by Allison Parr
Abraham couldn’t seem to decide if I was mirage or reality. I could see the questions in his eyes—had something bad happened to me? Did I need his help? “Tamar. What are you doing here?”
I spread my hands. “Open locker room.”
His concern morphed to remembrance. His gaze dropped to my press pass. “Right.”
We hesitated together for a moment, caught in limbo between our childhood and our present, and then Ryan Carter stepped forward. His grip was strong when he shook my hand, and his blue eyes were like fragments of sky. “I’m Ryan. You a friend of Abe’s?”
I glanced uncertainly at Abe, not sure if he wanted me to claim a friendship, but he was already nodding. “We grew up together.”
Carter glanced at Abe. “Didn’t know you had any childhood friends in the city.”
What an interesting statement. So Carter expected to know Abe’s friends?
Abe was nodding. “Tamar just moved here.”
Carter looked at Abe a moment longer, and then shone one of his famously swoon-worthy smiles at me. “See you around, then.” He nodded and then headed off, quickly trailed by all the other Leopards except Abe.
I watched them go, wide-eyed, and then collapsed against the wall in a fit of giggles. Abe came close up to me and frowned. “What’s so funny?”
I waved my hand after his disappearing teammates. “You’re like—on and off the field—like ducklings or something! They all just followed him off.”
His lips quirked up and his eyes crinkled down. “I’m imagining Ryan in a Mother Goose bonnet. It’s not his usual look.”
I kept laughing.
He tugged on my ponytail reprovingly. “They’re being nice. Giving us some privacy.”
I smiled up at him. “And why do they think we need privacy?”
He raised his brows.
Oh, of course. I blushed. “Well, that’s silly. Besides, this is basically your workplace. It’s not like...”
His brows arched even higher, and his grin shone with delight. “You think that’s stopped anyone?”
I snapped my mouth shut a moment. “Uh. No. I suppose not.”
He smiled. Heat curled in my stomach, heat I wasn’t prepared to deal with right now. I wasn’t prepared for him to be standing so close to me, so easy to touch with just a whisper of movement. I aimed my gaze at the floor near his feet. “It’s strange, being here. In New York.”
He spoke lightly. “I always thought you’d visit at some point when you were seeing your aunt and cousin.”
What? Why would he think that? “I’m sure you would’ve been too busy. You had—you know—the whole Leopards thing.”
His brows went back up. “I wouldn’t have been too busy.”
A strange fluttering had begun in my stomach. Why was he saying things like that? To be polite?
I lifted my face. “I can’t decide. Is it weird that we’re friends?”
“Of course not.”
Of course not.
We stood in silence a few feet, and he took a step closer. “What is it?”
It was nothing, really. Only that it had occurred to me, for the first time, that there were things about Abraham Krasner that I didn’t know. That he’d lived a whole other life in these years away from California. That he could be an entirely different person from the one I once knew.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
He gave me a knowing look, and it was my turn to frown and say, “What?”
And his to shrug casually. “Just that I can read your face, too, you know.”
Could he? When had that happened? I’d always been the one studying his face intently throughout the years. “And what’s it saying?”
“That you’re having thoughts you don’t necessarily like. And they’re about me.” He cocked his head. “So I want to know what they are.”
Shock pulsed through me that he’d called my emotion so spot-on. “It’s just... It’s funny, that’s all.”
“What’s funny?”
“You.” I waved at him, suddenly embarrassed to make eye contact. “You’re famous.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at me with an oddly blank expression, neither affirmation nor denial. I would’ve expected sheepish embarrassment with an undercurrent of pride, but when he spoke, he kept strictly factual. “Guess so.”
I didn’t like the way he said that, and my eyes narrowed. I’d been so focused on making sure he know I’d changed that I hadn’t bothered noticing if he had, too. “What’s it like?”
He didn’t even glance at me. “It’s great.”
“No, Abe—” I placed my hand on his arm without even thinking, and when he stilled and stared down, I snatched it back. Still... “Really.”
He met my gaze, his own conflicted. “It’s...it’s consuming.”
I tilted my head. “Are you happy?”
He searched my eyes for an aching stretch of time. My breath caught in my chest, like I could keep time from moving forward—but then he laughed and looked away, a dazzling smile on his lips. “Where did you come from?”
Unexpectedly thrown, I wavered back and forth. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head and started walking again. “You’re like some pixie from my past. I feel like time folded over and brought you here from when we were nineteen years old.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced at the wall, at the photos of men in the same uniform he always wore. “You see the guy I was before I was drafted.”
“Isn’t that who you still are?”
“Tough to tell.”
He’d locked his jaw, a sure sign—if he’d been sixteen—that he was about to storm off to play ball with his friends instead of answering questions any longer. Abe never yelled—never got mad—but the few times his mom kept pushing at him after his jaw locked and he couldn’t escape, he went mute instead, like someone had thrown away the key.
But he wasn’t going to keep me out. “I think you are. I think some parts of you are different, because we grow up, but you’re really who you always were.”
