“What . . . I . . . You said I could stay as long as I wanted.”
“Yes, well, that was when you made it sound like you would be here a couple of weeks.”
“Sorry. I guess I didn’t realize I was inconveniencing you by staying longer.” A vein on the side of his neck throbs. “If I was cramping your style, all you had to do was say something and I would have gone somewhere else. I’m not trying to ruin your lives or keep you from living the dream.”
“Please, just stop. Don’t make yourself into a victim. You aren’t one. Not now, not ever.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? If this is about the cat—”
“This isn’t about the cat—well, not just the cat.” I nearly trip over my words in my haste to have them said. They’re flooding out of me, almost of their own volition, like they can’t be stopped. I should try to dam them. I should be more considerate, but I can’t seem to constrain myself long enough to be reasonable. “You’ve been playing the victim card longer than I’ve known you. Things happen to you. It’s never your fault. Well, bullshit. At some point you have to take accountability for yourself, for your actions. For your words.”
I say that last bit and flinch at my own hypocrisy in this moment. I’m telling him he should watch his words because of how they affect others, and I’m laying into him with my own. Well, if he decides to scream at me for baiting him, I’ll own up to what I’ve said. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t mean them.
“Are you saying all of this is my fault?”
“Pretty much.”
He stares at me incredulously. “I accidentally let your cat out. That was my bad. If he was trained better—”
“Watch it.”
“Fine. It’s my fault. There, I said it. At least I’m trying to fix it now.” His grip tightens on the umbrella and the flashlight. “But everything else, not my fault.”
“You won’t take any responsibility for it?”
“Hell no. It’s not my fault Brook fought with Griggs, or that Griggs hit on you in the first place. And it’s not my fault the Sounds suck and Brook is about to get canned. It’s not my fault you’re freaked out about having a kid and writing a book. You can’t blame me for that.”
Now it’s my turn to stare at him like he’s crazy. “When did I say any of that was your fault?”
“Just now.”
“No.” I shake my head again, droplets spraying from the ends of my drenched and stringy hair. “You’re not to blame for any of that. It’s on Brook and me. And in some cases Griggs. But we’re taking care of it. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m talking about you, J.J.” I throw my hands up and press the balls of my fists to my eyes. “I know we were supposed to give you space and time to figure it out for yourself. I know we weren’t supposed to interfere. But damn it, I’m tired of watching you screw up and throw your life away. I’m tired of us giving you a consequence-free place to do it. You’ve had enough of that in your life. We should have done something as soon as we found out . . .”
I lose my steam then, because I’ve said too much. I can’t even hold on to hope he didn’t catch that last bit on account of his still-intoxicated stupor, because recognition and interest light his face.
“What did you find out?”
“Nothing.”
“Harper, I’m stoned, not stupid.” His eyes go clear as they gaze into mine. “What did you find out?”
“The truth.”
“The truth?”
“About what happened in Lincoln. About your supposed ‘sabbatical.’” A sob escapes me. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding on to it, but now that it’s out, it’s freeing. “I know, we know, you’re supposed to be drying out, sobering up, getting help. We know about the car and the DUI and—Jesus, J.J.—we know you’ve been driving our cars with a suspended license.”
“Anderson and Wade promised—”
“Don’t put this on them. They only told me when I didn’t really give them any other choice.”
“How did you—”
“That doesn’t matter. The point is this: we can’t keep this up. We can’t keep enabling you, or you’re never going to change.”
“You’re not enablers.”
“We are.”
“You want to talk blame? Okay, I’ll talk blame.” His expression turns steely, almost primitive. “It’s not your fault I’m a huge fuckup. A washed up has-been with no prospects.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “The only thing I have going for me is a lame college career and a fantasy football team. Neither is worth much, but they’re all I’ve got. And that’s nobody’s fault but my own. There. Happy?”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard J.J. thoroughly berate himself and take responsibility for his failures. The closest he’s ever come was when he said I understood him. That wasn’t him saying he had nothing and was nothing. While I swore I wouldn’t apologize, I feel bad. I regret throwing a match on a pile of rags soaked in lighter fluid. I wish I hadn’t brought this up when I was angry.
Another tear slips down my cheek. “J.J., I feel for you. I really do. I wish I knew what to do or say to make you feel better about yourself, but I can’t.”
He steps back like I’ve slapped him. “I don’t want you to pity me.”
“What do you want from me then?”
“I want—”
Meow. I turn toward the alley and hear the familiar sound again. Meow.
“Blitz.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
OH, THANK GOD. WE FOUND the cat. I hope.
“Did you hear that?” No longer caring about my conversation with J.J., I lean forward and croon again. “Blitz, baby.”
Meow.
I grab the flashlight from J.J. and drop to my knees beside a pile of boxes. “Blitz?”
His golden eyes shine from inside one of the overturned boxes, and he lets out another pitiful whine. Shoving the flashlight back at J.J., I scoop Blitz’s wet and scraggly haired body up into my arms. He unleashes another whine but nuzzles my chin. I plant kisses on his sopping head and wrap my jacket around both of us to share my body heat.
