Broken Play

by Tracey Ward

  “Wow,” I whisper. “So, this is the VIP section. Not the balcony.”

  “No, Miss. This is nowhere. It’s nothing,” the bouncer assures me. He smiles mischievously, his bald head almost as gleaming as the floors. “You never saw it.”

  I grin. “No, of course not.”

  “You want a drink while we wait?” Tyus asks.

  He’s already heading to the bar, and I hesitate, unsure if he’s really asking if I want a stiff drink. “Are you gonna make good on that ginger ale?”

  “Only if that’s what you want.”

  What I want is a bourbon. And a little blow. This room is made for that shit, the kind of secret space where the staff is paid to see and hear nothing. If I was the old me, I’d be in hog heaven right now. I’d be in Tyus’ lap licking his dick like a lollipop, blitzed out of my mind on a few rails of white powder I snorted off the pristine, black bar. I’d be making out with that hot bartender chick with the red lips and the push up bra to die for. I’d be on my phone chartering a private jet to take us to Maui so I could feel the sand between my toes and the ocean under my skirt in the moonlight.

  But I’m not that girl anymore. At least I’m trying not to be. And I don’t think Tyus is that guy. I hope he isn’t. I want better from him, from me, and if I’m going to get more from the world, I need to be better. Do better. That’s what my therapist said anyway.

  You get what you give.

  “I want the ginger ale,” I tell Tyus honestly. “Please.”

  “You got it.”

  I take a seat in the corner on the longest couch. I give Tyus every opportunity to sit a million miles away from me, but when he comes over with two drinks in his hand – both ginger ales by the look of them – he parks only a couple feet away from me.

  “One ginger ale, straight up.”

  I take the bubbling glass from him with a smile. I can feel the effervescence bursting from the rim onto my hand, tickling my skin. It reminds me of New Year’s Eve when I was a kid and my parents would let me stay up all night with them to watch the ball drop. Then they’d kiss and smile and I’d feel lucky. Loved. Safe. That’s how I feel sitting here with Tyus. I shouldn’t, if I’m being honest. I don’t know him. Not really. He could be an abusive drunk for all I know and sitting in a dark, secret room in the back of a club with only two other people who are definitely paid to be deaf and dumb is not ideal, but I’ve been in worse situations. And I trust Tyus. I don’t know why, but I do. Implicitly.

  “Is my Uber on the way?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he answers cordially. He tugs at the pant leg on his fireman’s outfit, exposing the thick black boots on his feet.

  “You look hot in that,” I tell him playfully. “Five alarm.”

  He smiles easily. “That’s cheesy.”

  “I’m a cheesy girl.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No,” I relent. “I’m not.”

  “What are you then?”

  I grin, taking a sip of my ginger ale. “You tell me.”

  He looks at me for a long time. Slowly, pensively, he swirls his drink, clinking the ice against the side of the glass. “No, I don’t think I will.”

  “Why not? Will I be offended?”

  “No. I think it’d make it too easy for you.”

  “Oh really?” I laugh. “How?”

  Tyus’ face is serious. “I think you don’t know who you are. I think you’re young and you’re still figuring that out, and me telling you who you are, that’s not going to help you. You’ve gotta figure that out for yourself. You can’t listen to people like me and your ‘daddy’ and your ‘mama’ preachin’ at you. You gotta find your own gospel. Your own truth.”

  My smile falters as my heart trips in my chest. “I know who I am,” I protest, but it sounds weak. It feels weak inside.

  “Okay, then tell me. Who are you, Mila Greene?”

  I lick my lips. I go to take another drink of my soda, but it’s bubbling too much. I don’t like the feel on my face. “I’m… I…” I’m stuttering, unable to answer. Unable to look at him. “Fuck,” I whisper.

  Tyus’ hand covers mine gently. It stills my racing heart. “Hey,” he coos softly. “It’s okay. I told you, you’re young. You’re figuring it out.”

  “I know who I am,” I laugh, trying to convince us both.

