The Play Maker (The Sideline Series Book 1)

by L. M. Carr

  “What the fuck is so funny?” I hiss, my fingers curling into fists at my side.

  His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “You’re still a spit-fire with a foul mouth.”

  “Fuck you.” I pull my eyes from him, then mumble, “If you’ll excuse me…”

  I take a step to the side to skirt around him. Julian’s hand flies out and latches onto my wrist where the small Roman numerals are etched onto my skin.

  I look down at his hand, then slowly drag my eyes up. “I suggest you let me go.” I enunciate each word.

  The feel of Julian’s thumb sweeping across the number elicits a quiet gasp. I try desperately to suppress the pain of my past, but with my heart pulling in a million different directions, I know I’m on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

  I struggle to maintain my dignity as my eyes lock with his for several moments.

  “Julian, please, let me go,” I beg in a strained voice. When he releases his hold, I immediately miss his touch.

  I look up to the heavens, wondering why God is tormenting me like this. Moisture fills my eyes. I try desperately to blink them away, but a lone tear trickles down my face. When the levee threatens to break, I know it’s time to walk away.

  I take in a deep breath and return my eyes to his. With a subtle shake of my head, I sidestep him, leaving him standing there, dumbfounded.

  “Addison,” he calls after me.

  I look over my shoulder and find him staring at me, a smoldering look in his eyes.

  “I would let you go...if I could.”

  Chapter Six

  It’s nearly midnight when I walk into the apartment I share with Naomi. I yawn and drop my keys into the bowl sitting on the rectangular table next to the door, then flick on the entry hall light. I notice our two-bedroom dwelling, which towers high above the city of Houston, is quiet and lonely. It’s a sad resemblance of my heart.

  I roll my bag into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Unscrewing the lid, I lean against the counter and guzzle it down quickly. As my eyes scan the modern décor of the contemporary kitchen with its clean, straight lines, I frown. After living here for the past few years, one would think it would finally feel like home, but it doesn’t. I could use the excuse that I travel so much for work, but that would be a lie. Truth is, I miss the worn oak floors and squeaky front steps of the home I grew up in. The roaring bonfires on cold winter nights. Raking colorful leaves that fell from the huge oak tree. Playing Monopoly with my brother and his friends. Screaming and cheering in the stands beneath the lights on Friday nights. The smell of pot roast followed by hours of watching football with Julian. I miss it all.

  Naomi shuffles into the kitchen, her hair wild and lips swollen.

  I chuckle. “Looks like you had a good weekend.”

  She shrugs and takes a long drink of water. “I did, but I think I’m still hung over.”

  I laugh. “What happened last night?”

  “Paolo’s farewell party. Oh, my god! It was fabulous! That man knows how to throw one hell of a party! And the view from his balcony… It was incredible!”

  “I could only imagine. The guy’s loaded!”

  “I can’t believe he’s moving back to Brazil.”

  “I wish I could’ve been there. I’ll have to go see him before he leaves.”

  Naomi nods, but her guarded expression piques my interest.

  “Anything else happen this weekend?”

  “Nolan came over.” She looks away.

  I eye her suspiciously. “Nolan from the DA’s office?”

  She nods, pursing her lips. “The one and only.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing much.” She shrugs. “We had sex, then he left.”

  “Really?” I can’t hide the doubt in my voice. I’ve seen her with her on-again, off-again boyfriend, and I’ve definitely heard her with him.

  Again, she lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not that into him anymore.”

  My face contorts into a mask of disbelief.

  “Kind of like you and Justin,” she says with a smirk, tossing the empty bottle into the recycling bin.

  My roommate’s words surprise me. “Julian and I weren’t that serious to begin with, but now he’s tossing around the L-word and wants to move in together.”

  “Julian?” Her brows furrow. “Who said anything about Julian?”

  My eyes widen, realizing my mistake. “Oh fuck!” I drag my fingers through my hair and pull the elastic band out. “I meant Justin.”

