The Keeper

by Jillian Liota

  One tear slips from my eye, and before I can move, Mack has stepped forward and wiped it away with his thumb. His hand rests softly on my cheek, and I give into the urge and close my eyes, leaning into his touch. He steps forward and places his other hand on my face, bringing our foreheads together, and for a moment, everything is forgotten.

  He moves slightly, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “You’re precious, and special, and you don’t deserve to walk through your life carrying this burden,” he whispers, lightly kissing my temple.

  I take a deep breath, inhaling his scent. Our eyes are closed, but I feel like we are really seeing each other, broken bits and all, for the first time.

  “Rach?” I hear from my right, and I quickly step back and turn my head, seeing Jeremy standing at the curb. His eyes flick back and forth between me and Mack. “Everything okay?”

  I clear my throat and clutch my keys more firmly in my hand. Nodding, I finally get out a terse, ‘yup’ before I turn and unlock the door to my apartment.

  Before I walk through the door, I look back at Mack. His eyes are glued to me and I find myself wanting to get lost in his eyes. Those warm, brown depths that make me feel safe.

  “Thank you, Mack,” I whisper. “For everything.”

  And then I walk through my door and close it behind me.

  * * * * *

  Jeremy is still not in my apartment when I come downstairs fifteen minutes later, post-shower. Even though I showered at USD, I felt like I needed another rinse to wash away the shitty afternoon.

  I might have also wanted to sit on the floor of the shower, because that’s pretty much the best place to sit and think when you’re upset.

  When I step towards the door, I can hear the murmur of their voices outside. Jeremy sounds angry. Mack sounds apologetic.

  Both of them make me want to roll my eyes.

  The ‘emotional depths’ I was feeling after my conversation with Mack have passed, likely dripping down the drain with my body wash.

  Thankfully.

  As earnest as Mack was in his speech outside, I truly don’t want to take the time to sort through the muck of my past. It’s easier to shove it away and focus on something else.

  I stroll into the kitchen and pull the orange juice from the fridge. As I drink down half of the glass, I hear the door slam closed and harsh, booted footsteps in the entry. I continue staring at the fridge, unwilling to look at my brother as he enters the kitchen.

  “Please tell me you’re not totally fucking up your life,” are not at all the words that I expect to come out of his mouth.

  My eyes whip to his.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Tell me I didn’t see you out there with your coach, who bangs everything in sight. Tell me you are not risking your scholarship and place on the team for that piece of shit.”

  His hands are gripping tightly to the kitchen island separating us, his eyes piercing me with a stare so intense and laced with frustration that I have a hard time not looking away. His tone is oozing with a bitter nastiness I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him before, or at least definitely not aimed my way.

  But his comments fuel me.

  “You wanna start throwing stones, Jer? I suggest you take a nice long look at the glass house you live in first.”

  He scoffs.

  “This isn’t about me, Rachel. This is about you and whatever you think you’re doing with Mack.”

  I set the glass of orange juice down on the island as delicately as I can, mostly because I don’t want to risk chucking it at Jeremy’s stupid face. I lay my hands flat on the island, staring at the granite and willing myself to a calm place.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about. So don’t you dare crawl up on the high horse you think you deserve to be on and begin to judge me.”

  “Rachel, you are making a colossal mistake. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “Jeremy, you need to quit while you’re ahead. I don’t want to hear your…”

  “Do you know about his time in a mental hospital?”

  I take in a deep breath and flick my eyes to his in shock.

  “What?”

  “The guy is fucking crazy, Rachel. The Chicago team released him from his contract at his request when he was institutionalized.”

  My insides are warring with my mind, but I know Jeremy is just baiting me. Mack went through a lot after the accident. It isn’t our place to say he’s crazy. We don’t know what that time was like.

  “When he finally got back on his feet after the accident, he started fucking any pussy that walked his way. I’ve never seen anyone go through women the way he did. This one time, he was out here visiting his sister, and he had a threesome with two strippers. At the strip club. It wasn’t even in a private room.”

  I suddenly feel sick to my stomach and I lean on the island for support.

  “He was doing drugs and drinking like a fucking fish. And then he was thrown in the loony bin.”

  “If you think so poorly of him, why did you help get him the job at Glendale.” My tone is short, my teeth grinding together as I get out one question.

  But I can’t help the million new questions cropping up in its wake.

  “We’ve known each other for a long time. I thought it would be a good fit, something to help him get back on his feet. But if I had thought for even one second that you and he would have started something up, I never would have told him a thing about it.”

  I glare at Jeremy. I’m upset at hearing about Mack’s history on top of what I’ve already heard. But right now, my anger with Jeremy is taking precedence.

  “You have a lot of nasty things to say about someone bed hopping. Like I said, Jer. You shouldn’t judge when you’ve got your own shit to shovel.”

  He rolls his eyes and my temper flares further. “My life is different.”

  “Why?!” I scream.