  He removes his hand slowly. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to be the GM of the Los Angeles Kodiaks someday,” I rattle off. “I’m going to own the team. Daddy is giving me the team once I prove I can handle it. That’s why I’m cut off. I have to show that I’m responsible enough to handle my shit. I have to get a job somewhere involving the NFL to prove to him that I won’t be a victim, and I won’t. I won’t be. No one fucks with me, you know? I’ve been through worse than anything you guys can throw at me. I’ll make it and I’ll show him that I can do this. That I can do better.”

  “Is that what you want? More than anything?”

  I meet his eyes head on, my jaw set hard. “I’ve never wanted anything else in my life.”

  He nods slowly. “That’s how I feel about football.”

  “Do you think I can do it?”

  “Do I think you can be the Kodiaks GM?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tyus grins crookedly. “Mila, I think you could be the Commissioner of the whole fucking NFL if you wanted it.”

  “Do you mean that?” I ask breathlessly.

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

  I glow under his encouragement. I get a lot of it from Daddy, but never about this. It’s always about my looks and modeling like my mama. He tells me he’ll help me start my own clothing or jewelry line, but he’s never said a good word about me being the Kodiaks GM. And I’ve always wanted him to. Deep down, no matter how independent I want to be, what I really want is for someone to believe in me and my dream. And while Tyus doesn’t exactly know me inside and out, it still feels good to have someone even acknowledge what I want out of life.

  “Can I be real with you about something?” he asks me suddenly, his voice hushed. His eyes on the ice inside his glass.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  “I’m scared.”

  I blink, surprised. “Scared of what.”

  “Of playing.” Tyus looks up to meet my eyes and they’re so damn earnest I can hardly stand it. “I’m scared I’m gonna get on that field and fail, and everyone will say they were right about me. They’ll say I’ve lost it. Maybe that I never had it.”

  “That’s bullshit. You’ve always had it, Tyus.”

  “I don’t know anymore. I’m actually relieved we have a bye week coming up, ‘cause I know I’m not ready.”

  “Yes, you are,” I tell him firmly. “You know exactly how good you are. And you know you’re going to be fine.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “I used to but lately, I… I don’t know anymore.”

  I purse my lips together pensively. I can think of a thousand flippant, funny things to say that will make him smile. He’ll laugh and forget he said anything about it, but will it make it better? Will he ever open up to me again if I brush this off? There probably won’t be another chance for him to, but I feel sick at the thought of losing the possibility, because that’s what this non-existent room with this beautiful, vibrant, vulnerable man feels like – endless possibilities that will never be anything; but, my God, aren’t they something right now?

  “I believe in you, Tyus,” I tell him quietly. “And I’ll be at that game cheering you on. Screaming your name.”

  He smirks. “Wearing my jersey?”

  “I’ll buy one tomorrow.”

  “You don’t already have one?”

  “Truth?”

  “Truth.”

  “I only have a forty-eight.”

  He lets his head fall back, defeated. “Fucking Matthews, man.”

  “I had a crush on him growing up,” I laugh. “But I promise, I’ll be a thirty-three girl from here on out. Yo
u have my word.”

  When he lifts his head to look at me, he’s still smiling. Still gorgeous and glowing. “You really gonna wear my name?”

  “You gonna go on that field and kick some ass?”

  “Every damn day.”

  I smile, scooting in closer to him. So close our knees brush against each other and his grin slides off his face in a wave of want. It’s instant and sobering. Exciting. I see his hand clench tighter on his glass. I see his jaw tighten. His whole body goes on lockdown but his eyes – his eyes are burning and wide open. He’s not moving. He’s not running or pushing me away, and when I lean in a little closer, his hand lowers. He puts his glass on the table before caressing his palm along my arm. It’s cool from the drink. Wet from the glass. It feels like heaven as it rises up my naked skin to my shoulder and my breath catches in my throat as his lips part, just a little. Just enough to show me white teeth and the pink tip of his tongue.

  “Then I’ll wear your name,” I vow softly. “Every. Damn. Game.”

  “You shouldn’t sit so close, Mila,” he warns.

