Falling for Seven

by T. A Richards Neville

  In the showers, I extended my irrational anger to Jordan. He pissed me off, and I never knew him. Angel pissed me off. What the fuck was wrong with everyone? To me, it was simple. Someone is bad, get rid of them. What was so hard about that? I shut off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist, then dried off, getting into sweat pants and a clean T-shirt. I didn’t waste time drying my hair. Now it was shorter it would dry as soon as it hit the air outside.

  I should have went home and made an effort to start fixing things with my mom, but I couldn’t face her just yet—I was still too angry. I was wrong, she was wrong. We wouldn’t be able to solve anything tonight if none of us were willing to back down. It was her life, but I wasn’t one for pretending and I wasn’t going to give it a go this late in the game.

  I sat in the parking lot and switched on my phone. When the screen finally came on, there was a voicemail waiting. I had nothing better to do, or anywhere to go so I dialed and listened to the message.

  It was from an agent, Phil Gartland. I’d heard of him, but I cut the message short, deleting it. Coach wouldn’t have given him my number, and I’d never met him. It was only the beginning of the regular season, I had months of this to come, and I was confident (with good reason) that I wouldn’t be short of offers, bribes, or whatever shit was necessary to secure my signature. And I’d sign, but with the best person. I’d talk to coach first. I was almost positive now that I was declaring my draft eligibility in January, A year early, but I wasn’t dumb enough to do it all on my own. O’Hara might look like the oldest member of NSync, but he knew his shit and he knew the right people. I wasn’t too far up my own ass to argue with that.

  I turned over the engine and drove. I didn’t intend on ending up at players, but the noise and distraction was calling to me. The place was buzzing, wall to wall, and I ordered a 7up, staying clear of alcohol when I was already coiled as tight as a wire.

  I dissected her voice from the rest of the raised ones, fighting to be heard above the music before Kit got anywhere near me. I’d have to make sure to get checked for an embedded chip that I never knew about. I don’t know how else she found me, but she always did.

  “You’re ignoring my calls.”

  I put the 7up to my lips, took a drink, and then said, “And here you are.”

  “Could we go somewhere a little less loud? I can barely hear you in here it’s so full.”

  I turned to face her. She looked prettier than normal, more natural—relaxed. Angel would roll her fucking eyes till they popped out, but I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if she had dressed-down because she wasn’t expecting me to be here. Big-headed? Probably. But I had no problem admitting that.

  “Weren’t you supposed to be having people round at your place tonight?”

  “I do,” she said. “I stopped by to pick up some BBQ. You know what the guys are like. They ate everything already.” She tipped her head towards the back patio. “Outside, please? Ten minutes, no more.”

  I put down the dregs of my drink and slid past the crowd at the bar, well aware that Kit would follow. Outside, I slouched down into a free chair at one of the garden tables. Kit sat on the other side, her blue eyes focused only on me. She looked unsure. “So what is it?” I asked, spreading my legs and leaning forward. I arched my eyebrows. “Hurry up.”

  Her lips didn’t move, not even a twitch. Then she cleared her throat and said, “Julain…”

  “Yes?” I leaned even farther forward.

  Still nothing.

  “Spit it out, Kit.”

  “I love you.” she blurted out the confession like she wasn’t sure she meant it.

  I sat back, putting distance between me and those unnecessary words. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I have to. I am in love with you, and I can’t carry on the way we are. I thought I could do this no-strings. I was wrong. I can’t. I can’t sleep with you anymore and get nothing back. I need a commitment from you.”

  I grunted with laughter. “You won’t get that from me. But I’ve told you this already.”

  “We are good together. No—” She moved forward with the shake of her head. “We are great together. Perfect.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me.”

  “Yeah, it’s not going to happen. You might think you love me, but I sure as hell don’t love you. Not even a little bit.”

  My choice of words were too strong, but she caught me at a bad fucking time. I might as well have slapped her across her face, the way she pulled back, her growth of certainty cracking in one swift, twisted facial expression.

  “And you don’t need to worry about sleeping with me, because that’s off the table now. Me and you, we are friends. You don’t want to fuck me? Then don’t. I never once forced you, so don’t sit there and make out like I did.”

  “You used to think more of me.”

  “Did I? Tell me when? And in real time, not the love story your warped brain has created. Tell me a time I ever made you think that I wanted more from you?” When she came up with no answer, I said, “I thought what we had was mutual. I thought you understood that. Guess I was wrong, I’m sorry.”

  “Julian, wait.” I was half out of my seat when Kit reached for my arm. “Why not me?” she asked, looking up at me. I could see in her eyes she truly didn’t get it. “Why not me?”

  Seconds stretched out as I thought what to say without totally wearing her down. I hadn’t asked for her to drag me out here and bombard me with this shit, but there was no sense in making it any worse. I had to be honest.

  “I’m not looking for a girlfriend, I told you that. That’s why not you.”

  More time stretched by and then kit blinked, shaking away her sense of loss. She stood up, scraping her chair back into the legs of the person standing behind her.

  “Watch it.” he jumped back, out of the way, almost spilling his beer.