He slid me a glance. “And who’s that?”
I smiled at him. “Someone good.”
He looked struck, like I’d tossed something at his chest, but nothing bad, just surprising. Like my words were unexpected, though they couldn’t have been.
“And what about you?” he asked. “How have you changed?”
I shrugged, lighter now than I had been before. “Not much. I’m just more me, I think. I’ve filed away all those extra edges that were my attempts to please other people and make myself more likeable and be who I thought I was supposed to be. Now I’m finding out who I am.”
“I hope you never did that with me.”
“I never needed to.”
A silence stretched between us, a silence that shimmered, and he stepped forward. My heartbeat sped up. How odd, to feel like Abraham really saw me, now, after all these years. And to wonder if maybe, just maybe...
My phone beeped. Tanya, wanting me at her side, pronto. I raised it apologetically. “I should get going.”
We stood there in silence, and then he smiled at me with such brightness that my breath quickened. “So I guess I’ll see you around.”
Oh boy, I was in trouble. My mouth curved up in a smile I couldn’t contain. “Guess you will.”
Chapter Seven
Four days later, we returned to the Stadium for the fifth game of the regular season.
Emotion ruled football. That was why clubs juggled coaches and players each year, why the teams that lost had their pick of the best players in the next year’s draft. The organization was designed to keep the playing field “even” but that wasn’t about promoting a better game—some even said it took away from the best possible play. It was about capturing the emotion of people across the country and keeping them enthused, keeping them invested, in the belief that their team could win on any given Sunday.
Some games f
ans wait for all season. The Leopards versus Ann Arbor Bisons match always sold out weeks in advance; the rivalry between those two teams was thick enough to taste. People anticipated it all year round, and to some, it was the only game that really counted. The Leopards could lose the Super Bowl as long as they beat the Bisons.
Abe played defense. He was good—the kind of good you hardly even recognized until the ball disappeared from the offense and it took a confused heartbeat to realize Abe had it. Abe got into the offense’s heads without people even realizing mind games were in his repertoire. He just acted so straightforward and chill off the field; so certain, so steady, that it was hard for anyone—even the opposing team—not to believe whatever Abraham believed. And if that was that Abe would block the offense, then Abe would block the offense.
For Abe the words that came up time and again were driven. Versatile. Clever.
It was even stranger now, watching Abe run around on the field. I’d seen him play in high school and college, but I’d never attended any of his pro games. He looked like a god; he was a god to thousands of young kids all over the country. And a role model to some, because with less than ten Jews in the NFL—well, kind of a big deal.
He’d improved in his four years with the Leopards, and he’d already been named Rookie of the Year in his first. A lot of people talked about how lots of game strategy was moving away from center linebackers, but Abraham made strategists reconsider that.
I didn’t see him when we went down to the locker room after the game, and instead ended up interviewing several of the other guys on their predictions on next week’s game and opinion on this one. I’d just wrapped up my last question and was headed out when I heard my name in that familiar, warm baritone. “Hey, Tamar!”
I stilled slowly, and then turned to see Abe half-bouncing on his toes from leftover adrenaline. His hair was still wet from a fast post-game shower, and he’d slung a casual sports jacket on over his dark jeans. He grinned at me, practically radiating exuberance. “Good game, huh?”
I couldn’t help but smile back. “It was...tolerable.”
He groaned and shook his head. “You’re trying to break my heart, aren’t you?”
“I’m keeping you grounded.”
“Too late, I’m flying.” He swooped me up in his arms and took us in an impromptu turn around the room.
When he stopped I nearly died from laughter, and had to bend up to subdue to cramps in my stomach. “What was that, a jig or a waltz?”
He frowned at me. “God, Tammy, don’t you know anything? It was a waltz.”
I managed to right myself. “How silly of me. But then, I never made it to advanced dance classes.”
“Ah, now it all makes sense. Where for me, those classes were second only to football.”
“So that’s why your mom was always making you go to English—extra help.”
“Hey, you don’t get to talk. Pretty sure I spent a year of Fridays helping you with your science homework.”
My phone pinged again, just as it had last time I was here. I glanced at it, and made a face when I saw Tanya’s name “Sorry. Duty calls.”
Abraham looked put out. “Why don’t you just interview me?”
A smile broke over my face. “I’m going to take you up on that, one of these days. See you.”
I’d barely gone two feet when his familiar tones called me back. “Hey, Tamar.”
I turned back.
His previous levity had been replaced by a bright earnestness. “Let’s get drinks tomorrow.”
Drinks. With Abraham Krasner. I tilted my head. “On a Monday night?”
He shrugged. “My Monday’s your Friday.”
True enough; most NFL teams had Tuesdays off. “Yeah, but it’s still my Monday.”
“Come on. I’ll take you to a beatnik-themed bar.”
He knew I had a weakness for literary themes, though he’d always been the one who went gaga over Kerouac, not me. Still—”You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“What?”
“You know, take care of the girl-next-door in the big-bad-city. Be nice to me because of our moms. That’s why you’re showing me around, right?”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Maybe I just want to take you out for drinks.”