  Naomi pulls the freezer door open and retrieves a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, along with two spoons from the utensil drawer.

  “Uh-oh,” she sings. “You’ve got Julian MacIntyre on the brain.” She extends a spoon toward me.

  I sigh, reach for the spoon and nod solemnly as I follow her to the couch in the living room.

  “What happened? Did you talk to him?”

  “Worse! I saw him,” I reveal, plunging the spoon into the container, pulling out a massive scoop of chocolate ice cream and placing it into my mouth. Two seconds later, my face scrunches and I suck in a breath as the cold moves from the roof of my mouth to my scalp.

  Naomi laughs. “Brain freeze isn’t going to make him go away.”

  I chew the ice cream quickly and force it down my throat, then blow out a breath and shrug with a grin. “I figured I’ve tried everything else. Why not this?”

  As we drown our sorrows in calories, I recount everything that happened at the restaurant.

  Fifteen minutes later Naomi is just as confused by Julian’s behavior and his comment about not being able to let me go.

  “He actually said those words?”

  I purse my lips and nod. “I wish you could’ve seen him. He acted like we were old friends. Like he didn’t break my heart into a million pieces.”

  Naomi hums and pats her flat stomach, which is now filled with ice cream. “And he has a girlfriend?” She grabs her phone.

  I nod again. “Gigi Asher. Her father’s some multi-gazillionaire.” I slide my hand over the couch cushions, looking for my phone, then remember it’s still in my bag and probably dead.

  “Is this her?” Naomi asks, turning her phone in my direction. Their faces, looking extremely in love, fill the screen. I sigh heavily.

  “Yep.”

  Unable to bear the sight of them any longer, I look away.

  “How long has it been since you’ve talked to him?”

  I swallow the boulder in my throat. “Years! And it was absolutely horrible the last time. All I wanted to do was help, make sure he was okay, but he was so angry with me.”

  Naomi looks over. “Can you blame him?”

  I throw my hands into the air. “That’s bullshit and you know it! That had nothing to do with me.”

  “But in his mind, maybe it did. Maybe that’s the story he told himself.”

  “Please,” I groan. “Don’t go all attorney on me, trying to make me see the other person’s point of view.”

  She smirks. “I’m just saying, his vantage point could have been different than yours.”

  “Great. Are you now going to explain how there are two sides to every story and the truth lies somewhere in between?”

  A smug smile spreads across her face. “I don’t have to. You just said it yourself.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes before she clears her throat.

  “Are you still planning to interview him?”

  I lick my lips slowly, then exhale quietly. “If I want to keep my job, I don’t have a choice. Otherwise, I’ll look like a loser.”

  “Oh, my god! You’re not a loser.” Naomi places her hand on my shoulder. “You’re just a woman in love.”

  §

  At six the next morning, my eyes open, my internal clock rousing me from a deep, yet restless slumber. Rolling off the bed and standing, I quickly straighten the comforter and pillows. It’s one of the things my father always ingrained in
his children. If you commit to doing something, do it every day and do it to the best of your ability. And making your bed was always a must to start the day.

  After throwing on a tank top and shorts, I tighten my running shoes on my feet and jog out of the apartment.

  Because I’d forgotten to charge my phone when I got in last night, I have no music to motivate me as my feet pound the pavement. I glance at the tall buildings to distract myself, to no avail. Images of Julian continue to fill my head, his soft words repeating.

  How in the world am I going to sit in front of him and ask him about his new career? Or the injury that changed the trajectory of his life? Or his plans for the future? Or the person who inspires him every day, when I already know the answer?

  With each step I take, I remember how much he loved his mother and how much she loved him.

  Eighteen years earlier…

  Nuzzled into the crook of Julian’s neck, I exhaled a heavy breath and ran my fingertips along his chest. “Are you nervous or excited about tomorrow?”

