He's The Goal

by Faith M Troyer

  But I know that I do want marriage, maybe kids too, somewhere down the line, and I can see myself dancing to this song with my wife in my arms when we have our first dance as a married couple. I want Vada to realize these things one day and see me as more than a “manwhore, hockey-playing asshole.”

  I took the first step tonight when I told Bianca she had to leave, but I know I have a long road ahead of me if I’m going to convince her that I’m changing. We pull up into Jack’s parking spot in front of the apartment complex, and I shut the car off. Vada is already trying to exit the vehicle, but she’s still standing on shaky legs.

  Even though I’m not Vada’s favorite person at the moment, and I’m still not sure as to why I want to help her inside. I rush to the passenger’s side door, offering her my hand. She looks up at me and frowns.

  “I got it, Maxwell. Aren’t you supposed to be spending the night with Bianca?” She says slowly, trying not to slur her words and on wobbly legs, walks up to the staircase that leads to the apartment door-3C.

  I follow close behind and think about what she just said. I know Vada wasn’t thrilled about having her over tonight, but I didn’t think she would be this upset. I don’t press the issue but just follow behind.

  I hover close behind as Vada fishes for her key inside of her jeans pocket and manages to push it inside of the lock, but looks too exhausted to keep going once the door swings open. I know she’s going to hate me for doing this, but I don’t give a damn. I scoop her up from underneath her legs and put Vada into a fireman’s carry over my shoulder, knowing she might upchuck as a result, but I deserve it.

  She moans and rests her head against my shoulder. I’m pleased to see she’s not fighting me and allows me to close and lock the door before walking through the house.

  “I saw you with her tonight. You and Bianca were playing kissy-face on my fucking couch,” Vada quietly mutters as I reach her bedroom door.

  The pain, in her words, froze me. Slipping her from my shoulder, I set her on the floor, forcing her to look at me this time. Fuck my life! I feel like a fucking asshole. I’m not sure what to say as Vada tries to maintain her stare at me, but her hazel eyes are becoming glossy with emotion.

  “I thought I told you from the beginning that I don’t want any women in my house. I don’t care who you fuck around with Maxwell, but just don’t do it in my house.”

  “What you saw earlier was a mistake. I shouldn’t have even asked Bianca over in the first place, Vada. I’m sorry.”

  She stares past my shoulders at the wall and swallows back a lump of emotion that she’s trying so hard to hide.

  “You lit the candle that my Granny gave to me. That’s a special candle.”

  “I told her to leave and not come back. We’re over.”

  She shrugs her shoulders with indifference, but I can tell that this is going a lot further than she lets on. I want so badly to pull her into my arms and kiss her breathless and make her see that tonight should have been different, but she’s still under the influence, and I wouldn't dare. She may not even remember this by tomorrow, and then what? Do we just act like everything is normal?

  Vada closes her eyes for a second as a single tear falls down her cheek.

  “I’m going to bed now. Thanks for the ride home.”

  Before I can say anything else, Vada turns away from me, walks into her room, and closes the door behind her. Now I understand why she’s been so angry with me this entire time. It all makes sense now! I wasn’t going crazy this evening when I saw that look of jealousy in her eyes as Bianca kissed me.

  Does she have feelings for me, after all?

  Damn, you fucked up Maxwell. Big time. I sigh heavily with regret, lean my forehead against her closed bedroom door and fight back the urge to knock.

  My phone buzzes in the back of my pocket. No more texts. No more calls. I just want Vada to open the door and invite me inside. I need her to forgive me. My phone buzzes again, and I growl in irritation as I pull it out.

  Monica:

  Hi Max. Sorry to bother you, but I think you should know something, and please don’t tell Vada. The reason why she was so upset tonight and got so shit faced drunk was that she saw you and Bianca becoming very ‘friendly’ with each other on the couch last night just before we left. I guess she thought that drinking would make her feel better, at least temporarily. I tried cutting her off at one point, but it was no use. I hope you two can work it out. Also, Jack has been trying to call Vada all evening, but she never picked up for obvious reasons. Make sure she calls him.

