Fallacy

by K. A. Berg

  Just as I’m grabbing the plates of pizza to head into the living room, Alex joins me in the kitchen. “Can you grab our beers?” I ask as I pass him.

  “Sure.”

  We sit on the couch not talking, just eating our pizza and drinking beer. I can tell just by looking at him something is still bothering him. I’ll give him until he’s finished his first slice before I ask. I want to give him a little time to unwind in his own space before asking him to talk.

  I watch as he finishes his beer and then the rest of his pizza. “Hey, what’s going on?” I ask softly, placing my hand on his arm.

  “What?” he asks, shaking his head as if to expel the haze he was just in. “I’m sorry. Nothing. It’s just been a bad day.”

  “Hey,” I say as I lean forward to place my plate on the coffee table. I turn my body toward his and scoot a little closer to him. “Something’s bothering you. Talk to me about it.”

  Sighing, he softly tells me, “I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.”

  “Alex,” I rebuke. “You don't weigh me down by talking to me. That’s what I’m here for. You’re always there listening to me and all my problems; why can’t I do the same for you? I want to be the one you lean on for once.”

  I shock myself when the words leave my mouth in the form a plea. I think I shock Alex too. A small smile flickers over his lips before he starts talking.

  “One of our rookies has a high-ankle sprain and he refuses to listen to us. He's completely reckless.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. I think football, in general, is pretty wild. You’re willingly playing a game when your body is getting banged up constantly.

  “He’s on a mission to break the rookie receiving record. This kid’s amazing. I mean, he’s really good. He’s always doing the impossible. One-handed catches, breaking tackles, laying out for passes when no one else would. He and Tanner are leading the league in touchdown completions. Last week, he was rolled up in a tackle and that’s how he got hurt. We all told him he needs to take it easy for the next few weeks and let it heal up, but he doesn’t seem to care. He jumped for a ball today in the end-zone when he should’ve let it go.” He shakes his head as if he’s replaying it in his mind. “It was high and thrown into double coverage. He wanted the touchdown. He doesn’t seem to understand that trying to make those plays when the team doesn’t really need them is going to get him hurt. He’s lucky neither of the defenders rolled his ankle again.”

  He sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees and hangs his head in his hands. “It’s just frustrating. He’s only thinking about himself instead of the team. He thinks he's invincible. We need him for the entire season, not just the first half.”

  “What’s the deal with the record?” I ask. “Is there a bonus for it or something?”

  Straightening, he nods. “There’s most likely a clause in his contract about bonuses for his performance, but when I asked him why he was pushing it so much he said he needed to prove himself to his dad.”

  “His dad?” I question. “What does his dad have anything to with breaking some record?”

  “The gist of it is his dad told him he wasn’t good enough. He’s broken a lot of records. He said when he broke the state high school receiving TD record, his dad said it was only high school and he wouldn’t be able to do it in college. When he broke the college record, his father said he wouldn’t get too far in the pros. Now he’s pushing himself to prove to his dad he can make it in the pros. But he doesn’t need to prove anything. He’s all everyone talks about. He’s on the highlight reels every week for amazing plays.”

  Boy, can I relate to this kid.

  “Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how many people think you’re great when the one person you want to think it tears you down with every achievement.” I explain to Alex.

  He shakes his head in disagreement. “He’s a twenty-two-year-old man. Why does it matter to him if his dad doesn’t think it’s good enough when he’s already proven he is? It’s not worth getting seriously injured for.”

  “I think you’re frustrated because you don’t understand the dynamic of a parent relationship like his,” I offer. “When someone is constantly telling you you’re doing something wrong or not giving enough, it can consume you. All you want to do is show that person you can do it and more.”

  “Speaking from experience?” he raises an eyebrow at me.

  “I am,” I nod. “You know all about my dad. He’s been doing it to me for years. Nothing anyone can say to me will matter until the day I prove to him I’m worth way more than he gives me credit for.”

  “What are you getting at here?”

  “You aren’t going to be able to get him to alter his frame of mind when it comes to this issue with his dad. Just give him the tools to try and keep his ankle in the best shape it can be. You telling him he can’t do it is just like his dad saying it…”

  “But I’m not saying he can’t do it,” he interrupts.

  “You’re telling him to take it easy. To him that’s failing,” I stress as I grab his hand, pulling all his focus to me. “I think you just need to give him the best preventive course of action, but don’t tell him not to work for it. You’re reminding him of all the times his dad put him down, and it’s going to make him push himself harder.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” he admits.

  “Trust me,” I tell him. “Supporting him getting to his goal will do him worlds more than trying to hold him back. Maybe making some changes to cater to his limitation is a better idea.”

  “Okay, angel,” he concedes. “I’ll try it your way. I’ll have a talk with him and make some suggestions to the coaching staff.”

  Alex grabs his phone and starts texting. I assume to his colleagues so I go to grab us each another beer and slice of pizza. When I rejoin him on the couch, he takes his beer and pizza with a smile.

  “Thank you. It’s hard for me to understand that level of pressure. My mom wasn’t like that.”

