These Days Series: After Tuesday | Forgotten Yesterday | Deciding Tomorrow

by Renee Ericson

“It’s not about paying dues, and you know it.”

  “Stop, Cody. Fucking. Let! It! Go!” My voice rises. “He’s suffered, too, and it’s my life. I’ll do what I want, so stay the fuck out of it.”

  “Fine,” he snarls. “When you hit bottom again, don’t think I’ll be looking for you.”

  “I don’t want you to.” I’m about a block from my building and so full of rage. I fucking hate Cody right now, and this conversation needs to end. “I’m hanging up. Tell Shauna I’m sorry. I’ll call you later once you get your head out of your ass and want to talk like a grown-up instead of some overprotective asshole. You’re not my father.”

  “Yeah, it’s a good thing I’m not, or you’d still be on your ass in some ditch in Florida.”

  “Look who’s talking,” I bite back. “You’re no angel, you know. And he was your friend. I never would have gone down and stayed with him if you two weren’t so close. Thanks for the introduction. So, maybe Florida is your fault. Ever think of that?”

  “Oh, shut up, and go fuck the asshole who can’t handle it when things get tough. I hope Brent leaves you on your ass once and for all, so you can finally realize he’s just a pussy.”

  “Fuck you.” I end the call, hanging up on him, not wanting to fuel the conversation any further.

  Furious, I lean against a nearby tree to calm myself. Defending Brent against Cody’s interpretation of events is impossible.

  Cody does care and is just looking out for me, but his tact certainly hasn’t gotten much better over time. He obviously still blames Brent for too much, which I will never understand. He and Mara are the only ones who know what really happened between Brent and me, and for some odd reason, both of them only blame him. What they don’t understand is that no one’s to blame. It was just a shitty hand, and afterwards everything fell apart.

  Maybe I’ve come to terms with that more than anyone because it was the only way to move on with my life. That time after, with me alone and then in Florida, wasn’t pretty. Cody saw me at my worst, but that wasn’t Brent’s fault. That was my own stupidity. It was a circumstantial spiral in which being saved wasn’t really an option. You can’t save someone until the person wants to see the light, and I was content with shuffling through the dark. It was easy.

  Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I leisurely walk the last block to my place, getting into a better headspace, calming my anger, before entering the building. I won’t let my dispute with Cody or his views sway me in any way.

  I walk up the familiar red-carpeted steps, unlock the door to my apartment, and head inside. Turning the corner around the small entryway, I find Brent sitting on my bed, and all my anger and frustration is taken away. He’s here, and so am I. Being together is what’s important. It’s what matters to me.

  “Hi.” His voice puts me even more at ease. “How was class?” he asks, swinging his legs off the bed.

  “It was okay. The day went by so slow.” I drop my bag to the floor and then sit next to him on the bed. “How was your day?”

  “Lonely.”

  “And now?”

  He takes my hand. “Perfect.”

  Fourteen

  Brent leans in, kissing me softly, in a greeting-type fashion. It’s such a normal and comfortable gesture, easy and familiar, like he’s been doing it for years. He waits expectantly, and I giggle, not sure what to do now that he’s here, on my bed in my apartment. I’m still trying to grasp the surrealism of it all.

  “So,” Brent says, his fingers flirting with mine, “what now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well”—he slides his body closer to mine, brushing our arms—“what do you usually do? You know, when the hottest guy on the planet isn’t sitting on your bed next to you?”

  “Ha!” I bark. “Aren’t we full of ourselves?”

  “Sometimes.” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “But you have things you need to do, right?”

  “You want to know about my boring, mundane life?”

  “Yes.” One side of his mouth turns up. “Actually, I don’t want to get in the way of it, so just carry on like I’m not here.”

  “That’s going to be a little difficult, especially with you on my bed.”

  He stands up, leaving me alone on the bed, and leans his back against the wall. “Better?”

  “Yes.” I smirk at his distance. It’s a simplistic solution, like something a fourth grader would do. “That solves everything. It’s almost like I’m here all by myself.”

  “Thought so.” He winks at me. “Seriously though, I don’t want to get in the way. What do you usually do when you get home on Mondays?”

  “Nothing too exciting,” I reply, still in shock that he’s here. “Usually, I just go for a run, order some Chinese food from the place up the street, and then study for the rest of the night.”

  “And wait for me to call, right?”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot about that part,” I say with sarcasm. “I pine all day, waiting to hear your voice.”

  “I knew it.” He lifts his brows and claps his hands together once. “Okay, well, let’s go.”

  Brent walks to the other side of the room, opens his suitcase, pulls out a few items of clothing, and sets a pair of sneakers on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Getting ready to go for a run,” he replies over his shoulder. “You said that’s what you’re doing, right? So, you’d better get ready to go.”

  “A run?” I narrow my eyes at his back as he continues to sift through his clothes.

  He turns around with some kind of high-tech fabric in one hand and running shoes in the other.

  “You’re going to go for a run with me?”

  “Yeah.” He walks to the foot of the bed, laying his items on the comforter. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, skeptical.

