I shift slightly in my seat, lifting my legs and wrapping my arms around my knees. It’s a defensive move. I know that. I’m pretty sure Mack knows it, too. But I can’t help it, and Mack leans back against the couch, away from me, respecting that choice.
“When Jeremy said I was banging everything in sight…,” he pauses, staring at the coffee table. “Well, he was saying that from the perspective of someone who didn’t even really know half of what I was doing.”
My stomach drops, and the blood in my body feels like it has all rushed to the space around my neck and ears. Can he be serious? Is this really…
“I had unsafe, risky sex with who knows how many women for like, six months because getting lost in someone else made me feel like my own shit didn’t exist. Jeremy’s story about the strip club… I’m sure it’s true and there are probably a few other stories just like it. But to be entirely honest, I couldn’t even ballpark for you how many women there were or talk to you about some of the crazier things. Because mixed in with that was enough liquor to black out a good portion of that stuff, and at the end, there was some drug stuff too. Nothing serious, but pain pills and anxiety meds that weren’t mine.”
I know all about anxiety meds and what they can do to the body. For a split second I get wrapped up in that one piece of information. As if I can ignore everything else he has said and just focus on that one statement that links us.
But he keeps talking. His breath sounds different.
Labored.
He’s struggling.
“One night I was at home alone. I was alone for the first time in a long time and it just felt like… like too much. I felt like I was going out of my mind and was desperate for some semblance of normality. I was losing control of everything. I’d been confronted at the Fire for my behavior and slow recovery because I wasn’t putting in the work. Amy and my parents were barely speaking to me because I was such an asshole. I didn’t have any real friends or people who cared about me in my life. I had treated Amy like shit when she was getting abused and then nearly killed someone in a car accident. I just felt fucking lost and worthless. And I just wanted it all to stop.”
In the same moment that I realize what he’s telling me, I see him pull off the black band around his wrist. There, against his tan skin, is a mark a few shades darker, running about two inches on the length of his arm. My eyes widen slightly, unable to actually believe that the confident, amazing man in front of me ever felt as lost as I did. That we lived parallel existences even if our experiences were different.
“I was lucky,” he says in a humorless laugh. “That’s what the doctors said when I woke up strapped to a hospital bed. One of my coaches had come by my house on a whim to chat about me seeing a therapist, and apparently I’d left my front door cracked open. He came in and found me on the kitchen floor. And I happened to live five minutes from a hospital. They said I cut with intent, and most people who slice their wrists up and down bleed out too fast and don’t make it. So, like I said. Lucky.”
He breathes out again, this time slowly. He’s tired of this story. He wants to wrap it up and move on. This is what he was talking about outside of my apartment when he drove me home, when he told me it’s more painful to talk about his past than it was to experience it.
“My parents came up to Chicago and drove me out to a rehab facility in New York. I was dealing with my shit like some celebrity. It felt incredibly self-indulgent, but I knew I needed it. My guilt about Amy and the accident and Cherise. It was choking me and I couldn’t breathe. I talked with them about the drinking and the meds and the women. While I was there I talked to the Fire and asked them to break my contract. I still wanted to play, but the Fire wasn’t a good fit for the new lifestyle I wanted. And then when I was done at Oakhurst, I moved back in with my parents in Indiana and just kind of… existed.”
He leans back against the sofa and crosses one leg over the other in that very masculine way. Ankle resting on knee, legs spread wide.
“I was at home for about six months when I finally got the courage to reach out to Cherise. And she was just,” he blows out a breath. “She was amazing. And kind, and warm, and forgiving. And I spent about a year and a half overly involved in her kids’ lives, driving up to Chicago all the time. She ended up moving to LA to be close to her mom, and I started to feel lost again. I was working at a fucking gym and I just felt like I wasn’t doing anything with my life when Cherise was stuck in that damn chair. When Jeremy talked to me about the coaching job, it all lined up perfectly. I could move to LA and still help Cherise. Amy and her husband were already here and my parents always talk about retiring in Santa Barbara because they want to be involved grandparents. I thought there might be a chance I could finally turn all my shit around and get back to doing something I love in a way that wasn’t destructive.”
I don’t realize how close we are to each other until I feel his hand reach out and tangle in mine again. He looks at our hands for a moment, then tugs it up and kisses my palm.
“I know my life was a mess at one point,” he whispers, “but the man Jeremy is painting me to be is a man who was so incredibly lost that he couldn’t even see the path at his feet, let alone a way out. I’m imperfect, and I’m a work-in-progress. But I’m not that lost guy anymore.”