  “You’re welcome.” Something’s bothering me, though. “Why did you tell me you didn’t want to unload your problems on me?” I ask.

  “I didn’t want to push my crap on you. I was already frustrated, and not in the best of moods. I guess I didn’t want to take any of it out on you,” he says sheepishly.

  “You don’t need to do that. How many times have I unloaded on you? I want you to talk to me. I want to be able to help you like you help me. Please don’t ever feel like you can’t lean on me. I’m stronger than you think,” I smile at him. I’m surprised how easily I was able to share those feelings with him. When he didn’t initially tell me what was wrong, I was slightly insulted. Things like that make me suspicious, and I don’t want to be that person with Alex. Things are good. This is working wonderfully. I don’t want to start having reasons to be doubtful.

  “Okay, next time I’ll tell you what’s bothering me,” he smiles at me brightly. I can tell from the expression on his face he’s enjoying my need to have him express his problems. “Tell me about your weekend?”

  I relay my findings to Alex, finally glad to be able to share my excitement with someone.

  “That’s great,” he grins. “Hopefully, your dad listens this time. I bet this will help with the promotion too.”

  “We’ll see. I’m sure he’ll find some way to screw this up for me.” He always does. No matter what I do, it’s never right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Quinn

  “I can’t believe he fucking did that!” I yell as I pace the length of my living room.

  My father announced the launch date of BioMeds new stem cell therapy today in a meeting. Not only did he announce the launch date of my project, but he took full credit for the discovery. It was my fucking project! I’ve been working with them for two months.

  I should’ve expected him to do something like this. He was way too eager to agree to fund the project. He was too interested in all the details. His interest went way pas
t the usual progress reports.

  He played a good game. Making sure I was too shocked by the “good jobs” he kept giving me to notice he was slithering in to strike. I thought his interest was because he was finally accepting I know what I’m doing, and he was getting ready to move me up. How could I fall for the diversion?

  “I’m sorry, angel,” Alex says as he walks up to me and wraps his arms around me, stopping my pacing. “Is there anything you can do?”

  “I’ve been working on this project for two months! Two months of hard work and he didn’t even have the nerve to give me a little credit. He just took it for himself.” I continue to rant. “And now I have to go to the company Christmas party tonight and listen to everyone congratulate him.”

  “Why don’t you let me come with you?” he offers with a smile.

  “No, that’s not a good idea,” I decline. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

  “Why not?” he asks. A hard look appears on his face, his eyes narrow and go dark. The muscles in his jaw are flinching and he grits his teeth. He looks offended.

  “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but my father is just going to use you against me,” I explain, trying not to insult him. “You don’t make seven figures a year. He’s just going to tell me I’m wasting my time. He’s going to be a complete asshole to you, and after the day I’ve had, I just don’t have much more fight left in me.”

  “I’m not going to seek your father’s approval, Quinn,” he fires back angrily. He takes a step back putting some distance between us. “I’m going for you. I know your father’s an asshole. I also know he’s waiting for you to fuck up. Do you think it’s a coincidence he did this today knowing you’d be forced to listen everyone talking about it tonight? He’s waiting for you to do something stupid.”

  He acts like I don’t know all of this already. “What does any of this have to do with you coming and me having to listen to him pick you apart tonight?”

  “It’s not going to the party, Quinn. It’s about wanting to support you. It’s me wanting to be there for my girl when she needs me. I can make tonight a little easier for you, but you don’t want that. You don’t want my support outside the walls of our homes,” he barks exasperated.

  “What’s your problem?” I ask aggravated. “Why are you making this about you? I’m trying to spare you a night of being degraded by a douchebag.”

  “No,” he replies shaking his head at me. “I’m not making this about me. I’m trying to understand my part here. I hate seeing him do this to you and you won’t let me do anything to try to make it better for you. It’s hard for me to understand why a girl who can’t stand her father gives a shit what he thinks about me?”

  “That’s not true,” I counter.

  “Yes, it is. I don’t give a shit if your father likes me. I already don’t like him, and I couldn’t care less what he thinks about me,” he argues back and then points a finger at me. “It’s you who cares.”

  “I don’t give a shit what he thinks,” I protest again. I just poured my heart out to him about losing something that should’ve been an accomplishment for me, and all he’s concerned about is using it as a way to get me to give more. “I can’t believe we’re arguing over this right now. I’m sorry if my wanting to spare you a terrible night is upsetting to you, but I don’t have it in me to do more battle with him today.”

  Stepping away from me, Alex grabs his coat from the back of the couch and heads for the door. “If you think you’re doing me a favor, then you don’t know me at all. I love you, Quinn. I’d walk through fire for you. An evening with your father is a piece of cake no matter how terrible he is. He’s hurting you and it fucking kills me. Can’t you understand?”

  He’s out the door before I can even process any of it.

  He loves me?

  A weird feeling that’s a cross between nausea and the feeling you get when you hit the first drop on a roller coaster fills my stomach and chest.

  Love?

  Am I ready for someone to love me?

  I’m not built for these types of things. I do what any woman does in times of crisis and call my best friend.

  “Alex just told me he loves me!” I blurt out as soon as Ashley answers the phone.

