Daring the Wild Sparks

by Alexander, Ren

  Kylie Maddox, Lakeside, VA”

  He smiles and thoughtfully rubs his rough jaw up to his sideburn. “Well, Kylie, I grew up around NASCAR in Dover and then it’s prominent here in Richmond, but that’s one sport I honestly have never been heavily involved in and surprisingly enough, I’ve never done anything related to it before, besides reporting on it. My colleague, Drake Emerson, is our NASCAR guy. Your dare sounds fun. So, Kylie, challenge accepted.” He glances back down to the paper.

  “P.S. What’s your scariest dare?”

  Finn bites his lip as he coyly smiles. “Hmm. A scary one that I have done would be the dance you saw me do, if that’s what you can call it. Doing that has haunted my dreams ever since.” He shakes his head and chuckles as he slides his sexy eyes to the camera. “A scary one that I haven’t done and probably won’t ever do would be walking across hot coals or eating anything my little sister cooks. I’m not infinitely daring. I do have my limits and I like to think I’m not that crazy.” He smirks, which this time, is more genuine than earlier’s endeavor.

  As a commercial comes on, my phone rings and I snatch it up. Before I say hello, Rod’s voice fills my ear. “What the hell? Not counting the gyrating, your boyfriend is now the coolest dude I know! Why didn’t you tell me that motherfucker was doing the Rocky Steps?”

  “It slipped my mind. Sorry.”

  “Slipped your mind? Wow. Alright, I’ll let it go this time. Did he call yet?”

  “Rod. You just saw him on TV and now I’m talking to you three seconds later.”

  “Oh, yeah. So, did he?”

  “Goodbye, Rod.”

  “I’ll pick you up around 1:30. Be ready, biotch!”

  “Sure thing,” I mumble.

  He sighs and clears his throat, switching mindsets. “Hadley, it’ll be okay. Take this time and sort things out. He’ll still be there. Don’t think of it so much as a bad thing. It’ll be good for you both to get some clarity.”

  I aimlessly nod. “I know. Thanks.”

  “You know it, chickadee. You should test him. Wear a short skirt so I can slip my hand up while he’s trying to impart us with his wisdom.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “If he flies over and snaps my neck, you’ll know he still likes you.”

  I smile. “Goodbye, ass.”

  I hear his smile in return. “Later, slut.”

  I take a shower and keep my phone on the sink in case Finn calls. Why won’t he call me back?

  After my shower, I remove my blue nail polish while staring at my phone, willing it to ring. Should I keep calling until he picks up? I miss my Sparks. My best friend.

  Picking up my phone, I dial him one more time.

  Finn does pick up with a muddled, “Yeah?” Was he asleep? I glance at the clock again.

  “Where have you been?” I don’t mean to attack him, but all of my anxiety promptly bubbles to the surface before I can stop it.

  “You told me not to bother you.” He is taking this way too far.

  “I’ve been calling you, Finn. Leaving messages over and over, or not since you can see that I called. Why haven’t you returned my calls? I’ve been worried about you!” I begin to border on enraged once I know he’s okay and he just blew me off.

  “Why have you been worried? You wanted me away so you can think, and you said you can’t think when we’re together.”

  “We both get carried away when we’re together.”

  “It’s easy to do when I only see you twice a week. Oh, wait a minute. Now we’re down to zero times a week.”

  I take a deep breath and blow out a cleansing exhale. One of us has to be reasonable. “Why are you being like this? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Like what? Lonely? Missing my girlfriend who doesn’t want to see me even less than usual? I’ve called you, too, but you didn’t bother calling me back.” What? That’s not true!

  “Yes, I did! I fell asleep waiting up for you!” I guess I’m not going to be the reasonable one either.

  “So did I.”

  “Maybe some of the calls didn’t show up on our phones?”

  “Your phone, Becks. That piece of shit has to go.”

  I sit down on my couch and curl my legs up to my chest. The eerie silence envelops us, sending the chills throughout my body again. Ultimately, I whisper, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  Caustically, he asks, “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? To think about me?”

  I shut my eyes and nod. “Yeah, it is. And I have been.” You’re all I think about, Finn.

