by Sierra Hill
I’m not even sure where my mom is coming up with this stuff, because I know for a fact that she and my dad met when she was sixteen and he eighteen and it was love at first sight. They fell head over heels and eloped without my grandmother’s blessing. And back in the day, that was a really big deal.
“Maybe. It’s just that I feel something so strong, right here,” I admit, clutching my fist at my heart to demonstrate. “It won’t go away. I denied it for a very long time. I tried to stay away from him, but in the end, it was inevitable. It would mean so much for me if you could accept him. Accept that I don’t want to be with Alberto, not now nor anytime in the future. I think Lance is where my future lies.”
Her tight smile and nod of her head before she stands and walks away is probably the closest I will get to an actual agreement.
The truth is, my parents know they can’t make me marry Alberto. I know it. Alberto knows it. They can continue to shove Alberto in my face at every family get-together, but it’s not enough to change my mind. Or my heart.
Because there isn’t anything in the world that could make me change my mind about Lance.
~~~
After leaving my parents, I drive over to Ainsley and Cade’s apartment. He’s apparently out of town in New York at a business conference, so Ainsley invited me to come over and hang a little bit. Plus, I know she’s been dying to talk about wedding plans. She only has her younger sister and Cade’s mom and sisters, so she’s eager to have someone just to listen to her instead of bombarding her with ideas and suggestions.
I knock on the door of her house and it swings open, Ainsley’s bright smile lighting up her face. When I first met her, she kept that smile to herself most of the time and it took a good six months for her to finally open up to me. But from there, our friendship blossomed and she’s one of the most loving, caring and supportive friends I’ve ever had in my life.
“Hey you,” she greets, opening the door wider so I can step in. “Come on in and take a load off.”
“Mmm, it smells good in here. Are you baking?”
She moves around me and into the kitchen, which is a bit outdated, but clean and bright, and she checks the timer on the oven.
“Yeah. I’m making cookies for Cade when he gets back to town tomorrow night. Is that too domestic and pathetic?” she asks, scrunching her nose.
I chuckle.
“I think it’s romantic. And sweet. And I bet it will score you lots of points in bed.”
We laugh and she opens the fridge door. “What can I get you to drink? Coke? Tea?”
“Just water is fine. How’s it been without Cade this week?”
She sets down the water in front of me and sticks out her lower lip in a pout.
“God, I’ve missed him so much. I never thought I could miss anyone like I do. Although Anika’s been around, it’s just not the same. Plus, she’s a surly teenage girl and has her nose stuck in her phone all the time.”
She mentions her teenage sister, now a sophomore in high school and I look around to see if there’s evidence of her at home.
“Is she here? I haven’t seen her in months.”
Ainsley shakes her head, pulling out a piping hot batch of cookies from the oven, placing them on the wire cooling rack on the counter. I sniff the air and sigh. They smell yummy and full of gooey goodness.
“No, she’s over at her boyfriend’s house.”
My ears perk up and my eyes go wide. It was only a matter of time before Anika started dating. She’s just a younger version of Ainsley – which means she’s beautiful – dark raven hair and azure colored eyes.
“Boyfriend? Since when?” I slide a cookie off the pan and into my waiting hand. It’s hot and soft and I think I’ll be heaven the minute I bite down.
“She and Jordan have been together now for six weeks. In fact, he asked her to the homecoming dance a week after they first went out. Now they’re practically inseparable. And I’m a nervous wreck, nagging her all the time about using protection and safe sex and the statistics on teen pregnancy. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be ‘that parent’, you know?”
The cookie melts in my mouth and I groan at its deliciousness. Wiping off the corner of my mouth, I tilt my head in question.
“Do you think they’ve already done it?”
Even though I lost my virginity in high school, it seems weird to think that little Ani would be at that point in her life already.
“She says they haven’t gone all the way yet…but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. They try not to be all touchy-feely around me and Cade when they’re over here, but I’ve walked by her open bedroom door when they were making out and, ahem, have requested they dial it down a notch. So yeah, I’d say they’re pretty serious. Speaking of which…what’s new with you and Lance? Where is he tonight?”
I tell her everything that’s been going on between us – the good and the bad – the angst I feel about my family’s displeasure over him, and the fight he was in with his dad, and even the concerns I have about his behavior as of late. I feel ridiculous about even bringing that up, but I need to tell someone.
There’s also the fact that he’s been late a lot recently to pick me up, has ditched classes more than usual, and that one night he didn’t come over or even call me, saying the next day that he’d fallen asleep and didn’t wake up until that next morning.
Ainsley thinks carefully on her response.
“Honestly? I think that’s just Lance being Lance. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s been a bit of a wildcard. I know the guys adore him, but I also think they worry that he has these periods where he comes off the rails a little.”
“Do you think I should be worried? Do you…” my voice cracks a little with the weight of this question. “Do you think he’s sleeping around on me?”
The question itself is a loaded one. I don’t think either of us know the extent to which we should be worried or what exactly we should be concerned about.