I turn to J.J., who’s moved next to me, holding the umbrella over our heads. “Let’s go home.”
We’re silent during our walk back. I’m too wiped to say anything more, and in truth, I’ve said enough. I told him what was on my mind. It might have been in anger, and it might not have been done well, but it was the truth. The truth doesn’t usually come wrapped up in a pretty package.
Opening the door to the apartment, I step inside and into the waiting arms of Brook. He lets out a shaky breath and pulls me up against him.
“Where were you? You were both gone and you weren’t answering your phones. I can’t find Blitz.”
At the sound of his name, the cat chirps and pokes his head out of my rain-soaked jacket.
“Blitz went on an adventure today.” I slip out of Brook’s arms and take the towel J.J. offers me. “Hopefully he’s learned that the great outdoors aren’t always so great after all.”
With one hand still resting on the small of my back, Brook scratches Blitz behind the ears. He takes another few breaths, I’m sure to ease his racing heart. We’ve given him a good scare. Apparently rallying after his near-tragic experience, Blitz preens under the attention and perks up even more when I pull the bag of treats from my pocket.
Brook scoops up handful and holds them up to Blitz’s mouth. “How’d he get out? Did he give you the drop?”
“Actually—”
“It was my fault.” J.J. shoves his hands in his pockets and casts his bloodshot eyes downward. “It was all me.”
Giving him a hard look, Brook turns around and surveys the apartment, seeming to really see it for the first time since he got home. The empty cans and bottles. The crumpled up boxers on the floor by the couch. The stale smell of beer that’s been left out all day. There is a lot of murkiness in ou
r lives, but this situation is pretty clear. We both see that now.
AFTER MAKING SURE WE don’t need to take Blitz to the emergency vet, I decide we’ve had enough excitement for the night. Blitz and I escape to the bedroom, too tired for dinner. We need sleep. Changed into dry pajamas, I stare at the ceiling, more exhausted than I have been in a long time. It’s like finals week in college combined with running five miles in the rain. With a dryer, more content Blitz curled up next to me, I should fall right to sleep, but I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about what could have happened to him. It serves no purpose to dwell, but I just can’t erase the fear.
Brook cracks open the door and I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. Apparently fooled, he returns to the living room where J.J. is still cleaning up his mess. Out of curiosity, I sit up and edge closer to the door so I can hear what they’re saying. I pick up their voices just as Brook is saying, “We all know it’s time.”
“You’re kicking me out, huh? Sending me home.”
“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
“Did you just Semisonic me?”
“I guess I did.” Brook runs his hands through his hat-flattened locks. “We’ll help you get wherever you decide to go. You know I think you should go back to Lincoln, but that’s up to you. It’s all up to you to decide what happens next.”
“So you’re saying every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end?”
Brook lets out a real laugh, and I have to bite my own lip to keep from letting one out. “Something like that.”
Their voices lower, and I actually have to tiptoe to the door to hear what they’re saying.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” J.J. says. “Not with, well, you know, the way I feel about her.”
The way he feels about . . . does he mean me? And just what exactly does he mean the way he feels about me?
At last, Brook speaks. “You’re one of my best friends. You’re like my brother. But Harper? She’s my family. She’s my future. She’s my life.”
“I swear. I would never do anything to mess up what you guys have. I wouldn’t—”
“I know. If I thought otherwise, you wouldn’t still be here. At least not standing upright.”
“You think you could lay me out?”
“I’d sure as shit give it my best shot.” Brook sighs and his tone changes. “We care about you. We want to help you in any way we can. But it’s time for you to make more of an effort. I’m not sure if you can do that—really get your life on the track you want it to be—if you’re crashing in our spare room.”
“That’s fair. It’s also right.”
Their voices fall lower again, and it takes too much effort for me to find out what they’re staying. Instead I move back to my side of the bed and pull the covers up. J.J. has feelings for me. I can’t believe I didn’t see that coming. I should have—especially after he asked me if I ever wondered what would’ve happened if we’d slept together. I guess I assumed it had to do with his ego and maybe an idle game of what-if.
He was always so rude to me. Then he was teasing—but to the extreme, like a mean brother. Even after he settled down some—at least toward me—I never expected there was anything more than friendship on his mind. But Brook knew, and somehow he didn’t let that turn him into a jealous mess. He really can be so well restrained when he wants.
I don’t bother feigning sleep when Brook slips back into our bed. He pulls me into his arms and rests his chin on top of my head.
“Sorry.” Brook rubs his chin against my hair and squeezes me closer. “He can be sofa king hard to handle sometimes.”
“Sofa king.”
He pulls back to look at me. “Did I detect a grin?”
“Maybe.” My lips twitch. “Maybe a little one.”
“Baby, you’re breaking my heart. But I’ll take a little grin over nothing at all.”
