De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  I’m embracing the pain and loving it. I don’t want to stop, but if I don’t, I’ll pay hell while driving home after class tonight. So, I’m doing my walk-out, which is a decorative term for picking up one-hundred-and-ten percent of my back-squat weight, un-racking it, taking two steps back, and holding it for ten seconds.

  10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1 and...I’m done.

  As I’m cleaning up the equipment, I get a tap on my shoulder.

  Seriously, I’m not even listening to music, but earbuds in one’s ear means don’t talk to me.

  “What the fuck do you want, Shooter?”

  “One hell of a way to talk to a teammate, son.”

  I turn around and am face-to-face with my coach, the man who apparently took a payoff to put me on the team. I bite back my annoyance.

  “Sorry, Coach Thompson.”

  “Don’t be, son.”

  His voice, once an encouragement, now grates on my skin.

  “Gotta minute before you hit the shower?” I nod.

  “Great, follow me.”

  Walking behind him, I set the equipment sterilizing spray on the rack then toss the cloth into the hamper.

  Walking into his office, he points to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Have a seat.”

  I sit down as he turns his computer monitor toward me, and then I see my near-naked body on the screen.

  “Gotta friend who works in the industry. Saw pictures of you that the photographer messaged him. Saw you were one of my boys and wanted me to ask you how you felt about working for him.”

  I know damn well he’s not talking about lacrosse, but I’d like to make sure. “What industry?”

  “Underwear.” He chuckles.

  I’ve gotten weird-ass direct messages from some dudes in the past, so I know damn well I’m not interested. “I’ll pass.”

  “You sure about that? I mean, it’s not Calvin Klein, but they’re hoping you can take them to the next level. He’s Duke alumni, son.” The way he delivers the news mimics that of my father—expectancy.

  I stand. “Not interested.” And I walk out.

  “Might be an offer you won’t get again,” he calls from behind me and, like before, it reminds me of my father.

  I turn and look back at him. “Let me ask you a question.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he locks his fingers behind his head.

  “Did my father pay you off to put me on the team?”

  “Now, where would you get an idea like that?”

  I look in his eyes and see the truth. “Understood.

  Driving home from North Carolina, I feel like I’m losing my damn mind. I’m pissed at him, pissed at myself, pissed at all the parents in the world who would pull shit like that—make their kids believe they’re better than they really are, instead of being honest and direct them to where their talents lay.

  My talents include...not fucking much. I could be a porn star, I laugh at myself, or a fucking underwear model.

  I chose this school because of the team, and they chose me because of money.

  Then I laugh at the fact that it was probably my fucking inheritance.

  Then I realize I’m losing my shit a lot like Autumn did five days ago.

  And yep, I’m a pussy because I fucked a woman for three days who clearly doesn’t want a thing to do with me, and I’m still thinking about her.

  “Man up!” I hit my steering wheel then white-knuckle grip it. “Man. The Fuck. Up.”

  At two in the morning, I pull up to the gate and hit the button behind the visor to open it. When it doesn’t open, I feel my blood begin to boil.

  Before I drive through the damn gate, I pull up and hit the code on the manual keypad. It opens.

  “That’s a good fucking thing,” I hiss at the damn keyboard.

  When I step out, I am quickly reminded it was leg day. I stretch then walk to the door, hit the code, and open it up.

  There’s a few more night lights than I had in the place, and it smells like flowers and perfumed candles. I notice it’s clean, too. I expected a bit of a mess, knowing I didn’t pick shit up that I should have when I was her age.

  After using the bathroom and taking a hot shower, I come back out into the open living space and see a Spiderman blanket has been draped across the couch.

  “You’re home again so soon?”

  I look toward the kitchen where my father is leaning against the island.

  “And tired, so...” I walk toward the couch. “We have some issues, son.”

  “You don’t say.” I fluff the pillow.

  “Jean’s son surfaced and is taking over the company.”

  I huff. “Good for him.”

  “Might be good for him, but not for us.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning. I just drove nine hours straight because I can’t afford a flight so that I could be here to show my sister some support when she needs it—”

  “She’s gonna need it.” He shakes his head. “Owed some girl at school some money and got her ass kicked.”

  “This is your fucking—”

  “You think it’s my fault, but I more than provide for her. That’s what alimony and child support are for. Not my fault her mother blows it, and not my fault she doesn’t tell me when she needs something because her mother paints me to be the fucking devil, Eric.”

  “It’s—”

  “She tell you about that?”

  He knows the answer to that question, and he’s enjoying this shit.

  “Daisy and Daniel are fine. A little high strung but fine.” As he shakes his head, I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him appear affected and not like a complete pompous ass. “Shelby’s a different kind.”

  “She was raised by—”

  “And she could stay here; that’s her choice.”

  “Not with the way Mrs. Cartwright 4.0 treats her.”

  “She stole from her jewelry chest.”

  “Yeah, well,” I huff.