  It feels as though I just got kicked in the balls. Hard. Angry at myself, my chest is heavy with so much regret. I’m an idiot.

  I stand outside of Vada’s door for a few minutes more. I stand there for a few minutes longer and finally hear her soft cries, and I die a little inside, knowing that I caused her to feel that way.

  I walk back to my room, my hands stuffed in my pockets and my head hanging low in shame. Fighting the urge to punch several holes in the walls and throwing my head back in a desperate scream, I throw myself onto the bed and cover my eyes with my forearm as I lay in the dark. Images of Vada’s gorgeous face flicker through my mind like a black and white film. When she smiles, it causes a kaleidoscope of butterflies to swarm around in my stomach. She has me, and she doesn't even know it, and now I’m afraid it’s too late.

  Vada is confident, and that’s one of the qualities I love most about her. Vada carries herself with high-quality, not so easily simulated. She knows who she is. However, there’s hurt in her eyes, but she will not detail who caused that pain. I never push her to speak about it because I don’t enjoy bringing up my past with Josie.

  Who likes rehashing the past and reopening old wounds?

  Gee! It sounds like a good time to me! Someone pop some champagne.

  Vada won’t admit it, but her heart is still tender and sensitive from those emotional hits, and she needs someone to tend to her wounds, not pour salt into them.

  My phone pings with a text message, and my heart stops. Shit. This better as hell is not Bianca. I quickly type in my four-digit pin, and a text message from Jack pops up. I breathe a sigh of relief and lean up on one arm. I roll my neck from side to side in an attempt to ease some of the tension I feel as I read Jack’s text.

  Jack:

  Hey man! How’s it going? Did someone kidnap my sister? I’ve been trying to contact her today, but my call just went to voicemail. Is everything okay?

  Me:

  Vada and Monica went out tonight, and they just got back. She won’t talk to me, Jack. I fucked up, and it’s terrible. I invited Bianca over tonight because the girls were going out. Thinking they were already gone, and she caught us making out on the couch.

  I hold my breath as I see the little dots dance on my screen, and I want to scream in anticipation. I know what Jack’s going to say.

  Jack:

  Damn it, Maxwell! I’m trying my best here, but with you having another girl over, not to mention kissing her, will not help matters, especially Bianca of all people, Max. Really? You know she’s bad news. All she wants from you is what you can give to her, and that’s it. Vada is the real deal, and I have a feeling she likes you too. Have you told her how you felt yet?

  I drop my head in defeat, huffing out a big sigh. Most big brothers would have freaked out knowing that their best friend has it bad for their little sister. Like, put your ass in a headlock; sleeper hold; hold you there until you pass out, say uncle, or die. But Jack isn’t like that, and thank God he’s not. Jack could see the flirtations, disguised as annoyed fueled hatred between his sister and me early on, and he always wondered how I felt about her.

  I finally came clean once during a Saturday night beer fest Jack and I were having downtown. I put away about two pitchers by myself when I drunkenly admitted to my best friend that I was in love with his sister.

  My massive frame slumped over the bar top as I rest my head on the cool sticky cherrywood. The fl
at screen in the background played an old baseball game from years back. Bystanders milled around curiously, trying to figure out if it was the goalie from the Miami Leopards, drunk off his ass and sloppily confessing his feelings for a woman who may never love him back.

  When my condominium’s property went up for sale, I found myself looking for another place, and Jack suggested that I just take his room while he was away in Europe. He told Vada that I’d be there only for a few months while I continue to look for another place, which is true. But he never told her the rest; the real, actual truth. I could have easily stayed at an extended stay hotel for a few months, But I wanted this time with Vada. I tried to get to know her better and stop fighting my feelings for her.