I couldn’t help myself; I laughed. “Okay, Abe.”
After another long moment, he relented. “Does that mean you’ll meet me tomorrow?”
A smile tugged at my lips. It was fun, having the upper hand with him. “Seven o’clock. I’ll meet you there.”
He raised his brows. “I haven’t told you the bar’s name yet.”
True. “That does spoil my dramatic exit.”
He laughed, and when I left, we were both smiling.
* * *
I was the first one at the bar, which gave me the chance to look around. The walls were papier-mâchéd with old pages, and the black tabletops had quotes in white scrawled across them. The lighting fixtures were old and brass, the music low and relaxing. I would have expected the patrons to be cooler-than-thou, but I would have been wrong; it was an easy mix of old and young, bright-eyed and exhausted souls. I grabbed a rum and Coke and sat in a corner booth where I could watch everyone.
I saw Abe as soon as he walked in. It was impossible not to, since he was taller and broader than most of the guys, and his hair refused to ever lie perfectly flat. Everyone made way for him, not just because of his size, but because of the confidence he walked with, like he would carve a straight path out of stone, let alone human bodies.
It helped, of course, that he was famous and good-looking.
I reached up my arm and waved. It could have been my imagination that his face brightened on seeing me, but I didn’t really think so.
No one bothered him as he came toward me, save one or two familiar pats on the back and handshakes, which Abe returned with broad, easy grins and laughing words. It was clear he was a regular here, and adored out of uniform as much as in.
He stopped at the table before me, instead of dropping into the chair I had quickly cleared of my jacket for him. I tilted my head. “What?”
He ran his gaze over my short black dress with pairs of military-style buttons going up the center. “I’m not sure my memory’s caught up to time yet.”
“I think that’s the compliment.”
His mouth lifted in a wry half smile. “Oh, it’s a compliment, all right.”
Unexpected heat rushed my cheeks. I hoped he couldn’t see it in the dimness. “Um. Thanks, then.”
A guy in black and an apron stopped at the table. I didn’t think that in places like this, waiters usually came to the tables, but it didn’t surprise me that Abe created an exception. The guy landed his hand on Abe’s shoulder. “Abester! What can I get you? On the house, for yesterday.”
I raised my brows in what was meant to by mockingly reprimanding, but I couldn’t keep the smile from teasing at my lips. “I see. Is that why you brought me here?”
For the first time, the guy glanced at me. He returned my smile. “Oh, shit, man, didn’t mean to unimpress your date. We actually charge him twice as much for everything. Very fancy establishment we’re running here.”
Abe laughed and sent the guy off with our drink orders and a pizza request. When he turned back to me, he smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Guys here are great, though. I take everyone here.”
I leaned forward. “So I’m not special then?”
He matched my posture, eyes bright. “Digging for compliments?”
I’d half-forgotten he had a mind like a steel trap. “Always.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t as funny as usual. It was—serene, if that made sense. His dark eyes crinkled down at the corners, like they always had when he was happy. “You’re special.”
There was too much sincerity in his voice, and I didn’t understand it, and it made me uncomfortable. I strove for levity to mask my nerves. “So are you, Mr. Rookie of the Year.”
H
e leaned back with a grin, looking like he’d accomplished whatever he’d meant to. Mercifully, he glanced around the room and changed the subject. “It really is a great place, though. The guys and women who work here all come from shelters; they learn to cook, to manage, to bartend. It really gets a lot of them back on their feet.”
Aha. It all made sense now. “And let me guess. You’re involved.”
He looked back at me with a flash of surprise.
But it was obvious, really. “You fund it, you sponsor it, you volunteer your time here to help. I’m right, aren’t I?”
He couldn’t deny it, but he didn’t look like he wanted to admit it either. “So?”
The server came back with our drinks, chatted with Abe a few more minutes about yesterday’s game as I pulled on my standard rum and Coke and then left. Abe looked back at me.
I picked up my thread. “I know you, Abraham Krasner.”
He straightened slowly. “What does that mean?”
I shook my head. “You take care of people. It’s what you do. It’s why you asked me here tonight. It’s why you’re part of this. You’re a protector.”
He scowled at me. “Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?”
I felt loose and rhyme-y from the effects of my first drink, and my shrug had a little more bounce than usual. “It’s not. It’s just very...reassuring to know some things don’t change.”
He didn’t look away. “Some things do.”
“Do you remember when we first met? Your bar mitzvah. You danced with me when I didn’t know anyone. Second time we met? You made sure I felt comfortable at your house when my parents brought me over for dinner. All of middle and high school? You never let anything bad happen to me. You’re a good person, Abraham Krasner.” Suddenly it seemed imperative that he knew that. “A really good person.”
His eyes were dark, his mouth a flat line. “I broke your heart when you were nineteen.”
Now it was my time to straighten, shocked sober. “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to bring up.”
“It wasn’t a very nice thing to do.”
I placed my hands in my lap. “I don’t really want to talk about that right now.”