  “Do you want to kiss me?”

  He swallows thickly. “Yeah. I do.”

  “You shouldn’t,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  “I want you to.”

  “I know.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He shakes his head faintly. “I don’t know.”

  “You can touch me.” I put my hand on his leg, inside his thigh. His eyes close a little, like it hurts. “I want you to touch me.”

  He lets his head fall forward until our noses brush against each other, featherlight. “Your ride is coming.”

  “So kiss me goodbye.”

  “Fuck, Mila,” he groans.

  He’s fighting himself. The good in him, the smart part of him, is screaming for him to walk away, but the other part, the part that’s like me in the worst way, is telling him to kiss me. It’s telling him to grip my shoulder tighter the way he’s doing right now, brushing my hair away so he can feel more of me down my back and across my shoulders. It’s telling him to pull my body closer until my chest is against his and our breath is one continuous exhale that leaves me dizzy and wanting so damn bad it aches in every fiber of my being.

  I want to tell him to fuck me. It would undo him, I know it. He’s teetering on the edge right now and if I ask him, he won’t say no. He’ll take that Uber with me, he’ll take me home, and he’ll fuck me all night until we’re both nothing but sweat soaked flesh and sated desire that burned itself out in a blinding flash you can see from space. It’ll be good, so good, but it’s bad. It’s wrong and I know it. He knows it. Daddy definitely knows it, and the idea of Tyus paying the price for my insatiable need to break everything I touch is more painful than my desire to feel him inside me.

  I put my hand on his face and I put him out of his misery. “Kiss me,” I plead hoarsely. “Just once here in this room where no one will know, and then we’ll never do it again. But please, Tyus, please… make it count.”

  God bless him to the sky and back, he does as I ask. He groans low in the back of his throat like an animal unleashed, and he crashes his lips against mine. I gasp as he grips me tighter, pulling me to him. Onto him. I’m in his lap and his hands are in my hair. On my face. His tongue glides along my lips until I slip them open and he delves inside, slow and sexy in a way I’ve missed. I haven’t been kissed in too long and it feels like getting high. All of my nerves are alive and clicking, flickering like fire. I feel him everywhere. His heartbeat against mine. His pulse in his throat under my fingers. His dick jumps eagerly against my thigh. He kisses me roughly but sweetly, and I don’t know how he does it but I fucking love it.

  I would die like this if I could – consumed by a beautiful man.

  When he breaks the kiss, I’m brokenhearted. I’m a kid at Disneyland who’s watching the park closing, totally aware that the dream is over, the vacation has ended, and the world will be painfully mundane in the morning. I wish I could go back in time just for a second. Just one more minute of bliss, but it’s gone. I can feel it flittering away on the soft exhale of his breath. The tortured sigh that trembles from my lips.

  “Mila,” he mumbles, his hands still in my hair.

  I shake my head. “No one will know,” I vow.

  He pulls my forehead against his. “If you were any other girl in the world…”

  “I wouldn’t be me.”

  He nods. “I know.”

  I steal one last kiss, one breach of promise that I can’t stop because I can’t control myself, but he lets me do it. He gives it willingly and it doesn’t feel like stealing after all.

  It feels like saying goodbye.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TYUS

  November 7th

  Charles Windt Stadium

  Los Angeles, CA

  “Anthony! Run it again!” Coach Allen barks from the sidelines.

  I pant heavily inside my helmet, the sound echoing in my ears. I wave one hand at him to acknowledge I heard him as I step into place on the line. He’s made me run this route twenty times today. He’s punishing me.

  At least that’s what it looks like on the outside to everyone else, but I doubt that’s it. He’s not vindictive. Making me run this route until my feet bleed, that’s him making a point. He’s making sure my memory is going to stick because Colt isn’t wrong – Coach Allen knows something is up with me, and he knows it’s more than I’m telling. But if he wants to talk me about it, he can ask me. I’ll have that conversation with him. Right after we talk about Joshua Motherfuckin’ Ramsey.

  “Hut! Hut! Hike!”