I turn up my chin to study his face. The circles under his eyes are even darker than they were a couple of weeks ago. There’s the five o’clock shadow I haven’t seen him without in months, even though I know he shaves every morning. A lot has changed in the past two years, and not just for me. Brook’s whole world has turned itself upside down a few times, too.
Despite what J.J. has said about Brook being someone who seems to coast through life on luck and without much trouble, that isn’t true. Brook has worked hard for everything he has. His job, his education, this apartment, his fantasy football wins. Even me. And even though he’s given all of it his everything, it hasn’t always gone how he’s hoped. It’s never been a gimme. Yet he’s kept his sense of humor. He’s kept his hope and faith that everything will work out like it should if he keeps trying.
I’ve made a lot of dumb decisions in my life. But my smartest was joining that fantasy football league. That whim brought me here, and it brought him to me.
WHEN I WAKE UP THE next morning, my eyes ache and there is a dull pain in my throat. I try out my voice with a football tongue twister. “The tight end took tremendous time to become the target.” It comes out in a croak, but it’s one from overuse, not from the start of a cold. It’s probably from wandering outside in the rain crying and calling out for Blitz.
I glance down at the foot of the bed and find him napping in a spot of sun shining in from the window. A lump lodges in my already painful throat and I want to burst into tears again at the memory of Blitz being lost and scared in the cold. At least we found him. If anything had happened . . . A sob escapes despite my best efforts to control myself.
Stirring awake, Brook slips an arm around my waist and pulls my back up against the wall of his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmurs sleepily. “Blitz is safe, and it’s Sunday.”
“What’s so good about Sundays?”
He lets out a dramatic sigh, but there’s humor in his voice. “What’s not good about Sunday? We get a full day of lounging around in our sweatpants to watch football. We’ll get to eat Phillies, because I picked up some mushrooms and provolone on the way home. And we’ll get to be together.”
“That does sound pretty good.”
“See. Lots to like about Sundays.”
“That’s only because this is the first one you haven’t had to work. You weren’t around for the other Sundays. Let me tell you, they were not a picnic.”
“No.” He rubs his chin on my head. “I don’t suppose they were.”
He sounds so wistful and unhappy, and it’s my fault. I’m throwing shade on his day, and we haven’t even gotten out of bed yet. There’s really no excuse for it.
So what that he’s about to lose his job—which means my days at the recruitment office are also probably numbered. We’ll land on our feet. We can always go back to Nebraska where he can teach and I can focus on building Team Stitches. I can find another job, too, if that doesn’t pan out. Who cares that we’ve both been asked to make statements before a panel of athletic department and university officials? At least it’s getting resolved, and really, it’s better than letting Griggs continue to get away with his pompous and misogynistic behavior. Even the near miss with Blitz doesn’t matter in the long run, because we found him and he’s safe. (I still plan to monitor his activity the next few days to make sure he didn’t catch a cold.)
The point is, we’re all alive and we’re together. We’ll be fine—starting with a lazy Sunday, our first together in longer than I can remember.
“Do you remember our first Sunday?” I ask.
“Yep. That was a good Sunday. Remember our first watch party?”
“Of course.” My lips curve up at the memory. “You were in the kitchen cleaning up the syrup your nieces spilled on your tie.”
“They sure had a knack for making messes.”
“And you have one for cleaning them up.”
“Sometimes.” His tone is sad again.
Rallying to try and undo the ennui I set over our morning, I continue. “You gave me advice on how to succeed at fantasy football.�
�
“Did any of it work?”
“Some. You told me to use a receiver or running back in my flex position.”
“That’s solid advice.”
“It is. And you told me not to rush in to any trade offers.”
“I still say that’s true—even if a book deal is on the line. You have to weigh your options.”
“Then you told me to hide my beers in the vegetable crisper, otherwise our friends would drink them.”
“I should offer a seminar.”
I playfully slap his arm. “You also told me you were full of shit. That was the only thing you were wrong about.”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “I think that was the day I decided I was going to marry you.”
My stomach flutters. What a nice thing to say. “Because you found out I was a Packers fan?”
“No, I already knew you were a Packers fan after the draft.”
“Was it because I liked Bon Jovi, too?”
“That didn’t hurt, but that wasn’t the whole reason.” His lips move to my cheek and then up to my forehead before finding my neck. “All day I watched you hold your own in a roomful of guys who were expecting you to fail. I could see you weren’t comfortable, but you were trying. Usually that’s when people get fake, but you got more real, if that makes sense. And the real you was funny and sassy and totally unexpected.” He kisses my lips lightly then. “How could I not want to marry you?”
I swear, if I could, I’d marry this man all over again right now, just to have him say that in our vows.
“Did you get what you expected?”
“Every day is unexpected, but it’s more than I could’ve wanted.”
This time when his lips meet mine, neither of us says anything else for a long time.
WHEN WE FINALLY EMERGE from our room an hour later, the apartment is quiet. Not just quiet, silent, like it hasn’t been in months. I can see the room has been wiped clean. There isn’t an empty beer can or bottle, and it looks like someone has swept the hardwood floors.
Three & Out Page 24