  “It’s not the same, Eric. I had—”

  “It is the same thing,” I snap. “You used my money for a buy-in to college?”

  “Now that you mention it, that’s one of the reasons—”

  “No more excuses, Father.”

  “No quick way fix to it, so why not let me handle it?”

  “No, I want control over my own shit, and I want to go to bed so when Shelby wakes up, I can take her to get breakfast and then to school and find out whose ass I have to kick.”

  He chuckles as he walks toward the door. “She’s suspended for a week.”

  “For getting her ass kicked?”

  He smirks. “She got in a few jabs, too.” Then he leaves.

  Thank God.

  I draw the curtains, lock the doors, and then go peek in on Shelby.

  Through the sliver of light coming through the main living area, I see her eyes are open. Well, one and a half are.

  The half is visibly swollen, even in the dark.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m tired of talking about it.”

  I lean against the door. “School shrink?”

  “No, Dad.”

  Not sure I heard her right, I ask, “Father?”

  She nods and pulls the purple blanket up to her chin. “I think he feels bad. And I don’t think I like him feeling that way.”

  “He has a lot to feel bad about.”

  “Maybe to you.” She yawns. “But it’s her fault.”

  “Whose fault? Suzy’s?”

  She shakes her head. “My mom’s.”

  “Shells—”

  “I wanna go to sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  Still half-asleep, I jump up to the sound of a scream and sunshine in my face. “Dad!”

  Shelby. It’s Shelby.

  “Dad, wake up! Dad! Help! Someone, help!”

  I run out the door and see her
fully clothed, dragging our father across the shallow end of the pool.

  “Daddy, please!”

  I run and jump in beside her.

  “Eric! Eric, he’s—”

  “Call nine-one-one.”

  She’s still screaming, panicking.

  “Shelby, now!”

  Forty minutes later, Shelby, Suzy, and I pull into Stony Brook Emergency behind the ambulance. Shelby is sobbing into her hands, and Suzy is making phone calls and pissing me off.

  “Get off the phone, Suzy.”

  “Excuse me?” she snaps as she wipes away tears.

  “We don’t even know what’s going on with him yet, and you have him dead.”

  “Excuse me?” she snaps again as she bats away tears.

  “Get. Off. The. Fucking. Phone.” I take it from her hand. “Until you know what’s going on, shut the fuck up.”

  I throw the vehicle in park, and then we all jump out. I hit the key fob and lock the doors.

  Waiting is hell, especially after we see the EMTs doing chest compressions as they bring him into the emergency room, especially when the ER doc tells us that his best chance for survival is surgery and recommends New York Presbyterian via helicopter, and especially since the last conversation you had with your father was an argument about money.

  Fuck money.

  Fuck it.

  Somehow, I manage to get Suzy to go back home and take care of her kids, telling her that there isn’t a thing she can do for him and that, when he woke up, he will want to see her.

  The saddest thing about it is it didn’t take much to convince her. She was out the door with another board member’s wife, the third Mrs. Burns, I believe.

  Shelby, on the other hand, flat-ass refuses to leave. No amount of trying to convince her changes that, and although her excuse is that she can’t go to school because of her suspension, I know it’s because she is harboring the same fucked-up feeling I am. That feeling: guilt.

  After we watch the helicopter take off with Father...Dad, Shelby and I hurry through the white corridors toward the exit and all but run to the vehicle.

  Once inside the Rover, Shelby loses it again.

  “Shelby, seatbelt, and then type New York Presbyterian into the GPS.”

  She buckles then bats at her tears as she sets the GPS.

  “One hour and fifty-two minutes?” She sniffs. “What if he—”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “How do you know!” It’s more accusatory than question.

  “Just do,” I say as I turn onto the main road.

  She pulls her knees to her chest and hugs them tightly. “He was mad at me, EJ, and I screamed at him and told him it was his fault. I screamed at him! I told him I hated him! I—”

  “Shells—”

  “That’s what he calls me. He started it. Not you, him!”

  “Okay, well—”

  “I’m the reason he’s dying. I’m the reason—”

  “You’re the reason he didn’t drown in that pool, Shelby. Your scream woke me up. You calling nine-one-one got help to him.”

  “He hates me.”

  “No, Shelby.” I accelerate and pass a few cars. “Last night, when you and I talked, you said—”

  “It’s afternoon—a lot has happened since then!”

  “Shelby, talk, don’t scream.”

  “No—”

  “Not giving you the option like I did last night. Talk, Shelby.”

  “He’s sending Mom away. Told me I have to stay here. I told him I hated him!”

  “I get you’re upset, but talk, kiddo.”

  “I’m not a kid!”

  “I suppose not, but you should have been given the opportunity to be one.”

  I give her a few minutes to process what I said. It’s a big fucking statement and will be an even bigger realization when she gets it.

  After several minutes, she clears her throat and sits back. “He was telling her. She said she didn’t want me here.”

  “Suzy?”

  “Who else?” She throws her hands in the air.

