His Virgin Bride

by Kara Hart

  I let the pillow fall back to the couch and I give her a blank stare. “Okay, so that answers that. You aren’t bored yet. Got it,” she says, awkwardly. “I’m just messing around when I shouldn’t be. You’re clearly hurt and I want to be here for you. I’m really sorry sweetie-pie. More than you know.”

  “Jen, I’m a grown woman. I should be able to handle this type of stuff every now and then,” I pause and sigh, wiping more tears from my eyes. It’s like a never ending stream at this point. “It’s just different with him, though. Like, I was starting to really fall for him, you know?”

  “I do, baby,” she rubs my back, tickling up my neck to my hairline. Baby. Everything just reminds me of him. I’m constantly reminded about our short time together. Those nights that felt so right, and so wrong at the same time. It was like we would escape together someday. I really fell… in love with him.

  “But he was just some guy, you know? He’s an asshole,” she says. “All football players are. It just comes with the territory.” She fakes a smile.

  “The thing is, I don’t think he is. Deep down, I think he’s probably a really good guy. He’s just misunderstood,” I tell her, turning on the TV. On the Sports Network, his image is shown a million times over. They should really try and rename the network to the Jackson Leeman station at this point.

  “I’ve heard that one before.” She laughs at me. “Look at the TV right now. Look at that guy. He’s a maniac, right? Do you really want to end up with someone like that? I mean, really?”

  I shrug and take a few bites of my taco. “I mean, at first glance, no. I don’t. But that’s what I’m saying. He was provoked. Landon has been trying to get him disqualified for weeks now,” I say.

  “Well, it looks like he is succeeding,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “It’s not fair. I feel like if we met in a year from now, things would be better. It’s this damn Super Bowl. It makes people go crazy.”

  “It’s more than that, honey,” she says, with a tinge of sarcasm. I don’t appreciate it.

  “What if I loved him?” I ask, almost out of nowhere. “What if I envisioned a life with him? Kids, a house, a garden… you know, that sort of thing. Now all that is taken away from me.”

  “Oh my God,” she says. Her voice rises like three keys up. “You loved him? Are you serious, Fiona?”

  “I don’t know!” I exclaim, taking another bite from my taco. The tears have started to dry. I’m just feeling a tad bit embarrassed now. “I’m not saying I did, okay? I’m just asking you. What if I did?”

  “Well, then I’d say you should fight for it,” she says, turning serious. “But I don’t know, Fiona. You’ve put your career on the line for him. I’d never do that shit for any guy, let alone some jock. It’s up to you though. This is your life. Remember that.”

  So, do I love him? I can’t stop thinking about him, that’s for sure. I can’t stop thinking about our nights, his touch, and his lips. He made me feel so fucking good. He made me feel loved. So, do I love him? Well, I did. But now, I just don’t know. I have to think about bigger things than love, like my own trajectory.

  While I struggle thinking about this, Jennifer has made her own whisky-cola combination and she’s drinking it down pretty fast. In thirty minutes, she’ll be drunk as a skunk. This is the woman I’m getting love advice from.

  I feel my phone vibrate and I nearly scream from the stress of everything. “I swear, Jackson won’t stop texting me,” I say. “It’s beyond annoying.”

  “That’s because he ain’t getting no pussy no more,” she says, looking at her phone.

  I grab mine and glare at the screen. It’s Joseph. Fuck. I noticed your little video. Care to explain?

  I sink into the couch cushion and Jennifer knows something is wrong. “Uh oh,” she says. “Spill it. What’s happened now?”

  “Nothing,” I groan. “It’s just my boss. He just saw the video.”

  “You know, for a head position at a PR firm, he doesn’t find out about things that quickly. Does he?” she jokes.

  I ignore her and think of something to text him back with. I tell him the truth, that Jackson is a total asshole. I use different wordage, obviously. Look, if you want, you can deal with the mess that is Jackson Leeman. I’ve done everything that I can. He won’t listen to me. Find another agent if you need to. You have until today to tell me your plans.