  He sounds indifferent, like he’s asking about the weather in El Paso. “Anything decided yet?”

  “I’m not deciding anything. I’m reprioritizing.”

  He sarcastically snaps, “That’s sounds even better.”

  I wipe tears precipitously dripping from my eyes. This doesn’t sound like my Finnigan Wilder. He’s so distant and cold…like my nightmare. Shivers run up my spine as I recall his voice sounding the same as it does now.

  I shift directions in my questioning to something lighter. “How will you determine what positions everyone will play?” Rod’s comment about me being Finn’s batgirl enters my mind and I unexpectedly smirk.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been somewhat distracted.”

  Even though it’s my fault he’s been distracted, I remind him, “Well, you can’t be, Finn, if you’re going to do this. It’s not fair to the team to not put your full attention in it.”

  He sneers, “Don’t you think I know that? I didn’t actively seek to be sidetracked. It happened.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like it’s your fault.”

  “Well, evidently it is my fault.”

  I uselessly plead, “Finn, don’t.”

  His voice only gets chillier. “Don’t what? Tell me, Becks. Don’t what? I’d like to know because I’m ostensibly fucking up everything single-handedly.”

  Then it hits me. He’s icy and detached like he was at the club.

  I straighten my legs and sit up. “Are you drinking?” That’s becoming his answer for any problem he has with me lately.

  “I’ve had a few beers. So?” He’s had more than a few. “Are you going to come over and stop me? It’s a Friday night, your designated sleep-over night, Becks. Why don’t you drop by for a visit?”

  “No.”

  “Why? You think I’d try to get you to do something you don’t want to, like showing me affection, putting your hands on me?” That is like a punch to my stomach. I love touching his body, feeling his skin on mine, dragging my lips along his bristly face, catching his eager lips with mine while I run my fingers through his delightful hair, stroking his chest, his hair tickling my fingers as I trail them down his taut stomach and into his underwear.

  How can he claim that I don’t touch him? I can’t keep my hands off of him just as much as he can’t keep his off me. That’s why I have to stay away from him. It’s not just his weakness. It’s mine too.

  “I always show you affection. How can you say that I don’t?”

  “I guess because I only get it in short increments and for a limited time only.”

  Astonished, I gasp, “Finn, I do love you! Don’t you love me?”

  He grimly laughs, making my hair stand on end at the frostiness. “You’re asking me that after what I did for you last weekend?”

  “What you did?”

  He bites, “Knocked you up, or don’t you remember?”

  I pick up my key and blink away more tears. “It’s not definite, so you don’t have to panic yet.”

  He mockingly snips, “Right. No worries here.”

  I silently wipe my cheeks on my arm, moving the phone to take a ragged, deep breath. He doesn’t need to know he’s making me cry. He’d probably get some sort of satisfaction out of it anyhow. “What’s getting me pregnant have to do with you loving me?”

  “Because I don’t norma
lly go out and knock up random women just for the hell of it. I’d only do it for you.” That statement warms and cools me at the same time, if that’s possible.

  I retort, using his words, “Also, for a limited time only.”

  His words begin to run together as his drinking pulls him further under. “Why are we still fighting? You got what you wanted. I gave you a kid. Are you done with me now? I feel like you only wanted me for stud services.”

  “What? You don’t honestly think that, do you?”

  “I don’t want to,” he mutters quietly.

  “You changed your mind and wanted to have sex without protection! You said we’d be okay if something happened, Finn! Now you’re blaming me if I’m pregnant?” My voice catches and I pull the phone from my mouth, biting my other hand to keep my impending wail from being heard. I will not give him the pleasure of having the edge in his drunkenness because of my weakness for him.

  “I’m not blaming you, Becks. I’m… Fuck, I don’t know.” He heavily sighs and I draw my knee up to rest my head on it, concentrating on steadying my own breathing, my long hair nearly touching my other leg.

  “Why are you playing softball anyway? Morgan isn’t playing because of her condition. Maybe I should bench you, too,” he threatens in an authoritative tone. Is this how he’s going to be when he’s my coach? Great. Can’t wait.

