The Locker Room

by Quinn, Meghan

  “They’ve ruined Mother Bruce for me,” Cora continues.

  “Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”

  “Maybe, it’s that time of the month. Can we please have a girls’ night out tonight? I want all the tortilla chips and tons of margaritas.”

  “I can arrange that. Let me see if Lindsay and Dottie are free.”

  I shoot a text to my two best friends, who both still live in area. After we graduated, we swore to stay close together. Lindsay teaches third grade at Cedar Pine—she applied so we could be at the same school—and Dottie is a bigwig at her dad’s company, living the single life to her fullest. I swear it’s a new guy every week with her, but she’s too afraid to become attached, because she’s been used by guys . . . far too many times. Everyone seems to know who she is and how much she has in her bank account, so she keeps everything casual with men. It works for her.

  Lindsay is the first to text back.

  Lindsay: YESSSSSS! Girls’ night. I love my baby, but I could use a night without him kicking me in the crotch as I wrestle him to the ground to put on his pajamas.

  Emory: Perfect. Cora wants chips and margaritas.

  Dottie: Come to my place. I’ll have my chef make homemade chips and extra-strength margaritas. It’s Friday, so you ladies can sleep over if need be.

  Excited, I look up at Cora. “Dottie said she can have her chef make us homemade tortilla chips.”

  She perks up. “And guac?”

  I type back.

  Emory: And guac?

  Dottie: It will be a fiesta. Just bring your yoga pants and oversized shirts. We’re dining fine tonight, ladies.

  Lindsay: I think I just orgasmed . . . while my kids are playing Thumbs Up, Seven Up.

  Emory: Seriously, you can’t say shit like that.

  Lindsay: Whatever, none of you have kids. You don’t know what it’s like to be a single mom. I already talked to Nana Grace. She’s in for the night. I’m passing out at Dottie’s.

  Dottie: Not in my bed.

  Lindsay: Fuck that. I want the big pillows. I have a date with your bed whether you like it or not.

  I set my phone down as a student walks up to me. “Miss Ealson, could you help me find a Judy Blume book?”

  “Of course, sweetie.” I stand and make my way around the desk, but not before flicking Cora in the arm to look alive. She resumes her position as the perfect librarian and starts helping out again. Sometimes we need five minutes to let it out, and then we’re back in the game. I don’t how I got so lucky with my friends, but I’m grateful. Years ago, I thought the sun would never shine again, but here I am happy, healthy, and with three incredible women as my best friends. Life is good.

  * * *

  “Is your chef single?” Cora asks, popping another chip in her mouth. “Because I would marry him just for these.”

  “He’s gay,” Dottie informs. “And his partner is a baker.”

  “What?” Cora’s eyes widen. “How on earth did you score that perfect combination?”

  “Drunk at a gay bar, came across Yan and George, and got to talking. Best decision of my life going to that bar that night.”

  Curled up on Dottie’s enormous couch that overlooks the skyline of Chicago, I sink into the plush cushions and say, “This was exactly what I needed. I’ve felt so stressed lately with the budget cuts I have to make.” I take a long pull from my straw, the lime of the margarita puckering my lips. “I knew getting into education would be rewarding and infuriating at the same time, but when they ask me to make so many cuts from an already minimal budget, it seems impossible.”

  “How much do you need? I’ll write a check right now,” Dottie says so casually. Did I mention she’s loaded?

  “I’m not taking your money, Dottie. It’s bad enough you bought the library all new computers. You’re done donating.”

  “Gah,” Cora gasps while grabbing my hand. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.” She sits up taller. “I think I was so consumed with the kids making me hate Mother Bruce, but I got the best email today, one that will help out your budget problem.”

  “Oh yeah?” I chuckle. “Do you have a sugar daddy who’s going to give us a couple thousand dollars for new books?”

  “Not a sugar daddy, but the Bobcats.”

  All our heads snap to Cora as our postures stiffen, straws dropping from our mouths.