  My breathing quickens and my pulse seems to go right along with it. This is fucked, but for once, I’m sticking up for myself. A smile actually breaks out onto my face.

  “What are you so happy about now? You’re like a rollercoaster of emotions right now,” she says. “I’m concerned, Fiona.”

  “I just gave my boss an ultimatum,” I laugh. “Never done that before. It feels kind of… nice.”

  “Oh, boy. This is where it starts. The downfall of Fiona Breckinridge’s life.” She rolls her eyes. “Be careful, woman.”

  Jackson

  It just all turns to shit, doesn’t it? At the end of the day, after all the cameras stop rolling, after all the fans put away their autograph pens, and much after the lights dim in the arena, what is left? I can answer that with one word: me. Only, that’s not as descriptive.

  Picture this: a man in his prime, holding all the glory in the palm of his hands. Picture him in his empty mansion, without anyone left. There’s only him and the work he’s done. He’s buried in bank account statements, car payments, and the alcohol that keeps him going. There’s no wife. There’s no kids. There’s only him. And then, poof! It’s all gone.

  I got drunk the night after the big fight. I couldn’t help it. I needed something to ease the pain and the one thing I truly wanted was missing from my life. Gone forever, just like everything else good. So, I got drunk by myself, staring at the blue pool.

  I had a big, long discussion with myself. Was this what I wanted? Did I care that much about the game? By the end of it, I realized something. Hell no. This is not what I care about. It’s Fiona that I want more than anything. I don’t give a shit about the other stuff anymore. If I can’t have her, none of it is worth it.

  I drain the pool. I call my realtor. “Put the house on the market. Yeah, I know. I’m drunk. Just do what I say, dammit.” I hang up the phone and fall asleep.

  Now, it’s morning. You’d think my mind has changed, but it remarkably hasn’t. I still know what I want and need. It’s Fiona.

  I call the Sports Network to issue a statement. “It’s all my fault. I admit to everything. But I will say one thing in my defense. Landon has been after me ever since I fell in love with one beautiful girl. I used to be the partying lunatic everyone loved. Now, according to him, I’ve lost my mind by trying to clean up my act. I just want to be a better man. So yeah, I hit the guy because he hit me first. Plain and simple. If the league wants me out, then I’ll have to comply. Dallas was a fun last game. Everything has to end sooner or later, right? So be it. Farewell, football fans.” It’s not the best statement in the world, but it does the trick. I’ve always spoken my mind. I’m not about to stop now.

  I don’t want to leave the game behind, but I want the world to know my side of things. I want them to know that I was willing to put it all on the line for Fiona. Really, I just want her to know how I feel and how I really am, deep inside.

  Even when I’m awake and sober, I look at these empty hallways of my house and feel a pit of despair forming inside of me. This is not the life I was after. I was after something much bigger. Deep down, I wanted love.

  I grab a pen and paper. A simple email or text message won’t work for me this time. I look at the white, blank page and start writing. Words never suited me before, but I’m turning a new leaf. This is day one of my new life.

  Fiona, I’m selling the house. I realize that’s not the best way to start a heartfelt letter, but I think you’d want to know that. I’m done with this life. I’m done playing the old Jackson Leeman. He was a character I thought I had to continue being. T
urns out, I don’t. The other day was a wake-up call for me. I know you probably don’t believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me either. Still, it’s the truth. I’m done being an asshole. So what? My father was a piece of shit. He didn’t raise me right. That doesn’t make me able to do or say whatever I want. If I continue down this path of self-righteousness, I’ll eventually turn into him. I don’t want that. I want you. I want sunshine. I want love. Yeah, I said it. Love. I love you, Fiona Breckinridge. I can’t stop it from happening. It’s just a fact. Like the rain that falls against the trees in springtime. It just had to be, right? So is my love for you. Take it or leave it. I want a house, children, to wake up and cook you breakfast while you’re still asleep. I want to kiss you when you’re 70 and we’re both old. Most of all, I want to watch life unfold with you, Fiona. You probably hate me right now, but I hope someday you can learn to forgive me. Love is all I’ll ever fight for now,

  ~Jackson.