  “I feel like a fucking idiot,” Kit said with an unbelieving smile.

  Any form of words to make her feel less embarrassed would have been helpful, but I had none, and she was gone before I could decide whether or not I wanted to chase after her and tell her if she could forget what she had said, then I could.

  This was a bad night not to drink. I left the bar and got back in my car. Taj was pissed at me, but he was normally the only person I could stand to be around when everyone else fucked me the hell off. Only tonight, it wasn’t just Taj I wanted to be around.

  20: Angel

  THE FIRST THING YOU notice when you walk into Boston’s Great Hall is the gold and crystal chandelier hanging below a ceiling fresco. Next is the phenomenal gilded ballroom. Everything was gold, cream or marble and I almost felt peasant-like stepping onto the high-polished floors.

  There was a standing round of applause when my pops came in behind us, and I rolled my eyes at the sucker standing beside me, when my dad mistook the welcoming for him and started to fold into a bow. Of course, in no time my dad was sure to be the man of the hour with too many football fans crammed into the same room. He grew up in Boston, moving to California after a knee injury meant he was never going pro, and the only cure was to party like it never happened. And then he met my mom, had me, realized eventually he and my mom had nothing at all in common and came back to Boston to teach football. High school ball at first, and then college. There was no delay of people eating out of the palm of his hand. He was a people person even if it was only for his own benefit.

  I’d loved Santa Monica. The thought of still living in Cali meant my mom could still come back—if she ever wanted to, that is. But once my dad made a decision there was no turning away from it. He’d get his way sooner or later, succumbing to the fight was a lot easier on me in the long run.

  Pops took dad’s arm, chuckling at his son’s predictable behavior. How these two were related was beyond me. They were nothing alike. Both had drive to succeed and a strong work ethic, but all comparisons ended there. There was no denying my dad had earned hi
s status as one of the best coaches in college football, and if he wasn’t such a prick, I would have to agree that he more than deserved his fifteen minutes. Because even though this was a birthday dinner for his father, I could see most attending were eager to corner my dad and get down to some serious strategy talk. Everyone had their own fool-proof ideas on the best way for the Lion’s to win games.

  After my dad finished introducing Elaina to Pop’s, he stepped away and held out his arms to me. “Angel. The only person I came here to see.”

  He folded his arms around me and I sunk into his hug, his torso softer than it used to be. “Pops, I’m so sorry I haven’t been by to see you lately. Too much schoolwork—”

  He put his arm around my shoulder giving it a squeeze, and leaned down so his lips were next to my ear. “I know, and that little snake Joran dumped you.”

  I stepped forward to look at him. “Who told you that?”

  “Pamela. And good job she did. I’ll kick his skinny ass when I see him. How dare he dump the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  “Obviously my grandpa would say that.”

  We started walking over to our table, his arm draped around me like a protective barrier, ignoring everyone else. My importance factor to my dad was low, but with Pop’s it was through the roof.

  “You know,” I said. “You look like Harrison Ford tonight.” It wasn’t so much a compliment as the truth. If he was younger he could have been paid to act as body double. His hair was thick and white, combed away from his face, and his frame soft but strong. For his age, he was in excellent condition.

  “No, dear. Harrison Ford looks like me.”

  He winked at me before a group of his employees started towards him, closing in like friendly vultures. He sighed, moving his arm from my shoulder. Before we were interrupted and I hardly saw him again for the rest of the night, I said, “Is Pamela coming tonight?”

  “Of course. And Angel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Much better.” I must have frowned. “Your hair. Don’t ever dye it again, or you will have me to answer to.” He smiled at me and then joined his co-workers, bypassing my dad.

  “What was that?” My dad looked back at Pops then sat down at the table.

  “He was talking about my hair. He prefers it like this.”

  “Oh, me too.” Elena sat next to my dad, smoothing out her dress. “You are too young to go changing things about yourself. Plenty of time for that, trust me.”

  My dad took one look at my hair with a face as blank as paper, and then proceeded to tuck in his chair, keeping his opinions to himself.

  I immediately separated myself from him and helped myself to a glass of sparkling, non-alcoholic wine and a strawberry. I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten all day, getting by on Diet Coke only. My stomach was growling loudly for something more substantial.

  “What time till dinner?” I asked the young, overly smart server.

  His mouth hardly moved when he said, “Eight sharp, ma’am.”

  Ma’am? He looked younger than I did. I took another flute of ‘wine’ and a handful of strawberries. When my belly was satisfied with the pleasant overload of fruit, I took my seat around the main table, in the middle of the U-shape setup of the other long tables.

  The ballroom floor was empty for now, but there was a band up front on the stage. Both Elena and I sat on either side of my dad, with our name tags in gold script in front of us next to the napkins styled into roses. Each and every small, perfect detail was enough to make a person feel unworthy of such artwork and elegance. Pops made good money and he spent good money. Only he could stay as humble as he had, regardless of his massive bank accounts.