  Brent reaches behind his head and pulls off his shirt. Then, he puts on the black one from his suitcase.

  “I don’t know if we’re well matched. You kind of run for a living.”

  He lifts his brows while reaching for the button on his pants. “Technically, I kick balls for a living.”

  “Uh…”

  His pants and boxers drop to the floor, and I jolt up in the same instance, walking into the closet area.

  “What?” he calls to me. “Can’t take it?”

  I peek over my shoulder. Brent bends toward his pile of garments on the bed, giving me a nice view of his bare ass.

  “If we’re going on a run,” I say, opening the drawer where I keep my athletic clothes, focusing on the task and not him, “I don’t need any distractions.”

  “What?” he asks, calling my attention. I look into the main room and Brent turns around, naked from the waist down, with his palms framing his groin area. “Is this a distraction?”

  “It’s a big one!” I turn away, flabbergasted. “Holy shit, Brent!”

  “Did you just say it was a big one?”

  Shit! “Yes.” I take off my shirt and bra and then pull the sports bra over my head. “It’s a big one. Happy?”

  “Oh, you have no idea.” Brent leans on the doorframe to my small dressing area, now sporting a tight-fitting pair of underwear, outlining all his assets. “Very happy.” He licks his lips as his gaze cradles every inch of my physique. “I’m going to finish dressing. You should, too. And hurry…unless you want to do something else.”

  “Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  Brent goes back into the main part of the apartment. I finish getting ready in my closet, adorning myself in a tight pair of running pants and a long-sleeved fitted shirt. I grab my hat from the top shelf and my running shoes from the section below. Then, I join him once again on the bed, and we tie up our laces.

  “You know,” I say, hopping off the bed and bending over in the middle of the room to stretch out, “you look like some kind of sports magazine ad in that outfit of yours.”

&n
bsp; “No kidding,” he agrees, lunging toward the ground, also stretching. “I get a lot of stuff from sponsors.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. We all do.”

  “Huh.” I walk to the door, exiting the apartment with Brent on my heels. “I had no idea.”

  He takes my hand as we walk together down the hall. “Just a perk, I guess.”

  Quickly, we descend the stairs and leave my building, merging onto the sidewalk.

  I lead us down a few blocks until we reach the park where I usually start my runs. Jumping up and down a few times, I warm up my muscles in the brisk air.

  “You ready?” I ask, lifting my foot behind me, stretching out my quads one last time.

  “Sure. What’s the plan?”

  I tilt my head down the street. “About half a mile to the lake and then a three-mile loop.”

  “Sounds good.” He smacks my ass. “I hope I can keep up.”

  “Har-har. I’m not as fast as you, remember? I’ll probably be begging you to be nice to me by the end.”

  He raises his brows mischievously.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, defensive.

  “Hey, you’re the one who said it. And don’t worry. I’ll be nice to you.”

  Brent kisses me quickly on the mouth. His lips leave mine before I have a chance to truly enjoy the moment.

  “After you,” he says, stepping back and gesturing down the sidewalk.

  I start out, and he joins me at my side, accidentally brushing his shoulder with mine. We leisurely make our way down the street, having to stop only a few times for major intersections, until we reach the long stretch of park space that abuts Lake Michigan. The late afternoon light reflects beautifully off the rough surface of undulating waves. The wind blows harder at the shore, but my cheeks welcome the chilly sting. We jog together in silence, our pace perfectly matched. Neither one of us is winded, so I increase my speed. Brent doesn’t miss a beat, and we stay together easily.

  “Do you run every day?” he asks.

  “No. About four times a week. Just school days. How about you?” I ask, observing the ease of his stride.

  “About the same—the four days, not the school thing.”

  We pass a woman running with her dog in the opposite direction. The trail veers inward, away from the lake, sheltering us somewhat from the wind.

  “So, I meant to ask,” I begin. “How did you get into my building this morning? Did you secretly make a copy of my key while I was visiting you?”

  “And if I did?”

  “I might call you a stalker.”

  “Stalker? Ha! No need to worry about that. I got in while someone was leaving the building. I was just about to buzz you when the door opened.”

  “What were you going to do if I wasn’t there?”

  “Find a place to wait.” His elbow touches mine. “Then, stalk you with texts and emails until you got back.”

  We hit a nice pace at the halfway mark of our run. The time spent on this trek is going by quickly. It’s nice having a running partner. I haven’t had one in years.

  “Would you mind if we did five miles instead of three?” I ask.

  “We can do whatever you want.” He pulls on my long, chocolate ponytail. “I’m game for it all.”

  Taking that as a yes, I push my legs harder.

  We practically sprint the next mile, and I’m winded by the time we reach the turnaround point for the five-mile trek. Brent, on the other hand, is almost unfazed by the push, not that I should be surprised by the stamina of a professional athlete. His entire living is based on physical performance.

  Slowing our pace, we take the next mile in silence. I listen to Brent’s breaths and the sound of our feet hitting the pavement simultaneously. Finding a comfortable rhythm, we quietly enjoy each other’s company for the rest of the route.

