversations. Today, I didn’t get an ‘hello’ back.

  Disappointed he wasn’t more pleased to see me, I signed, You okay?

  His face morphed into a lopsided smile and he signed back, What are you doing here?