  But I’m finding myself doing just that, and I hate myself for it. I take a deep breath and release it slowly through my pursed lips as I close my eyes. I lay back on the bed, trying to gather my thoughts enough to text Jack, but still unsure of what I’m going to say.

  Me:

  Text your sister, man.

  I finish typing the message and turn my phone off. I pull my t-shirt off as I kick my shoes off. I remove my jeans, only leaving my boxers on as I slide under the covers. The fabric softener reminds me of Vada, and I do everything to push her out of my mind.

  Tonight’s sleep is bound to be a restless one.

  I can feel it.

  Vada

  October 10th

  It’s been two days since I lost all self-control and gave into my emotions and drank them away. Max did his best to cover his tracks. It’s what he does best, after all. He was skirting around the issue of damn-near fucking Bianca in my house, and when I confronted him, he got all flushed and looked embarrassed.

  Whatever happened to the “big man on campus,” Maxwell? The cocky bastard who walks around thinking he’s God’s gift to women? I told him that he could have a girl over, but I most certainly did not mean it was Bianca’s skanky ass.

  I had to hold my emotions back and not let him see that it was making me upset.

  God. He looked at me with those killer blue eyes, and they damn near stripped me bare. I’m almost embarrassed by the way he always makes me think, but I don’t mind it. Max is the only one that can genuinely make me drop all of my walls and see me for who I truly am.

  Wanting to ignore every raw nerve in my body, I stood there with him in front of my bedroom door, waiting for him to pull me into his arms and kiss me.

  Though I was still a little drunk, I knew he was enough of a gentleman not to take advantage of the situation. It makes me love him more.

  My heart broke a tiny bit more, though, when Max didn’t attempt even to hold my hand or hug me. That’s when I knew this entire thing was one-sided. He doesn't have feelings for me, after all.

  It’s now Monday morning, and I have a fresh start, though Max is still moping around the house. You’d think he was the one who got his heartbroken. I’m the one that’s falling in love and watched Bianca fawn all over him last night like a starved puck-bunny.

  I’ve been trying my best to dodge Max this morning, but this is a small apartment, and it’s almost impossible to ignore a six-foot giant who’s holding my heart captive, even if he doesn't even know it. I have an afternoon class today and plan on studying at the library after a big exam.

  I’ll be grateful to be out of the house for the majority of the day. My watch beeps at me, reminding me about class, which means I better have my butt in a seat within a half hour. After the last lecture, I don’t want to take a chance of being late again and having a silent tongue lashing from professor Lincoln. His eyes alone were enough of a punishment.

  Deciding that I’ll forgo any eye makeup today to save time, I pack up my makeup bag and put everything, including my hair products, back on the bathroom shelf. Not giving a second thought, I pull the door open and run straight into a giant wall of warm, hard muscle.

  I stumble and feel Max’s hands-on mine in an attempt to steady me. I sigh deeply, loving the feeling of his fingers curled gently around my wrists.

  Realizing I chose to skip my eye makeup this morning, my cheeks flush a deep red. I spent most of Saturday and Sunday morning in my room crying, and I’m sure my eyes are still a little puffy. I didn’t give a second thought; now I feel stupid. The last thing I wanted to do was spill any tears for someone who doesn't give a damn about my feelings.

  But he must, because Max admitted to kicking Bianca out before coming to pick me up. He seemed remorseful enough.

  Straightening my spine, I remember why he was ‘remorseful’ because he got caught.

  Remember that, Vada.

  I look up at him through my dark lashes and try not to gasp. He’s so beautiful. Max is so ruggedly handsome that it’s raw and primal and puts other good looking men to shame.

  I roll my eyes at these thoughts and slowly pull away from Max’s hold.

  Stay strong, Vada. Don’t let Max rope you in with his good looks and intoxicating charm. You’ll end up even more hurt than you already are and possibly pregnant.

  “Good morning,” he says with the low husky voice that he has the first thing in the morning, and I find it incredibly sexy.