  I hear the sharp intake of breath as she gasps. “No way!”

  “We were fighting over my dad, he was angry, and then told me he loved me and walked out,” I continue.

  “Tell me everything,” she demands.

  I recount the entire conversation and my feelings. When I finish, I hear her sigh. “Quinn…”

  “What?”

  “You missed the point of the gesture. He was willing to endure the verbal beating he knew he was going to get from your dad, just to be there to support you.” She says this all very slowly as if she’s talking to a child.

  “You’re missing my point,” I stress, extremely frustrated.

  “I’m not,” Ashley argues. “I understand you’re trying to spare him the unpleasant experience of meeting your father, but Alex isn’t interested in meeting your dad. You’re having a terrible day. You’re upset about what your dad did to you at work. Alex just wants to be there for you to try and make this evening more bearable for you. He loves you. He just wants to be there when you need him most. You can’t be angry about that.”

  Fuck me! I hadn’t thought about it in those terms at all. I honestly thought he was mad because I didn’t want him to meet my father. Simply because Alex doesn’t deserve to have to go through that. Nothing else.

  There’s still the fact he dropped the love bomb on me. “I’m not sure what I should do about the ‘I love you,’” I confess.

  “I’m not Alex, so I can’t speak for him. But … I’m pretty sure he didn’t tell you he loved you for you to say it back. He was trying to explain something to you. Talk to him. If you’re not ready to say it back, then don’t. But you can’t ignore that he loves you.”

  Thinking about everything she just said, I know she’s right. “Thanks, sweets. I have another call to make,” I say before ending the call.

  Taking a deep breath, I call Alex. It rings and rings before his voicemail picks up, but I don’t leave a message. It’s not like I can blame him for being mad– I was pretty nasty to him when all he was doing was trying to be there for me on a bad day.

  I’m sorry! I text him. Maybe if he knows I’m calling in peace, he’ll answer.

  I don’t have to wait to find out an answer because Alex is calling me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as soon as I answer.

  “Me too! I didn’t mean to get so harsh with you and walk out,” he apologizes as well.

  “Alex…” I start, not sure how to address the love elephant in the room.

  “It’s okay, angel,” I can hear him smile through the phone. The man is so in tune with me it’s scary. “I know you aren’t ready. I hadn’t planned on telling you this soon. Not that it isn’t true. I do love you, very much. I just didn’t want to freak you out or put pressure on you to say it back. I just wanted you to understand where I’m coming from.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him appreciatively. “For the words and the understanding.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” I can picture his face as the words come across the phone. The sly boyish grin he probably has on. The twinkle that’s in his eyes. The joy written across his face.

  “Would you please come with me to the party?” I ask as completely vulnerable as I can be. This is my putting myself out there, knowing damn well he may not want to go with me tonight. But now I can’t picture the night without him.

  “I’d be honored.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alex

  My world feels lighter having the words off my chest. It’s been hard holding them in. I’ve known I love her for the last six months. And I know Quinn is nowhere near saying those words. But I don’t doubt she loves me. She loves me in the only way she knows how to right now. And it’s more than enough for me. I don’t
need to hear the words to see them.

  Quinn’s actions speak louder than words. If she didn’t love me, she would’ve never let me in. Never let me near her when she’s vulnerable. That’s as good as an “I love you” from Quinn.

  “I wasn’t kidding earlier,” Quinn reminds me as we make our way into the extravagant company party at Cipriani. I’ve heard about this place. I’ve never been here personally, but I’ve heard how lavish it is, and the rumors are true. I shouldn’t have expected anything less based on the prestige of her family’s company, but fuck, this place is nice. I’ve never given too much thought to the money Quinn comes from since I’m used to being around people who make extreme amounts of money, but this is a different kind of money. I have a feeling I’m in for a bigger asshole than I thought.

  I can almost picture who Quinn’s father is in my head. His suit with a five-figure price tag. His arrogant cologne. Not a hair out a place. Surrounded by a group of people kissing his ass. A judging look on his face.

  I don’t care how much wealth you have; you can’t cover the scent of shit. And this man is a shit person. He can talk down to me all he wants; it’s just to make himself feel bigger. I’m looking forward to it. At the end of the day, there’s nothing this man can say about me to make me feel bad about myself.

  “Nothing he says matters, angel. Not to me,” I say again, linking my fingers through hers and giving her a reassuring squeeze.

  As soon as we pass through the entrance, Quinn makes a beeline straight for one of the servers carrying a tray of champagne flutes and plucks two of them off.

  “Here,” she says passing one to me. “You’re going to need this.”

  After about thirty minutes, I notice Quinn is purposely moving in opposition to her father. I don’t say anything and just follow her lead. Spotting her father was easy; I was able to as soon as we got here. I’ve never met the man or seen a picture of him, but it was easy to tell who he was. He and Quinn share a lot of the same features. The piercing blue eyes. The light-colored hair, although his is more silver now. The confidence he carries reminds me of the way Quinn carries herself. The difference between Quinn’s confidence and his is that hers hasn’t rotted into arrogance like his.