  “Did you just say the Bobcats?” Dottie asks, on the edge of her seat.

  “Yeah.”

  “As in . . . the baseball team?” Lindsay pries.

  “Yes, the baseball team.” Confused, she looks between us. “Are you huge fans?”

  Taking the lead, Dottie says, “We’re going to need the details, right now. Don’t skip out on anything.”

  Looking uncomfortable, Cora shifts, clutching her margarita to her chest like if she says the wrong thing we’re going to snatch it out of her hand.

  “Um . . . well, I saw they were doing community outreach with a bunch of schools. I have a friend who works over there and asked her how to get Cedar Pine’s library in the mix. She gave me the name of someone to talk to. I emailed them and applied to their program. I got the email this morning that we were chosen as one of the facilities to receive a grant from the team. I didn’t want to say anything to you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s twenty thousand dollars.”

  I momentarily forget who it’s from as I blink rapidly at Cora. “Twenty thousand dollars? Holy Crap, Cora, we could do so much with that.”

  “I know. We can actually get those plaster trees and new media center we’ve dreamed of.”

  “Exactly.” She looks between us and then asks, “So why does everyone look like they’re about to throw up from the news? This is good, we should be happy.”

  Dottie sets her now empty margarita glass on the coffee table and folds her hands together. “Is there any media behind accepting the check?”

  “Yes.” Cora lights up. “That’s also really exciting. We get to take pictures with some of the players.”

  My stomach drops and nausea quickly rolls my fresh margarita around.

  “Oh shit,” Lindsay says before gulping down the rest of her drink as her voice cracks. “Yan, we’re going to need a refill.”

  “What players?” I ask frantically, my margarita instantly wanting to make a return.

  “Uh, I don’t know. They didn’t say. Why?” Poor Cora, she looks so confused and I feel bad.

  Dottie exchanges a look with me, silently asking for permission. I nod and scoot deeper into the couch, pulling a blanket over my legs.

  “The reason we ask is because we know one of the players.”

  “Seriously?” Cora apparently doesn’t read the room well, because she’s nearly bouncing in place. “Who is it? Wait, let me guess.” She taps her chin. “Uh, ooo, is it Walker? No, it’s Lincoln. Wait, no, he didn’t go to school here like you guys did.” And then her eyes light up even more. “Oh my God, if you say it’s Knox Gentry I might fall over and die. Is it him? Is it Knox?”

  “Yes.”

  Dottie barely gets out the one syllable before Cora starts freaking out. “Holy shit, you guys know Knox Gentry? Like know him, know him, or just you know . . . we went to school with him, saw him at a party kind of thing.”

  Dottie goes to answer, but I stop her, needing to say this myself. “Knox and I were a thing.”

  “You were more than a thing,” Lindsay says. The sad look on her face digs up the many unresolved, unsown memories I have of him

  “Wait”—Cora spreads her arms out to the side—“you and Knox Gentry went out?”

  “They were boyfriend and girlfriend. He was obsessed with her,” Lindsay says. “Like, obsessed.”

  Bringing my knuckles to my chin, I try to vanish into the couch, hating this is coming up when I’m trying to enjoy an evening of drinks with the girls. If I’m honest, I’ve never gotten over him. How could I? He was . . . God, he meant everything to me. He was the man who sh
owed me there were great men out there. Men with honor, patience, strength, and faithful hearts. He showed me what true love could be, even though we never said those words to each other. And God, he was the man who picked me up and pieced me back together after Neil tore me apart. That seems so long ago now, but it’s another thing I am thankful to Knox Gentry for.

  And setting him free was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I hadn’t been strong enough to fully break it off, which was why I found myself with his lips over mine months later. On and off we hooked up, never going past anything but kissing and feeling each other up, but still, I’d craved his comfort.