  Jeremy is so startled by my outburst that he actually takes a step back.

  “Why is your life so different than mine? Or Mack’s? Why do you get to fuck all of my friends, and do whatever the hell you please, but I’m supposed to be a do-gooder, happy pants, innocent forever?”

  Jeremy stays silent, so I continue, feeling the pent up anger begin to roll off of me in waves.

  “You slept with and pissed off so many girls when I was in high school and college that I had a hard time making any friends. You would call me when you were wasted and needed a ride from whoever’s place you were at. So you want us to start throwing stones? How about this, Jer? How dare you fuck my best friend after I specifically asked you to stay away from her!?” Jeremy’s eyes widen and his face blanches. “Yeah, I found out about that little gem the other day. Way to be such an upstanding guy.”

  “Rachel, it isn’t what you think…”

  “Cut the bullshit Jeremy. You don’t get to excuse your behavior while vilifying someone else. Mack is imperfect. But so am I. And so the fuck are you.”

  Jeremy lets out a sigh and adjusts his weight from foot to foot, looking a bit sheepish. His hand goes up to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “This isn’t the way I wanted this conversation to go. At all.”

  “Yeah, well neither did I.” I step forward. “I’m the one who had to deal with dad screaming out that I’m a worthless dyke in front of a crowd of people. I’m the one who had to deal with the embarrassment of my coach and someone I care about seeing dad on the verge of smacking me around. I’m the one who had to be carted home like a child. And then apparently, I’m also the one who had to be scolded and reprimanded by her brother, who is without a doubt the biggest asshole on the planet.”

  His mouth drops open just a bit in response to my continued outrage.

  “Did you even think about what it would feel like to have you shout at me on the phone while I was still dealing with seeing dad? How about an ‘is everything o
kay, Rachel?’ or an ‘is there anything I can do, Rachel?’ No. Instead, I got a ‘shut up, I can’t deal with this, I’m coming to check up on you’. Well thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you right now. Except for you to leave me the hell alone.”

  I’ve never, ever talked to my brother this way before. And his reaction is a reflection of that. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes as I turn and begin rooting through the cabinets for a granola bar. When I finally turn around to look at him, his face has morphed into the perfection of contrition.

  “I’m sorry you had to deal with dad today, Rachel. I can’t imagine how embarrassing it must have been to go through that.” His words are thoughtful, and more along the lines of what I was expecting from someone with a heart like his. “I’m glad you had Mack there to help you and bring you home… make sure you’re okay. I wish I could have been there to do that for you so you didn’t feel so alone in this.”

  I nod.

  “Thank you.”

  “But I still think this thing with Mack is a mistake.”

  I growl in frustration.

  “God, Jeremy, why can’t you just…”

  “I’m not trying to make you angry,” he says loudly enough to interrupt me, putting both hands up. “I’m not trying to get involved in your life in a way that makes you feel like a child. I just want to do right by you and make sure you’re really thinking things through. You could lose your scholarship and you wouldn’t be able to finish your degree. Mack could lose his job. These are not insignificant problems, Rachel. How are you going to continue your new, happy life without a job to take care of yourself if you can’t graduate?”

  My nostrils flare and I cross my arms.

  “I’ve already thought of these things. Which is why Mack and I aren’t pursuing a relationship.”

  “Really? Could have fooled me. That scene outside sure looked like you’ve gotten pretty close.”

  I re-cross my arms and continue to glare.

  “We are. Or, we did get close, I guess. But we’re not doing anything about it. He already knows I can’t risk anything.”

  “Good. I’m glad he knows that. And that you do too. But knowing you shouldn’t do anything, and actually having the fortitude to keep yourself from acting on how you feel are two very different things. I should know. That’s what happened between me and Charlie.”

  He pauses and steps forward, taking a sip of my half empty glass of orange juice.

  “I just want to make sure you’re making choices that are right for you, and not letting yourself get swayed or pulled in a direction that can screw up your life. Especially not for a guy like Mack.”

  Chapter Eight

  The awesome thing about the day after a game is that we don’t have conditioning in the morning, so I’m able to sleep in until my 10am class on Thursday. The shitty thing about this particular Thursday is that I get my psychology test back, and I’m almost entirely sure I bombed it. Even though I put a lot of time and energy into studying for this particular exam, I wasn’t at my best on Tuesday after the exhaustion of the most manic Monday I’d ever experienced, and I’m certain my grade will reflect my emotional state.

  As I cross the quad from the parking lot and make my way towards the lecture hall, my phone beeps with a text. Part of me wants to ignore it, knowing that I’m not in the right mood to talk to anyone in my life right now, but curiosity gets the better of me and I pull it out of my bag. My stomach churns when I see the sender.

  Mack: Can we talk?

  How am I supposed to answer that? Deciding to ignore the text and deal with it later, I begin to place the phone back in my bag when it dings again.