  I speculate if it's possible to ovulate from a man’s voice alone?

  He’s shirtless and only wearing a pair of gray jogging pants that are slung low on his trim waist. My mouth waters at the thought of what may be underneath that soft material, and I’m half-tempted to wipe my mouth with the towel he has slung over his shoulder.

  “Good morning,” I reply quietly, trying not to fall victim to his Greek god muscles and sweet demeanor.

  Before all of this “Max kissing Bianca” drama, I’d strut around the house confident as ever, enjoying our petty banter about house chores, and how much of a “clean freak” he thinks I am.

  The entire time, I thought Max actually might have liked me too, and those not so subtle looks he’d steal at my ass when he thought I wasn’t looking were secretly flattering. Now I feel silly.

  If I stand here any longer, I might fall victim to this shirtless wonder and spill my guts. Saying nothing, I sidestep him politely and try my best to slow my steps. Slowing my breaths, I try to focus.

  Breathe deep, Vada. Yes, he’s gorgeous, shirtless, and seems to be offering himself up to you on a platter, but you must not falter. Don’t eat the apple, Eve.

  “My first game of the season begins next week,” Max softly says as he walks into the kitchen, and this time he’s wearing a fucking shirt.

  Damn it!

  I avert my gaze from him but still find both my stomach and brains turning to mush whether he’s clothed or not.

  I pull the fridge door open and find yogurt to eat before class. I nod my head and damn near float to the silverware drawer. I’m sick, lovesick, and I fucking hate it. I rifle through the spoons, making a noisy clatter and wasting time so I don’t have to look at Max, but my heart squeezes as I steal a glance at him from my peripheral vision.

  His dark hair is messy in a sexy, tousled way like he just woke up or had wild sex. My mouth goes dry as my mind conjures up images of a sweaty, breathless Maxwell as he pounds his—

  “Vada? Are you going to the game?”

  My eyes widen with surprise as I snap back to reality.

  He smiles devilishly and nods to the yogurt in my hand that I’m damn near squeezing to death. Blushing now, I glance at my watch and see I have twenty more minutes to get to class.

  I pull the foil off the top and toss it into the trash beside me.

  There is no way that I can make the game tonight, not with work.

  Why am I even thinking of going? We’re not friends. We barely get along as roommates, so why is he asking me to come to his stupid game? I glance up at Max and see he’s leaning back against the table now, bearing his weight on his open palms, and my eyes nearly fall out of my head at sight.

  Max flexes his toned muscles, tautly and deliciously.

  “Are we going to pretend that
everything is okay?” I ask as I rip my eyes away from the picture of male perfection.

  There’s that look again from the other night as if he’d cut off his arm so that I wouldn’t have to feel any pain. He takes a deep breath and puts his hands in his pockets, and lets his head fall in defeat. Now I feel like a bitch.

  Okay, so maybe he’s not perfect. Not by any means, no one is. But he is trying, and I know I can hold a grudge better than anyone I know. I had enough practice over the years. I was the one who caught my Dad with one of his many mistresses. It was an accident when I walked in and saw him, but at the tender age of twelve, thinking that your Dad hung the fucking moon and realizing that he’s a cheating asshole instead tends to change the family dynamic a little.

  I still haven’t forgiven my Father for hurting my Mom and tearing our entire family apart. I’m not sure that I ever will.

  Like my Dad, Max hops from one bed to another. But at least Max owns his sexuality and doesn't lie about it or cheat with other women.

  Ugh! I need a couch to lie on and someone who charges by the hour so I can spill my guts.

  I look to the floor and fight back the burning sensation that I feel exploding through my sinuses, and ignore the tears that threaten to prick my eyes. I cried enough this weekend, and I thought I had used every tear my body had to give, but I guess I was wrong. Max wasn’t the only reason for my puffy, swollen red eyes these past few days. When he told me that Bianca had a childish meltdown Friday night after telling her to leave, she found my Granny’s china and smashed the set to the ground.