  I mumble into my lap, “Why does it matter? I didn’t think you’d care.”

  He raises his voice in exasperation, “It matters because I don’t want you getting sick or hurt! Shit, I’m also your coach, so I need to think of what’s best for the team. If you can’t play, then you shouldn’t be.”

  I lift my head. “If I get a positive pregnancy test, I’ll quit.” And you’ll leave me.

  Not acknowledging me possibly having a positive result, he’s all business. “Then we’re down a player.”

  I put my elbow on my knee and hold my forehead in my hand. “Finn, what do you want me to do then? Not play at all? You’d be down a player. I’ll play and if I need to quit, I’m sure I can find a replacement for you.”

  “I don’t want to be preoccupied, Becks.” No, not with the possibility of me being pregnant. Any other distraction would be okay though.

  “It’ll be fine. I don’t want you to be paying special attention to me. Not everyone in my office remembers who I’m dating, so just treat me like anyone else. I don’t want to interrupt you from your coaching duties either.” Or of you fathering my child.

  He quietly says, “That’s going to be impossible.” I hear a sliver of my Finnigan in the drunken haze.

  I whisper, “I love you, Sparks.” I hope it reaches his heart through the alcohol.

  He blows into the phone. “So do I. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Finn hangs up and I squeeze my phone at the silence on his end, moaning as the sobs finally erupt. With fat tears streaming down my face, I snap my phone shut and release my aching fingers from their death grip before I angrily throw it to the other end of my gray couch. It bounces off a pillow and onto the floor.

  I’m giving up everything to hold onto Finn, but it feels like he’s the one thing I’m going to lose.

  Excerpt from “Igniting the Wild Sparks.”

  CHAPTER 1

  “Does Wilder make you put gloves on before handling his balls?”

  Rod pulls into the parking lot at the community center, which is a little farther than a mile away from work. Our games will actually be played at another field across town, but Finn wanted us to meet somewhere that wasn’t being used by the other teams. He had also instructed us to each bring a glove so we could toss around a few balls, which was the fuel Rod needed to spew a string of anecdotes concerning Finn’s testicles.

  “If so, what kind? Your softball glove would definitely chafe the sensitive skin down below, and he wouldn’t even be able to feel your fingers. Rubber gloves would be like using a condom, which I hear Wilder hates.” He snorts and I try so hard to ignore him. “What about those soft, winter gloves that feel like a kitten’s fur? Because, you know, you’d be petting his junk with your pussy gloves.”

  I look out my window, shaking my head. “Can you just stop now?”

  Obviously on a roll, he says, “When you wash Wilder’s balls, you should watch what kind of soap you use since it could turn them colors. No coach wants rainbow balls. You may as well sprinkle them with glitter then.”

  I smack his arm and reach for the door. “Shit. Just shut up, Rod!” I grouse, teetering on the boarder of laughing until I cry, or crying before I break something, like Greg Rodwell’s face.

  “I was talking about the softballs this time!” he lies with a laugh while stroking his arm where I hit him. “Lighten up, Hadders! You’re depressing my Garfield air freshener! Jesus!”

  After a couple hours, I cried myself into a restless sleep last night. This morning, I stayed in bed until I only had 10 minutes before Rod picked me up. I’m not going to win any beauty pageants with the bags under my eyes, a half-assed ponytail and nonexistent makeup, not that I had a snowball’s chance of accidentally stumbling into last place in one of those things anyway.

  Upon getting into Rod’s truck, I informed him I need to go to the jewelry store to pick up Finn’s ring after practice. Rod actually was more excited about that then I was.

  I jump out of his truck as he walks around to my side with a sour look on his face. I impatiently pull at the tips of my brand new, black softball glove. “What?”

  He tucks his brown glove underneath his arm and scrutinizes my body. “I can’t believe you didn’t at least sex it up a bit. A T-shirt and sweats? How am I going to cop a feel with you wearing that shit?”

  Tired from a lack of sleep, I wearily reply, “You will not be copping anything, Rod, so hands off.”

  He scoffs, “Well, damn. You should’ve worn a shirt that says, ‘Property of Finn Wilder. Hands off!’”