  Mack: I know things are weird right now, but it’s important

  I sit on a bench outside of the Mueller psychology building, soaking in some sun while deciding how to respond. Do I want to talk to Mack? My brother practically insinuated he was insane, although I’m sure there’s more to the story. Mack is a good guy with a kind heart. He cares about me, regardless of his past. If he thinks we need to talk, I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Me: I’m just about to start a class. Can we meet after?

  Mack: Sure. You done at 11?

  Me: Yeah.

  Mack: Any other classes today?

  Me: I have a break from 11 to 1.

  Mack: Can you swing by my office?

  Me: Sure.

  Mack: Thanks. See you in a bit.

  I place my phone on silent and move quickly into the building, heading up to the third floor. When I enter my classroom, I spot Piper in the back row where we normally sit and make my way towards her. It isn’t until I’m pulling my notebook out that I can feel her gaze on me, and I realize she’s probably brimming with questions about my dad’s scene at the game yesterday.

  Without looking at her, I let a soft statement cross the space between us.

  “I would really appreciate it if we can just not talk about it.”

  Thirty seconds pass before Piper’s hand reaches out and she squeezes mine. I don’t look at her, but I see her pull out her laptop and begin fiddling around on Facebook like she normally does. A few more minutes pass, and I hear her whisper, “Did I ever tell you about the time Gina shit her pants during a game?”

  My eyes fly to hers, my shock evident on my face.

  “Serious?”

  Piper lets out a contained laugh. A Los Angeles native, she and her older sister, Peri, went to high school with Gina in Laguna Beach.

  “No joke. It was Gina’s senior year, so I was still on the freshman team. Her family was doing some weird juice cleanse or something. Coach told her she needed to eat differently and she ignored him. Said her ‘holistic nutritionist’ guaranteed a more athletic body or some shit.”

  “Please, please tell me every detail of this story,” I whisper, a crooked grin plastered on my face.

  Piper’s smile keeps getting wider as she continues.

  “Peri said that Gina was in the process of kicking the ball when she heard a loud fart and saw Gina freeze, then grab her ass.”

  Tears are literally streaming down my face. I’ve never been one to revel in someone else’s shit, no pun intended, but Gina is such a dick sometimes that this opportunity is too good to pass up.

  “She ran off the field and straight to the locker room. She took a week off of school and then had a week off for Thanksgiving. I think she was hoping no one would hear about it or everyone would forget if she was gone for long enough. But Peri said no one let her live it down for the rest of the season. Having the last name ‘Brown’ also didn’t help the situation. She likes to pretend people called her ‘Brownie’ in high school because she was ‘so sweet’, but that’s complete bullshit.”

  I’m laughing full out, my face buried in my arms on my desk as my body shakes violently. When I look up, I catch a few glares from the students around us, most of them freshmen. The professor isn’t even here yet. They need to relax and let me enjoy this fleeting sense of elation.

  “Oh my god,” I say, wiping my eyes and taking deep breaths. “Thank you for telling me that. You’ve completely redirected my day.”

  Piper smiles at me.

  “Everyone has their own shitty days,” she says. “Some just have ones more obvious than others.” And with that, she goes back to her Facebook page.

  I watch her for a minute, my heart swelling with how sweet she is. I was a little worried at the start of the year when I realized I had to enroll in Psychology 101 as a senior. But General Education Requirements are actually required, hence the name, so I didn’t have an option. I was thrilled to see my young teammate when I entered the classroom that first day, and we’ve sat next to each other every Tuesday and Thursday, without fail.

  Piper is new to our team this year, a fresh-faced, 18-year-old with a killer leg and an amazing sense on the field. I give it another two games before Mack sees her potential and pu
ts her in as a starter. Her force on the field doesn’t translate to real life, though. She has a huge heart and is incredibly sensitive. Her story about Gina is her way of letting me know she doesn’t judge, and she found a funny way of breaking down whatever barrier I thought I would need to put up between us.

  I lean over and give her a noisy smooch on the forehead just as our professor walks in the door.

  “Thanks, Pipe,” I whisper, then lean back in my chair and turn my attention to the front of the room.

  An hour later, Professor Nguyen has just finished giving us our homework for the weekend when he pulls a sheet of paper out from his briefcase.

  “As all of you know, I pride myself on returning exam grades in the class directly following the exam.” The moment he indicates he has grades in his hand, the classroom becomes completely silent. “I’ve organized your grades by student ID number. I will be posting them on the board by the door. Please check it on the way out, and feel free to swing by during my office hours if you have any questions. Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.”

  The students sitting in the front make a mad dash after him as he steps out of the door, and I can hear a few groans and subdued cheers of excitement. Piper mentions something about seeing me at practice and bolts to the board, while I pack my belongings and trudge slowly down the steps towards the door, as if by moving slowly I can change my fate. When I finally make it to the doorway, almost everyone has already made it out of the room, and students from the class after ours are already trickling in.