  One night before graduation, before he was drafted by the Bobcats, Neil kept texting me, over and over, wanting to talk to me. He was drunk and decided to poke the hurt he’d inflicted. Before I knew what I was doing, I was at Knox’s loft, bawling my eyes out. I’d broken up with him, but he still took me into his arms and offered his love and comfort. We didn’t do anything that night but hold each other, and it broke me all over again, knowing I was saying goodbye forever to my heart. That was the last time I saw him in person.

  Even though we live in the same city, our wavelengths have been on completely different tracks.

  He doesn’t know I live here. But at this point, would he really care? It’s been eight years, he dated Mia Freaking Franco, and has had many supermodels draped over his arm at events. To be fair, they’ve often been friends rather than lovers, so I’ve heard, but the bar has certainly been set high for any woman vying for his attention.

  We barely speak to each other, only really texting on birthdays now. The friendship we promised each other completely fizzled out and now . . . we’re mere acquaintances. Friends who once meant more.

  At this point, I’d be surprised if he recognized me with my shoulder-length, wavy bob, and the few pounds I’ve put on since college.

  “Oh my God, how come you never told me this?” Cora asks, smacking my leg.

  “We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

  “Did he break up with you? Was he a dick?”

  “No.” I shake my head, thinking back to that awful night when I broke things off, the tears in his eyes, the pleading to reconsider. My throat closes tight as I hold back the crushing pain threatening to spill over. Eight years later, and I’m still a mess about our breakup. “He was going to be drafted, and I didn’t want to hold him back. I wanted him to focus on making his dreams come true. Baseball needed to be his number one, and I knew if I was still with him, that wouldn’t be the case.”

  “So you sacrificed your love for him?” Cora holds her heart. “Oh, that gives me too many feels.”

  At that moment, Yan appears with a new batch of margaritas. Thank. God.

  “He wasn’t happy. Actually, he was really angry with me, but we vowed to be friends. That slowly dwindled over the years and now we barely talk. Really just on each other’s birthdays. We’re cordial toward each other, but I doubt he’d want to see me. I didn’t really give him a proper goodbye before he left school after being drafted. It was just too hard to see him again.” I tug on a few strands of my hair. “And I don’t think I can see him, even now. I barely made it through school after he left, constantly being reminded of what we had. It’s why I don’t watch the games.”

  “Wow.” Cora practically drains her margarita. “When I called for a girls’ night, I wasn’t expecting you to say you once dated the Knox Gentry. I have so many questions, but out of respect, I’m keeping my lips sealed.”

  Good, because I think she’d be horrified to learn that despite being together for many months, Knox and I never actually had sex. And I can say to this day, that is one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

  That stupid freaking bet.

  The most we ever did was . . . wet-hump? If that’s what you want to call it and to date—this is going to sound really pathetic—that’s the best orgasm I’ve ever had.

  So, so pathetic.

  But it was with Knox, and that’s what made it different. Everything with him was different, and it’s the exact reason I can’t see him, why I can’t be in his presence. Not now, not when I’m still not over the man eight years later. I tried. I tried to move on, and for a while, I was happy with Harvey, I guess. But Knox was simply too good and had ticked every single box of what I wanted in a man. He’d loved me. I know that. But at times, it's been hard to believe when I’ve seen who he’s dated over the years.

  “He’s not going to be there, is he?”

  “No clue. They usually send relief pitchers to these things, you know? Doubtful.”

  I sure hope she’s right.

  * * *

  “Where are you right now?” Dottie asks over the phone.

  “In the bathroom,” I whisper. “I can’t do this, Dottie. I seriously feel like I’m going to throw up.”

  “You don’t know if he’s going to be there. What did the media person say?”

  “She wasn’t sure who was picked to join the ceremony and read to the kids.”

  Dottie grumbles. “See, that’s just irresponsible business. She should know exactly who’s going to show up and at what time. I would never hire her.” She’s one hell of a ruthless businesswoman, which is why she’s one of the wealthiest women in Chicago. Her fortune stems from the countless hours she’s put into the business since she graduated, not because of her dad. “Just remember what Cora said; they send the lemons to these events while the starters prep for the games. They have a home game tonight, so there’s no way he’ll be at your school.”