  His arms behind his head, he stared at the ceiling fan, whirring slowly in an endless cycle. Although he lay right next to me, I knew Julian was a million miles away…and I couldn’t say I blamed him.

  Broken, whispered words slipped through his lips, his agony palpable. “This will probably be the last game my mom will be here for. It kills me that she won’t be able to see me play.”

  Moisture filling my eyes, I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I swallowed, hard. “She’ll always be with you, Julian,” I said quietly.

  He nodded. “I know. Promise me you’ll always be with me.”

  “Julian,” I cried quietly, confused at how he could equate my love with his mother’s. They were so different. “I will always be with you. It won’t matter that we’re going to different colleges. I am yours and you are mine. Forever.”

  The ticking of the grandfather clock floated through the air, a melancholic reminder that, with each passing minute, his mother’s life neared the end.

  The tears flowed down my cheeks. “It’s so not fair. I hate cancer.”

  His chest heaved. He coughed to cover his rising emotions. “She was supposed to have more time. She was supposed to get better, not worse.”

  I slid my arm around his body and squeezed hard, inhaling his scent. “She loves you so much. You’re her entire world.”

  Unable to contain the overwhelming reality of what life will be like without his mother, Julian turned and buried his face in the crook of my neck, sobbing. “I... I can’t breathe,” he gasped. I tightened my embrace. “I don’t think I can do this. I can’t live without her. She’s everything to me. She’s all I’ve got.”

  Cradling the back of his head, I ran my fingers along the strands of light brown hair as I showered him with gentle kisses, hoping to offer some comfort and solace. We lay there for quite some time, waiting for Death to lead his mother away into eternity.

  The ringing of a bell, accompanied by a weak, distorted voice, broke the silence. “Julian?”

  Without hesitation, Julian jumped off the bed. Reaching down to the floor, he picked up his favorite red Alabama t-shirt and slipped it on. He groaned quietly and pushed the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, then wiped away the moisture on his face.

  “Fuck,” he hissed. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

  I debated whether I should offer to go with him, but the decision was made when he said he would be right back and left the room. The soft click of his mother’s bedroom door indicated their need for privacy.

  Through blurred vision, I cross the busy intersection, bypassing cars, some honking, desperately wiping away the torrent of tears that rush down my face. The ceaseless stream continues to fall, my heart hurting with each memory.

  I run harder as I remember the day he was named All-State. He was elated, and everyone was proud of him. He’d achieved what no one else at our high school ever had. When my father stood at the podium and spoke about Julian’s accomplishments, he said he’s never been prouder of anyone in his entire life, and although he didn’t voice the words, Rence and I knew that included his own children.

  I will never forget the way Julian looked when he walked through the front door of my house that afternoon. Dressed in a sharp, dark gray suit with a crisp, white shirt, he wore a red tie, which his mother had suggested weeks before, to pay homage to the University of Alabama where he’d committed to attend on a full scholarship.

  “Julian!” my mother exclaimed. “You look so handsome. You know, if football doesn’t work out, you can always become a model.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. H, but I intend to play football for quite some time.”

  A smile stretched across his face, but the red tint to his cheeks displayed his bashfulness. There was no denying he was gorgeous with his tall frame, light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was the envy of most guys, on and off the field, but Julian didn’t like the attention for his looks. In fact, the reminder of how much he looked like his father often saddened him. Who wanted to be told you looked like a parent who was taken away too soon by a careless drunk driver?

  “Mom, you’re going to make his ego even bigger!” I teased before I kissed his cheek, then stood on my tiptoes to whisper something into his ear.

  His eyes darted to mine as he considered my words. “I can’t wait,” he whispered.

  “Oh, you kids are so cute. Let me take a picture!”

  Julian’s hand grazed over my ass as he slid his arm around my waist and pulled me close. I smiled for the camera, imagining we were taking our wedding photo. That was how much I loved Julian MacIntyre.

  My father bounded into the room and grabbed Julian’s hand in a hearty handshake. “All set, son?”