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything. I told him that I hated him and that I would never stay there.”

  “But you don’t hate him.”

  “I’m not staying there. When I know he’s okay, I’m going back.”

  “And where did he say he’s sending your mom?”

  “Jail probably.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “Samantha Tuttle beat me up for money that Mom owes her for pills, so—”

  “He knows that?”

  “How the fuck do I know what he knows?” she spits.

  “Language,” I warn, but with little conviction behind it. She’s a fifteen-year-old who’s never had stability. I can empathize with that. The rest of the shit she’s gone through, though, not so much. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

  “Shells,” I sigh.

  “Stop calling me that! And after this, go back to hating me, because right now—”

  “Never hated you, and we aren’t taking two steps forward and three back, Shelby. He can’t send your mom to jail for Sammie Tuttle giving you a couple of black eyes. No evidence. If he’s sending her away, I’m going to assume he’s talking rehab.”

  “Why would he do that? He hates her.”

  “Because he loves you.”

  She huffs. “He hasn’t said so since I was seven years old.”

  “Well, he does. And I’m siding with him on this; you aren’t going back there.”

  “You can’t stop me,” she snaps.

  “You wanna make a bet?”

  An incoming call from a 718 area code comes through.

  “Keep your emotions in check while I take this. Might be the hospital.”

  I hit accept on the steering wheel control. “This is Eric Cartwright.”

  “Exactly the man I was looking for.”

  “And you are?”

  “Name’s Philip Ellison. I’m a friend of Coach Thompson’s and wanted to contact you personally.”

  “I appreciate that, but I’m not interested.”

  “You wanna tell me what would make the deal more interesting?”

  “To be honest? Nothing.”

  “Not sure what old Jimbo told you, but we make quality underwear that we men need to hold our shit in place.”

  “Gross,” Shelby whispers.

  I glance over to see her pretending to gag.

  “Would love to have you as the face of the new collegiate men’s line coming out in a few weeks. Had a guy, but he did us dirty last minute, so we could use you.”

  “Sir—”

  “How much?” Shelby asks.

  I glare at her. “Doesn’t matter how much—”

  “Hundred and fifty sound fair?”

  “An hour?” Shelby interjects while looking down at her phone. “That’s shit money, and you and I both know that.”

  “Not sure who I’m talking to now, but I wouldn’t give a hot dog to a man who’s got the grade A beef we’re looking for.” He chuckles.

  “Double gross,” she whispers then clears her throat. “Three hundred and fifty, six months, and the contract is renewable at his discretion.”

  “He’s a good-looking boy, but he’s not Gandy, miss. Two hundred K, eight months, and I’ll agree on the contract terms.”

  “Three hundred, seven months, and okay.”

  “Shelby, I’m not interested,” I state firmly, “so don’t waste his time.”

  “An hour,” he jokes.

  “You heard the man; don’t waste our time.” She smirks.

  “We add that he does a live commercial blast on social media once a month, approved by us, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “You deposit fifty Gs in his account as a good faith measure, no strings, and you’ve got a deal.” “Twenty,” he counters.

  “Thirty and then the rest before the shoot takes place in case he has a pimple on his ass, and you change your
mind.”

  “We set up the shoot this weekend, and it’s a deal.” He laughs. “I just need an email address to send the contract, and an account number for the transfer, and we’ll get the ball rolling on our end.”

  “We’ll text it to you as soon as you free up the line.”

  “This weekend isn’t going to work, Shelby,” I scold her then continue, “I appreciate the offer, but right now we’re on our way to the hospital and are unsure of what we’re facing.”

  “I apologize, Eric. Your girl was giving me a run for my money. She a Duke student, as well? When she graduates from college, we could use her on our team, little ballbuster.”

  “She’s my fifteen-year-old sister—”

  “But I’ll take the job now,” she says as if she truly believes she’s getting an offer.

  “Well, damn, sweetheart, you keep us in mind when you get through college. We prefer Duke graduates.” He laughs

  She glares at me like he was being serious, like I just took away a piece of chocolate cake.

  “We’ll know more in a couple hours. I’m sure Eric can figure something out for this weekend. I can stay with Dad while he meets you. The shoot will have to be in New York City.”

  “Your family will be in our prayers. Keep in touch.”

  Before I can reiterate that I’m not interested, the line disconnects.

  “Shelby—”

  “As your contract negotiator, all I ask is that Mom goes to a decent rehab center.”

  Fuck, I sigh to myself.

  “Dad and Suzy fight about money, things are bad. He keeps saying de la Porte bonuses are due and things will be fine. If he’s wrong, we need that money, Eric.”

  “If I do this, Shelby, you will be moving in with Dad.” Her smile stops me from continuing.

  “You said Dad.” Shit.

  “Well, you’ll be moving in with him and leaving that school. We’ll find you a better one.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eric

  My card was declined at the gas pump, and I had to pay cash. Apparently, when you have your bill set up to automatically draft from your savings account, your account needs money in it to pay said bill.