  “What about Carson?” I ask, knowing fully well the dynamic duo who once played together in college now share the middle positions on a major league field.

  “Same thing. He’s a starter, he won’t be there.”

  “And what about the pictures that will be taken? What if Knox sees them when they’re blasted all over the place?”

  “Hmm . . .” Dottie pauses. “Well, maybe you substitute Cora for the pictures. She has a great smile, and she was the one who applied.”

  “True. Which means, I don’t have to be here. I can go home, right?”

  “You know that’s not an option. You already asked the principal.”

  I did. I’m not ashamed of it.

  “I know. Ugh.” I shake my whole body, loosening my limbs that seem to be tensing tighter and tighter by the second. “Okay, I can do this. He’s not going to show up, Cora will be in the pictures, everything is going to be okay.”

  “Exactly, everything will be fine.”

  With that, I exit the stall I hid myself in and take one last look at myself in the mirror. I was hoping and praying all morning I wouldn’t see him, but just in the off chance he does show up, I’ve decked out in my slimmest black wrap dress, red heels, and matching red lipstick. It’s only natural to want to look good for an ex.

  I make it out to the library in time for everyone to show up. It’s right before lunchtime, Lindsay’s class was the lucky class to be chosen—hmm, how did that happen?—and the team’s social media specialists come flooding in, along with some very tall, very built players.

  Standing next to Cora, my breath heavy in my chest, I scan the faces of the guys walking in as the kids cheer. Lindsay walks up next to me and gently nudges my shoulder, letting me know she’s here for me.

  Three guys, and they’re men I don’t know.

  Thank. Fuck.

  From the side of her mouth, Lindsay says, “See, relief pitchers and second-string, so you have nothing to worry about.”

  She’s right, I have nothing to worry about. I relax and put on a smile rather than the tense crazy look I’m sure I was holding. We watch as the kids clap and cheer, some reaching out for high fives. The guys are great with the kids, looking larger than life in their jerseys and finely tailored jeans.

  “Miss Ealson, we want to formally thank you for showing interest in our program,” one of the ladies says, and for the life of me I can’t remember her name.

  �
�Oh, please, don’t thank me. This was all Cora. She applied and made this happen.” I pull Cora next to me just as a flash of white comes trotting through the door.

  And my heart stops beating.

  Pushing his hand through his hair, looking like he just ran from the parking lot to the library, Knox saddles up next to his teammates and mutters, “Sorry, I got held up.”

  The kids scream in excitement, calling out to Knox who plasters on his charming smile and waves to all of them.

  Frozen in place, unable to breathe, my heart pounding in my throat, I stare and watch as his eyes scan the library slowly, taking it all in until he makes eye contact with me.

  And that’s when every ounce of composure and strength shatters.

  From one shocked look.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  KNOX

  “What’s up, Roark?” I say into my phone. My agent has the worst timing ever. “I have a library event to get to.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I wanted to quickly discuss your upcoming contract. They want eight years for two hundred sixty million.”

  “You know I don’t care about this shit.” I drag my hand through my hair. “I seriously hate all of this. Can’t you just figure it out and let me know when all is said and done?”

  He chuckles before saying, “I think you’re the first player to ever say that.”

  “I want to play ball in Chicago, that’s all. I want the Bobcats to be the only team I play for, so can you make that happen?”

  “Aye,” he says in his Irish lilt. “It’s why you hired me. I’ll hit you up when we have the final offer.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hang up, pocket my phone, and quickly exit my car. I’m late, I know I am, but I also didn’t want to have that conversation in public, nor could I ignore it.

  I jog to the front office and am quickly waved in by the staff and directed to the library. The education initiative the team has taken on became a program I really wanted to get involved in. Over the last few years, during our off-season, I finished my degree and earned my master’s in education. It’s been a long time coming, but what it means is if anything happens to me on the field, I have a backup plan.