  “Birthday gift,” I lamely singsong as a joke, but it comes off like a sad plea.

  “I guess I’ll have to return the car I bought you,” he flatly retorts as we start walking. “Well, where’s your slutty makeup? You could have worn some instead of opting for the Michael Myers look.”

  I irritably snap, “Fuck you, Rodwell.”

  He wheezes in surprise and stops walking as I continue past him to Morgan, who is standing a short distance from the field. She smiles and I pause when she looks past me to Rod, asking, “Hey. Where’s our coach? I thought he would’ve driven you here.”

  I resume walking and she falls into step next to me with Rod trailing after. “No, you know I haven’t seen him since Monday.”

  “I thought maybe you gave in and stayed with him last night.”

  I shake my head. “He wanted me to, but I didn’t.”

  “So, you talked to him?”

  “Yeah, finally. He was a little plastered, so he wasn’t in the greatest mood.”

  Without looking at her, I still can hear the frown in her voice as I toy with my glove. “Does he get drunk every weekend when he’s not with you?”

  Val, Gloria Charleton, Gloria’s paralegal Betsy Litman, Shasta, Sylvie, Grant and some guy I’ve never seen before come into view as we near the field. “It seems like it,” I grumble and stare out to the field instead of the group of people gawking at us.

  “Ivan and I want to invite you and Finn to dinner. Maybe next weekend?”

  “We’ll see.” I can’t promise anything right now. I don’t even know what today will bring.

  Val jumps up from the bench she’s sitting on and practically bounds to us in excitement. I’m definitely not used to seeing her in a T-shirt and sweatpants. “Hey, guys! Isn’t this going to be fun? I’m so thrilled to be spending time away from work with some of my favorite people!”

  Rod somewhat pouts, “Too bad Morgan is here to ruin it for you, Val.”

  She laughs and pats Rod on the arm. “Rod, be nice.”

  He stands beside Morgan and nods his hea
d to the group of people past Val. “Who’s that guy?”

  Knowing whom Rod is referring to, she answers, “That is Crick. Let me introduce you.”

  He steps back and puts a hand on his hip. “Oh, Lord. I can’t even look at him when he has a name like that.”

  She dubiously frowns at him. “Gregory. You’ll have to work with him on a daily basis. Get over there and introduce yourself.”

  He fleetingly looks down and mutters, “Shit.” Val pulls on his arm while Morgan and I follow them to the slim, dark-haired, clean-shaven man, who looks more like a teenager, standing with Sylvie, Grant and Betsy.

  Val shoves a reluctant Rod forward and he sullenly says, “Hey. You must be the newbie.”

  “Yes, hi. I’m Crick Scanlon,” he says, his voice a little nasally, which worries me. Rod will be all over that. Crick immediately sticks his hand out for Rod to shake; however, Rod stares at him, unsure of what to do next. Val slaps Rod on the back, compelling him to speak again.

  “Greg Rodwell.” He takes his hand out of his jeans pocket and tentatively shakes Crick’s hand.

  Morgan rolls her eyes and shoves Rod’s arm, for which he gives her a dirty look. “Nobody calls him Greg. Around here he’s Rod.”

  Rod objects, “Not by choice.”

  “Or you can call him Dick Rod, Nimrod or Ass Rod. Take your pick.”

  Crick, looking uncomfortable and a little scared, releases Rod’s hand and hastily utters, “I’ll call you Greg, if you want.”

  Rod eyes Crick skeptically. “Why would you do that?”

  He quickly shrugs and amends, “Whatever you want me to call you.”

  “Look, you can call me Hot Lips, Sweet Cheeks, Frenchie, Mama, Doll Face, Nancy Drew, or God’s Gift to Women for all I care—though I do prefer the last one. Just know that this woman,” he jerks his thumb to Morgan, “is evil and should be publicly shunned.”

  Morgan counters, “Then I’d only have you to hang out with, Sweet Cheeks. Someone might as well hand me a razor now to slit my throat.”

  Rod petulantly replies, “Cut out the middle man. I’ll do it for you.”