  I launch, darting effortlessly past my coverage and down the sideline. I’ve run it too many times today but I’m still blowing past every fatass on the line. They can’t catch me. No one can. I hit my mark and cut infield like I’ve done every time. I turn, leap, and there’s Domata’s pass just where I want it. Boom! The ball hits my chest. My arms go around it. My feet touch the ground and I’m already running, I’m already gone, straight to the end zone. Twenty yards. Fifteen. No one around me. Ten. Five. Touchdown.

  I drop the ball inside the line, hitting the breaks hard. My lungs are screaming, my head is pounding, but I’m smiling from ear to ear because, fuck me, that feels good. Better than sex.

  Avery chases me down, smacking me hard on the shoulder. “You okay, man?”

  “Yeah. I’m good,” I wheeze. “Why?”

  “You look queasy.”

  “I’m not ‘queasy’. What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “It means sick to your stomach.”

  “I know what it means.”

  “Then why are you asking me? Whatever, man. Never mind. Coach is calling us in.” He hits me on the shoulder again, bringing my head in to bump his helmet against mine. “It’s good to have you back, baby.”

  I knock on his helmet hard. “It’s good to be back.”

  Slowly, I follow Colt to the sidelines where Coach is gathering the team to end practice. Despite the fact that my lungs are screaming, I feel better than I have in months. Stronger, faster, prouder. I inhale deeply, savoring the taste of the day on my tongue, wishing I could bottle it.

  “Anthony!” Coach Bailey shouts at me irritably. “Pick it up! We’re waiting on you!”

  I jog to the edge of the crowd, kicking my helmet back. “I’m here.”

  “Thanks for joining us!”

  “Thanks for the invite.”

  “Listen up,” Coach Allen tells us, not bothering to shout. We’ll quiet down for him or we’ll run sprints until we can’t speak anymore. Our choice. “Next week’s game isn’t going to have the intensity of the New England match up. It’ll be at home. It’s the Bears, so take away from that what you will.”

  We chuckle, shifting excitedly on our feet.

  “Nevertheless, we treat every opponent with respect. You come to play or you don’t play at all. All of you can be replaced. Easily. So s
tep it up and make a showing. The documentary crew will be there as always. What you do will live on through their records, so if you want to be an old man like me and see yourself fucking off, then by all means, act like an asshole. But if you want to look back on these days and say every single second was a victory, every moment was glory, then make it happen. Be the legend you want to be remembered as.” He adjusts his hat, tugging the bill down low over his eyes. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got to say. Trey, knock us out.”

  Trey steps into the middle of the crowd, throwing his arms over his head.

  “Raise the banner!” he shouts.

  “Fly it high!” we yell back.

  “Bang the drum!”

  “We hear it cry!”

  “Bring it home!”

  “It’s do or die!”

  “Who dat?! Huh?!” he demands, his hand to his ear as he turns to face every man. “Who dat?!”

  “The Kodiaks! What?!”

  “Who dat, huh?! Who dat?!”

  “The Kodiaks!”

  “The Kodiaks!”

  “The Kodiaks!”

  “The Kodiaks! Hoo!”

  Our huddle turns into a mosh pit, bodies banging against each other in that sweet symphony of pads and helmets connecting. I’ll never get over that sound. I’ll never forget what it feels like to live like this with these men on this field, but the scary thing is, I’m memorizing it today. I’m treating it like it’s over when I just got back, and I can’t shake the sadness that’s welling up inside me as I yell with Colt, crashing the front of our helmets together.

  When things quiet down, the team moves as a mass toward the tunnel. The mood is light. Excited. We’re days away from dismantling the Chicago Bears, bringing us one step closer to the Chamionship. It’ll be an easy win if we do it right. It’s the perfect game for me to come back on because, I won’t lie, I need a confidence boost. I need easy to break me back in because my hands are jittery at my sides. They’re not shaking but I’m wired. I feel like it’s my first year all over again and every game almost gives me a heart attack. I’m looking forward to a quiet night to calm my nerves.