  We reach the place where we started our run, and I slow us to a quick walk to cool down as we meander back in the direction of my apartment. Once we pass the first major intersection, Brent takes my clammy hand in his, and I welcome the normality of it all. In a blur, he swooped in, and it’s like those three weeks apart never existed.

  “I have a question for you,” I say about a block from my place.

  “Shoot.”

  “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

  “That’s up to you.” He slows down, adding pressure to my hand. “I have a few things I need to do during the off-season, and I have Christmas with my dad, but I don’t need to go back to L.A. until mid-January.” He stops walking, taking my other hand. “I’d like to be here though as much as possible, but that’s up to you.”

  More than a month, almost two—that’s what he’s asking for and proposing. It’s not a weekend, not even a week or two. He’s asking for several weeks of us together. I don’t understand the question. He should know the answer.

  “But I don’t want to get in the way of anything you have going on either,” he adds. “So, let me know what you think.”

  “Until mid-January?”

  “Yeah. Team training starts then. Preseason stuff. But I do have a few things to do in the interim.”

  “What about your place?”

  “Johan will check in on it. I sent him a message today.”

  I slide my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his beating heart. “I have one more question.”

  “What’s that?” he asks against the top of my head.

  “Where will you be staying while you’re in town?”

  Tilting my head, I peer into his confused face as he takes in my words. Smiling, I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.

  “I can always get a hotel room, if that’s what you want,” he says, playing along.

  “Hell no. You’d better be staying with me.”

  “If you insist.”

  Fifteen

  Pulling back the shower curtain, I turn on the water and check the temperature of the spray. A few steps away, Brent is hanging his clothes, settling in for a long stay. It’s almost like he’s moving in, which makes me excited and nervous at the same time. We’ll be in each other’s space day in and day out. Who knows what that will be like?

  “I’m jumping in the shower,” I say, joining him where he’s still putting away some of his clothes. I lift my shirt over my head and toss it into the corner laundry basket.

  “I kind of gathered that.” He peers over my shoulder at the pile of clothes. “I found something I was missing today by the way.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Do you have something you want to tell me?”

  “What?” I shift my eyes back and forth in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “No.” I laugh, nervous about his inquisition.

  “Then, answer a question for me.” Fake seriousness washes over his features. “Are you or are you not a kleptomaniac?”

  My eyes widen.

  “Did you happen to take something from my closet?” He steps around me and pulls out his shirt, the same one I wore last night, from the heap of dirty clothes. “Maybe a shirt of mine?”

  Heat floods my cheeks. “Possibly,” I squeak.

  He drops the item in question back from where he got it and then closes the space between us. “Thought so. I bet you look really sexy in it…and out of it.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I coyly ask, stepping away toward the bathroom.

  Brent grabs me by the waist and circles me around, so we’re face-to-face. He steps in closer, and his hand traces my spine. “Do you need help washing your back?” he questions, smooth as silk.

  “Aren’t you slick?”

  “I can be. It’d be my pleasure to help you get those hard-to-reach places.”

  “I’m sure it would be.”

  “You have no idea.”

  I raise my brows.

  “So? Are you going to let me help you?” He unleashes one of those seductive dimples. “I
’ll let you wash me, too.”

  “I’m not sure who that would benefit more—you or me.”

  “Maybe we should find out?”

  Licking my lips, I lift my arms toward the ceiling in reply. Brent’s fingertips find the snug hem of my sports bra, and he proceeds to pull it over my head. I remove the elastic band from my long brown hair, allowing it to fall down the length of my back. Brent shrugs out of his own shirt and pushes his shorts and underwear to the ground, leaving him completely naked. He then slips his hands into my form-fitting pants along my hips and slides the material down my legs to the floor.

  Wrapping his arms around me, Brent carries me into the shower. Our mouths connect. Our bodies mold into one—his skin, my flesh, us. He sets me down, my feet landing on the porcelain tub, and the warm water hits my back.

  “You know you’re in trouble, right?” he utters in a low tone against my lips.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I plan to make up for the last few years while I’m here…and there’s a lot to make up for.”

  Under the warm water, his lips precisely line the space under my jaw, careful to catch every single cell. I grip his shoulders as his fingers flirt along the curves of my wet body, lightly tracing its form. He reaches behind me, his mouth nipping at my ear, and grabs the loofah and body wash from the rack hanging from the showerhead. Creating a sliver of distance between our naked forms, he squirts a small amount of the soap into the sponge and then slowly lathers my arms, breasts, and stomach. Taking his time, he gives respect to every inch, painting the foam over my skin.

  The methodical consideration makes my heart warm. There’s something so loving and everyday about his care for me. His gestures are reminders of everything that’s been missing in my life—not just for the last few weeks, but what I said good-bye to, what we gave up on all those years ago. We were so stupid. I was so stupid.

  “I really missed you,” I whisper over the sound of the falling water.

  “I missed you, too,” he says, focused on the task of washing my hips. “Turn around.”

  Without any hesitation, I reverse my stance and face the tiled wall as Brent proceeds to run his hands and bubbled sponge over my backside, back, and shoulders. When he’s finished, he kisses down the curve of my neck and over to the length of my shoulder.