  Marilyn and Pamela made it just before dinner, greeting Pops with so much love they could have been blood relations. I had seen next to nothing of Marilyn, she was spending so much time either at her mom’s or with Mario. It was a natural reaction when I brightened up as soon as I saw her walk in, with her hair in a braid over one shoulder, dotted with tiny roses, and a short pastel-pink dress that flared around her thighs. Pamela’s red strappy number reached the floor, clinging to her gym-honed body. She was pushing forty, but she was determined to look good doing it.

  My dad was not as happy to see Pamela as she was to see him. Her satisfaction from seeing him squirm in frustration at her arrival was like a glowing beacon of light, calling out to all in the room to stop and look at what she was doing. Her royal wave was her polite way of flipping him the bird, and captured so much more than outright saying, ‘fuck you.’” My dad’s cheeks heated from the seemingly kindly gesture and Pamela’s smile grew from the negative effects.

  Marilyn slipped into the empty seat next to me, grabbing a fist full of my hair. “I am so jealous of your hair, right now. When did you do this? Just today?” She unclipped her purse, taking out her cell and then positioned it square in front of my face.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I knocked the phone away, but not hard enough so it fell from her hands.

  “Snapchat. I want to show Mia.”

  “Mia doesn’t care.”

  “She will.”

  “No way. Put that thing away.”

  She thrust the phone back inside her purse. “Such a spoil sport.”

  “It’s my right not to have my picture taken.”

  “Darling.” Pamela reached her arm in front of Marilyn, enveloping my wrist in her fingers weighted down with my dad’s gigantic rock of an engagement ring from a different lifetime. Yet another tactic to antagonize her ex-husband without having to even open her mouth to do it. Marilyn leaned back, giving her mom the stink-eye for pushing her out the way. “I just want you to know, Jordan is no longer welcome in my house. And when you are ready for revenge, I am here for you.”

  I pressed my lips together and forced myself to look grateful. Any mention of Jordan was a sure fire way to tip my unstable mood upside-down and straight into the shitter, but trust Pamela to turn it into a joke without having to try. And she wasn’t joking. She was serious.

  First motto of many when her and my dad split: Don’t cry, get even.

  “Who’s the woman?” She widened her eyes, focused on Elena, who I prayed couldn’t hear us.

  I lowered my voice so only Pamela could hear. “That’s Elena. She’s with my dad.”

  Pamela took her hand away and indulged in a thorough surveillance of Elena sitting hand in hand with my dad. “Hmph.”

  “Mom,” said Marilyn. “Put your nose back into joint. He is allowed to date. You do.”

  “I said nothing!”

  “Yeah, you did. You just grunted or some shit.”

  The caviar came around and I politely refused. I would rather be starving than voluntarily eat fish eggs. The starter of soup was better and by the time we made it to dessert, I couldn’t fit anything else in my belly if I wanted to stay fitted inside of my lovely new dress.

  Pops gave a speech and thanked everyone for coming, and when my dad thought it a good idea to give his own speech, I zoned out, throwing my napkin onto the table.

  When it was over, I excused myself to the bathroom, while Elena went to talk with two women she recognized and Pamela stayed seated, shuffling three seats over, my dad locked and targeted.

  I washed my hands at the marble sink, side by side with Marilyn. I dried off with a paper towel, throwing it in the waste basket.

  “Mario is picking me up in an hour. Come with us if you like.”

  I dipped my wand into a tube of clear lip-gloss, applying a layer over my lipstick. “Sounds like you are inviting me for a threesome.” I screwed the lid back on, putting it in my purse.

  “Oh no. This ones all mine.” She stopped fluffing her hair to look at me in the mirror. “I asked him if he wanted to come with me to your skating comp tomorrow. You don’t mind, do you? I figured the more support the better.”

  I hadn’t actually anticipated anyone wanting to come, other than my dad to tell me how I could have been better, or to give m
e a final chance to have Olga.

  “No. I don’t mind. I’m a little surprised he would want to come. Are you giving him a choice?”

  “Yes. Thank you very much. We’re dating now. He’s obligated.”

  “And who said romance was dead?”

  “He’s real nice. You are going to love him. It’s important you two meet and get on like the best of friends.” Her stern look said I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  “It is? Why?”

  “Because things are moving along, and he asked me to go home with him next weekend.” Her soft brown eyes met mine and I had to fight back my smile.

  “Are you meeting his parents?”

  “No!” She shrugged, looping her purse over her shoulder. “Getting to know him better. Off campus. We’re still only dating, but you never know. One day…”

  “One day, what? You might marry him?”

  “I would like my current lay to get on with my best sister. That okay with you?”

  “It’s like a poem,” I said smiling, as we left the bathroom. “And yes, it’s okay with me. I’m sure I’ll just adore him.”

  The band had started up and a traditional Scottish jig had everyone up and on the floor. My dad was in deep conversation, accepting floods of praise from an older man with a mop of black hair that threatened to slip off his head at any given moment. The younger boy he was with kept throwing me smiling glances, so it was inevitable when my dad caught on to this and waved me over, diving into introductions without hesitation. Marilyn pretended not to notice, slipping off in the other direction.

  “Calvin, this is my daughter—”

  “I know who he is,” I cut him off, smiling at Calvin, my new skating partner.

  Calvin dipped his head, a blush in his cheeks. “How’s it going, Angel?”