Ainsley grabs my hand. “No. Mica, I’ve seen the way he looks at you and how he acts when you’re around. He’s in deep for you. I think you just need to give him some space when he’s like this. You’re the first relationship he’s had, as far as I know. He’s probably just trying to figure out the ropes.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m just overreacting. And now that basketball is starting, I’m sure it’ll take some time for him to get in groove again. Just forget I said anything.”
I wave my hand as if to wipe the thought away and swipe another cookie, the sugary texture melting in my mouth and filling me with bliss.
“Now, let’s talk wedding details, shall we?”
And with that, we get down to business and I get to live vicariously through Ainsley’s perfect new life and love.
Chapter 23
Lance
“Am I just old or are these workouts tougher than they were last year?”
I throw my wet towel in the bin next to the locker doors and pull on some briefs, nodding my head in agreement at my teammate Christian Lancaster question.
We’re a week into the season, workouts in the athletic department weight room in the mornings and full two-hour daily practices during the week. Once we begin games in early November, it’s about twenty-to-thirty-hour week practices. And my body is mad as a motherfucker right now from the intrusions on my daily nap routine.
I don’t seem to recall it being so difficult to get back into the swing of things the last few years when we transitioned back into play. Then again, I spent those summers keeping myself in shape, where this summer I spent time drinking and fucking. Both activities that were A-OK with me.
Even Christian and my trainer commented last week on my lack of physical endurance and gave me shit about the little Buddha belly I’d apparently developed. Their jabs and sarcastic shit are just part of our typical smack talk and locker room talk. I know I’m still in better shape than any normal college senior. And Mica certainly doesn’t complain when her h
ands are all over my body.
As if reading my mind, Christian smacks my ass with the end of his wet towel.
“I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re coming out with the new recruits this Friday to Tomas’s house party cause you ain’t looking for chicks any more, are ya?”
He smirks at me with a knowing cock of an eyebrow.
Normally I’d push his buttons or quip about my skills in the ladies department, but in this point in my relationship with Mica, there’s no use. I have no desire to seek out the company of other girls because she’s the only one I want.
“What can I say, bro. I’ll be hanging out with my lady if I’m lucky. And without me there to steal all the chicks, you’ll finally get a chance to get lucky and score.”
Christian laughs good naturedly and is about to say something else wholly inappropriate, I’m sure, when we’re interrupted by the new assistant coach, Coach Parker.
“Hey Britton, can I speak to you for a minute before you head out?”
My instincts tell me this is not a conversation about my thoughts on the lower classman and new recruits, but about how I need to show up a little more out on the court. Because I know, just as much as he does, that I’ve been sucking wind.
Stuffing my dirty laundry in my gym duffle bag, I zip it closed and turn around to face him.
“Sure Coach. Whatever you need.”
Coach Parker pats me on the shoulder and turns to walk toward the bank of offices on the outside of our locker rooms.
Glancing over at Christian, I notice his expression is one of solidarity, but lacks the confidence in me.
“Good luck, fucker,” he croons, making the sign of the cross. “Hope I see you tomorrow at practice.”
“Thanks, asshole.”
And without a backwards glance, I follow in the direction of Coach Parker as I head into his office situated at the end of the hallway.
“Take a seat, Lance,” he says, moving around the corner of the desk and finding his own seat.
I do as he says, but not before I get a chance to scan the contents of his office. There are boxes lined up against the far wall and a few pictures hung up, as well as one on his desk of a cute kid. Otherwise his office is pretty baron. Probably because he’s the newest addition to the staff this year and the youngest assistant on the team. I think he’s maybe pushing late twenties, maybe thirty.
We’ve heard rumors about Garrett Parker. He went pro right after his first year of college. Played a few years, was traded around as a free agent. He married his high school girlfriend and they had a kid, and then last year his wife and kid were in an accident, leaving the wife dead and the kid with some sort of disability.
It’s crazy to think that a guy like this who seemingly had it all got such a shit break like that. What hasn’t ever been explained, and what we all wonder, is why Garrett left the pros and decided to take an assistant coaching job. But I’m not about to ask him that very personal question.
I sit uncomfortably in my chair across from him watching his expression change as he looks down at what I assume is the team roster sheet and his notes from the last week of practices.
There’s a few beats of silence and then he says, “You need to step up this year, Britton. Be a leader.”
Um, okaaaay. Not sure what he means by that.
He continues, seemingly aware of my inner dialogue. “As a fifth-year, you have the most experience on this team. You know what it takes to get to the championship. You know the amount of hard work and teamwork that’s involved. This game isn’t about just one single guy or even a few. It’s about the entire team. But one guy can make it or break it. If we want another chance at the Big Dance this year, I need you to step up your game.”
Sounds reasonable. I couldn’t agree more. I nod my head but don’t say anything, uncertain of what he’s looking for, because I feel like he has more to say. And he does.