  Julian nodded. “Good to go, Coach.”

  When his name was announced later that evening, thunderous applause washed over the audience seated at the Farmington Club. Chairs scraped across the floor as people rose to their feet, honoring Julian with a standing ovation.

  He kissed my cheek and said he loved me just before he walked onto the stage. Taking his place behind the podium, Julian adjusted the microphone, preparing to offer words of gratitude. I noticed his hand trembling as he gripped the paper he’d written. His blue eyes glanced over the hundreds of guests and other nominees. His right hand rose and slid to the nape of his neck.

  “You can do this,” I whispered into my steepled palms covering my mouth as hot tears trickled my face. “She’s right here with you.”

  He found my eyes and I nodded. I raised my hands and signed, Always with you.

  Inhaling sharply, Julian drew in a courageous breath, lowered his hand and spoke into the microphone. Flawlessly, he detailed his life as a child of a disabled parent, learning sign language at an early age in order to communicate with her. He recalled the struggles and sacrifices his mother made for him after the loss of his father. Pinching his index finger and thumb into the corner of his eyes, he thanked God for giving him an incredible mother, then acknowledged all the people who were quick to step in and help out when needed.

  His eyes floated to my parents and he mouthed, Thank you.

  He thanked his coaches and said how much he loved his teammates, whom he referred to as his brothers. Then his eyes met mine, and although he didn’t utter a single word, I nodded, knowing exactly what he was saying.

  I smiled through tears and blew him a kiss, signing, I love you.

  Three days later, after giving up any attempts to do homework, I rested my head on Julian’s chest. Neither of us could concentrate knowing his mother’s heart would stop beating and she would be dead in a matter of hours, joining her beloved husband in eternity.

  “She’s so proud of you,” I whispered.

  Julian smiled slightly as silent tears streamed down his face.

  My eyes scanned the light gray walls of his bedroom. Two large bookcases stood on each side of the window, and the adjacent wall housed long, floati
ng shelves. I frowned when I noticed the slight sag in the middle of one. The weight of all those trophies, medals and certificates seemed to be too much. I often wondered when they would reach their breaking point.

  His mother was his biggest supporter, his loudest cheerleader, the rock that kept him grounded through accolades and adversities. I knew she would have loved the most recent addition. A gold plate mounted on a dark walnut plaque boasted this great honor.

  2001 Most Valuable Player

  All-State Quarterback

  Julian MacIntyre

  Early the next morning, with her son holding her hand, Evelyn MacIntyre took her last breath.

  I would never forget the day she was buried. It was so painful to watch Julian say goodbye to her on the day after a winter storm had blanketed our town with a thick layer of snow and ice. The weather conditions didn’t deter anyone from standing in the freezing cold to say goodbye. The entire football team was there, wearing their jerseys in support of their friend. Her co-workers from the school where she worked came to pay their last respects, as well as mothers who had served on PTA committees with her.

  While everyone wiped away tears, Julian did not. Watching him stand stoically beside her white casket, he raised his hands and signed his farewell to his beloved mother, just as she’d always done to him when he left for school. She didn’t often tell her son that she loved him, for there was no need. He knew deep in his heart, without a shadow of doubt, just how much she adored him. Evelyn MacIntyre reminded her son of that on a daily basis.

  I didn’t know how to help Julian, so I stood by his side, slipping my hand into his when he finally lowered them.

  I collapse onto the bottom step of my apartment building and bury my face in my sweatshirt. I will my tears to cease flowing, but my pleas are ignored. My heart aches just as it did the day he left, despite the passing years.

  When commuters fill the streets and business open their doors, I slowly rise to my feet and exhale sharply, realizing how much time I’ve spent revisiting the past. Emotionally exhausted, I unlock the apartment door, drop my keys into the bowl and enter the kitchen. I gulp down two bottles of water within minutes, needing to replenish the moisture that leaked from my eyes. Naomi has already left, and the space is quiet.