  I drop the pen and throw the piece of paper in an envelope. I don’t bother to edit it. Everything I said in that letter was the truth. I just hope she believes me. Every second, I’m looking down at my phone, as if somehow she’ll realize just how important she really is to me. Nothing happens and my day turns stagnant.

  I don’t sit around to watch the sun go down or anything. I drop the letter off in her mailbox and head to an antique shop. There’s more to be done. I need to mend everything. I need to make things right.

  I walk through a glass door and hear the bell ring above me. The smell of old dust, wood, and perfume fills the store. “Howdy! What can I do for you?” An old man at the counter smiles at me. “Say, aren’t you that sports player who keeps getting into all that trouble?”

  “I am,” I laugh. “But I’m starting over. Today is day one.”

  He pats my shoulder and laughs a little. “That’s alright. We all get in a little trouble every once in a while,” he says. His hair is erratic and his glasses keep falling off. “You came in here looking for a ring didn’t you?”

  “How the hell did you know that?” I ask him, taken aback. It’s true. I came here to find a ring because I’m going to lay down my life and ask her to marry me. There ain’t nothing in the world that can stop me now. I feel, strangely, exhilarated.

  “Ha! I’ve been in this business for over 35 years. I know when a man is in love. And boy, you’re spiraling. Follow me,” he says, motioning for me to come with him to the backside of the store.

  We walk through a series of halls, until we reach a small room. “This is normally off limits to customers. But, I’ll make an exception. Your situation seems dire enough,” he whispers.

  He unlocks the door and we walk into a room full of boxes. “Let’s see here,” he mumbles to himself, digging through a set of drawers. “Aha!” Finally, he grabs a small black ring box.

  When he opens it, I nearly fall over. “We’ve had this for about a month. I didn’t have the heart to put it in the display case. It’s just too beautiful.” He smiles, staring wide-eyed with me at the diamonds.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I whisper. “Like Fiona.”

  “Any girl would be honored to be gifted such a ring,” he says. “But this one is obviously special. Is this Fiona woman worth it to you? Better yet, will you serve her as her husband well?”

  “Sir, I’ll gladly lay down my life for her if I have to. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. I can’t stop thinking about her. I’m thinking about quitting football for her, to be honest. I put my house on the market last night because I can’t stand to live in a big house alone anymore. I can’t stand the life I’ve made for myself,” I admit, probably telling too much too fast.

  The old man simply nods his head. “Yes, I understand,” he says. “I was in your position once. Young and in love, my wife rejected me over and over again, over the course of two full years. Back then, I was set to go back to the Army. Finally, I decided to drop everything for her. I realized that she was the most important thing in this world, not a few purple hearts!” He chuckles to himself and nods again. “Imagine if I had gone back there. I could have ended up killed, or killing someone else!”

  Am I dreaming? Is this man really in front of me? It’s like he’s an angel, sent to lead me in the right direction. He hands me the box. “Take it. It’s your last chance.”

  I buy it on the spot. Thirty grand. Either he’s an angel or he’s a very good con man. Either way, I don’t care. She deserves it. It’s utterly perfect. A gorgeous ring for a gorgeous woman.

  I walk out of the antique shop, feeling new and refreshed. There’s another place on my list that I have to check off. This is where I need to start being careful. I head to Landon’s house.

  With a hard knock on the door, I take a step back. The door creaks open and he’s standing in front of me with a broken nose and black eye. I probably don’t look much better. “Get off my property,” he says, shutting the door in my face.

  I knock again and wait. Nothing. I ring the doorbell and knock a third time. This time, he opens it violently. “I said, get the fuck off my property. I’m not your ‘brother’ anymore. So just leave, alright?” He doesn’t slam the door. Instead, he actually waits for me to speak.