“But from what I’ve observed in just this short period of time, you haven’t bothered showing up. Your ass is dragging. I don’t see any energy or even motivation being demonstrated out there on the court.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up his palm, shutting off my response.
“We don’t know each other well, Lance. I get that and can appreciate your reticence. I’m new and that makes me the outsider. But let me explain what I see from an outsider perspective. There’s something going on with you. All I have to do is watch footage of you from last year compared to now and I see it.
“So, I need to know what’s going on. Help me help you. Because it’s not just about you on that court, but you do play a huge role. If something’s weighing you down, it weighs our entire club down. You feel me?”
As anyone in my position would do who’s been confronted with something like this, my hackles go up and I turn into a rabid beast who’s been cornered. I become defensive. My posture turns stiff as my facial expression turns cold.
Deny.
Deny.
Deny.
“Nothing’s going on, Coach. Everything’s cool. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Coach Parker just stares at me for a few moments, dissecting me with his eyes like I’m a puzzle piece that he’s trying to fit somewhere. Analyzing my words and the tone to determine if I’m telling the truth or lying through my teeth.
After a minute or so, he sighs and then throws me for a loop.
“Lance, I know from your file that you lost your mother last year and that’s a fucking blow to anyone’s psyche. I lost someone I loved very much, too, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. There’s this hole in your stomach that won’t go away. A rage that simmers on the back burner ready to explode at any given minute. We can’t get back what we lost, or go back in time to do things differently, but we can do something to help ourselves. I’ve found talking with someone helps. I’ve been going to a counselor for the past six months to help me cope,” he blinks, running a hand through his short, light hair. “I’ve made some bad decisions in my life, but I’m working to get back in the driver’s seat. So, if you need someone, Lance, you let me know. You don’t have to go it alone.”
There’s a lump in my throat that feels like a boulder, stuck there; choking me. My eyes sting with unshed tears that lodge in the creases. Half of me wants to break down; open up; cry like a motherfucking baby and shed this layer of self-hatred and loathing.
And the other half wants to tell him to ‘fuck off’ and worry about his own life. Go blabber to his psychologist, not me. Don’t pull me into your ‘woe is me’ mind fuck party. I can handle this. I am handling this. I don’t need him, or anyone else for that matter, to tell me what to do or how to think or how to act.
Like he said, he knows nothing about my situation and we aren’t friends. He hasn’t earned my trust and for all I know, he’s just a washed up, has-been star now turned assistant college basketball coach. He’s not my spiritual guru or guidance counselor.
From where I sit, I don’t have to tell him shit.
On the other hand, I can’t disrespect him because he’s my coach. He calls the shots. He could easily suspend me, or bench me, or even worse. Deciding to take the high road, I straighten my spine, man-up and offer my gratitude, telling him what he wants to hear.
“Thanks Coach. I appreciate your concern. Yeah, it’s been tough. Things are definitely different now with my friends gone and the new guys coming in. Maybe I have been slacking a little just trying to get back into the swing of things. But don’t worry. I’m good. I’ll start putting in more effort. I won’t let you down.”
Even as the words come tumbling out and hang in the air between us, I feel that lie burn in the back of my throat; charring my soul.
Because I know the truth.
I always let those I love and respect down. It’s just who I am.
I’m sure I’ll end up doing it to him, just as I did it to my brother and my parents.
And at some point, I’ll probably do it to Mica.
Chapter 24
Mica
It’s been three days since I’ve seen or even heard from Lance.
Our schedules haven’t meshed all that well since he started back at practices. I knew it would be difficult, and of course I don’t begrudge him for his crazy schedule, but it feels like it’s something more than that. Like he’s ignoring me on purpose. Until now, he’s never not texted me – even when he’s been busy, he’s always responded to me.
Things between us were going so great over the summer and into fall. It’s the longest either one of us had ever been in a relationship and it just felt right. Although I told myself not to, I fell in love with him. Maybe I’d been in love with him all along, since the first conversation we had when he first nicknamed me Georgie.
My heart feels like a piece of Swiss cheese; the holes punched through every time I don’t hear from him or he tells me something that my intuition suggests isn’t the truth.
It bothers me and makes me angry with myself that I have this inkling of distrust. Part of me chalks it up to my mother and sister constantly making negative comments about Lance.
“He’s not like us, hermana,” my sister had said.
“You deserve someone so much better, hija,” said my mother.
I’m always defending him. Defending what we have together. After not hearing from him for days, I wonder if they’re right after all. I question whether what we have is strong enough and will last.
Maybe I was just a summer fling to him and now that he’s back to the life he has led for the last four years, he doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe the constant supply of hoops hunnies have made him reconsider what he really wants.
Gah. Why am I suddenly so insecure? My jealousy is driving me crazy and turning me into a nervous nelly.
All these negative thoughts swirl around in my head as I play with my niece and nephews in the back yard of my parents’ house. I’ve been in a nasty mood all day, pining over Lance and wondering what I did to cause this riff. My mood is so nasty I’ll probably bite the head off the next person that talks to me.