  “Wait,” I tell him. “Just hear me out. I came to apologize.” The word “apologize” stings as it leaves my mouth. There’s nothing I hate more than apologizing for things I don’t think are my fault. Still, it’s what needs to be done this time. I have to bow in humility. Well, it’s either that, or I pummel the guy. I could just go that route…

  “Apologize? For what? It’s like you’ve been saying all along, right? I hit you first,” he says, waiting for me to say the wrong thing.

  “I messed up the dynamic between us. I should have told you what was happening. I shouldn’t have brought it onto the field,” I tell him. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But know that I wanted to make things right before the big game.”

  “They probably won’t let you play. You know that?” he asks, smiling a little. I know his game. He’s trying to rile me up, but it won’t work this time. I’m over it all.

  “So be it. It was a dream of mine to play, but there’s more important things in life.” I sigh, shaking my head.

  “Fine. Come in.” He turns and walks to his living room. When he sits down, he reaches over to the small mini bar and pulls out two beers. He tosses me one and cracks open his. I do the same and take a sip.

  “You really believe all that good-natured crap you’ve been spewing?” he asks me. His nose looks bad, like I broke it in multiple places or something. How good-natured was my punch?

  “It’s not exactly about being good-natured. It’s about standing for what I believe to be true,” I tell him. “Besides, the only time it affected my game was when I got sick. Shit, I think our fighting affected us the most.”

  “I guess it did, huh?” He laughs and looks out the window for a second. “You know, I actually wanted you dead.”

  “Yeah, I figured. I probably had similar thoughts,” I say. “Anyway, Fiona dumped my ass, so you’ll be happy to know that she’s basically out of my life.”

  He shrugs and chugs the rest of his beer, crunching the can in his hand. “Fuck it,” he says. “I don’t care what you do. I was just jealous, man. I missed our hangouts. I missed those days when Misty would come over with some friends, and we’d get all loaded up and have fun. I guess we’re getting older, though. Can’t party forever.”

  “We can party until we’re 80 years old. Only, someday I’m going to have a wife. I assume you will too. We’ll have to party in different ways, I guess,” I tell him, standing up and finishing my beer. “Look man, she broke my heart. That’s the truth. But I’m aiming to get her back. The reason I came here is to say that I’m done fighting with you. I want to be cool again. Can we make up?”

  “Shit.” He sighs. “I hate this emotional bullshit. You know that.”

  “I do,” I laugh. “But it’s happening whe
ther you like it or not, so take it or leave it.”

  After a few seconds of biting his tongue, he reaches out his hand. I grab it and shake it. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Are we cool?”

  “We’re cool, man,” he says. “But, at the end of the day, I’m the sorry one. I was an asshole. I guess that’s why you shattered my nose, huh?”

  “Yeah, that wasn’t exactly planned. Sorry about that, brother.” I also bite my tongue.

  I walk toward the door and take a deep breath. “Go get her,” he tells me. “Make her yours.”

  “I’ve done what I can for now,” I say. “Right now we have to make sure we can play this game. You ready to sit down with the league? It’s going to be rough.”

  “Shit, man. I’m always ready to fight for my right to play,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

  I phone up coach Scott Stern, saying, “Coach, it’s Jackson and Landon. We’ve managed to put everything behind us. We want to talk.”

  Fiona

  Without Jackson, my days are much different. There’s a lot of silence, work, and then… Jennifer. It’s not exactly the best situation and I start to miss my home in Los Angeles. All those parties, friends, the beach… Portland is definitely wearing on me.

  The next day, I don’t do any work. I turn on the Sports Network to see the newest headlines about Jackson, since he seems to dominate the airwaves because of his handful of fights this year. I don’t know why I keep flooding my mind with more images of him. I keep telling myself, “This is your job. You have to keep yourself updated on the players you work with.”

  But it’s not that simple anymore. I talked to Joseph last night and he heard me out. “Jackson is no longer your client,” he told me. “You have a week to leave your rental home and head back to LA, where you’ll resume working for your old clients.” All I could do was thank him.

  I didn’t know what all that would entail. I didn’t know I would still have leftover feelings for Jackson. So when Joseph gave me the ultimatum of leaving in a week, it left me feeling shell-shocked. Today, however, I’m just numb.