We are silent for long seconds, just staring at each other. As cliche as it sounds, it really does feel like we are falling into each others’ eyes with how deeply we are wrapped into each other in this moment.
I lean forward and rest my head against his chest, my ear pressed against him so I can hear his steady heartbeat. His hands rest on my shoulder and twist into my hair, playing with the strands. I allow myself to stay like this and take just a moment to internalize what he has shared with me. And it’s in that exact moment that I realize I’ve started falling for him, despite my aggressive attempts not to.
I lean back and look into his eyes, just inches from mine.
“So, why are you sharing all of this with me?” I finally ask.
I know my words sound immature and ignorant of a bigger picture, but I don’t know how else to ask. I’m not sure what he wants from me. What outcome he sees on the other side of this mountain of a conversation.
“Cut right to the chase, don’t you?” he asks with a small smile, still clutching to my hand.
When I don’t respond and just continue to look at him, he finally speaks again.
“I guess I just wanted you to hear it all from my side. You can choose whatever you want, RJ. But I at least want you to make an informed decision based on facts if you’re going to walk away from whatever we have. I don’t want it based on Jeremy’s misinformation and bullshit.”
I just nod slightly. That makes sense. He’s managed to answer most of the questions I would have asked had I felt the courage to do so. But I still have this unsettled feeling in my belly, as if I have a belt wrapped around me that is supposed to fit when I’m standing, but is too tight when I sit.
“So, to sum up crudely and in complete dismissal of nuance: you partied too hard, were feeling regret, got in an accident, had trouble recouping, partied harder, and then hurt yourself and had to go to rehab to work through your problems. Since then you’ve cared for the family you impacted, kept yourself employed, even if you were unhappy, and were able to eventually find a job that you thought would be a good first step.”
“In the simplest terms, yes.”
“I know I’m going to regret this question but, where does Ronnie and the bar the other night fit into all of this?” I feel his hand tense in mine. “I mean, you said you are this different person, and I think a lot of what you’ve talked about shows that. But Mack, the guy I saw at Smoggy Tavern looked like the guy you were just describing. He was medicating with liquor and women. I know there are plenty of people who do that and I’m not judging that behavior solely on its own. But it’s something you’re trying to not do, right?”
Mack’s hand
continues to hold mine, but his eyes are focused on the coffee table.
“I don’t want to be dismissive of what you’ve been through. At all,” I say quickly, interpreting his silence as shock at my reaction. “You lived on a roller coaster for several years and fought really hard to come back from that. I know… I know something about that. My life hasn’t been all roses either. But I told you earlier that my real concerns about there ever being an ‘us’ have nothing to do with your past. It’s all about who you are now, and who you want to be. And I just… I wonder whether who I am fits into the life you live now, even with how far you’ve come and how much you’ve grown as a person. I’ve had to fight tooth and nail for the life I’ve been able to scrape together for myself, and I’m not sure I am willing to throw in a plot twist.”
Mack’s eyes finally reattach to mine.
“A plot twist?”
I nod.
“You know, a character or event that changes everything. Sometimes it’s just safer maintaining the status quo until you feel more secure.”
Mack lights up just slightly at that statement.
“And I’m the plot twist that changes everything?”
A small smile escapes me.
“We need to work on your confidence, pretty boy.”
“They’re your words, not mine, RJ.” His eyes bore into mine. “If you’re even referring to me in those words in your mind, you have to realize that we have something here. Something special. And at the risk of sounding desperate, which is absolutely not my style, I am terrified you’re going to let my one step backwards get in the way of the possibility of us moving forward.”
I stand suddenly, feeling overwhelmed and unsure of what I want. His words remind me of CC’s theory about relationships. How one person is brave enough to move forward and then reaches back and tries to encourage the other to follow. I wonder what she would say about times when someone takes a step back.
But right now, I have this beautiful, smart, warm man in front of me practically begging me to throw all of my eggs into his basket. He’s wanting me to ignore what I saw last night with Ronnie, ignore the risks we face, and just run to him with open arms.
And I’m not sure I can do it
“Why are you running from this?”
I look over at Mack from where I stand at the window, feeling thrown off kilter by his statement.
“What do you mean?”
Mack shakes his head slightly.
“I mean that I can see you battling with yourself over there. I’ve seen you at war with your mind since the moment we found out I was your coach. Maybe even before that. I feel like you are trying to scramble away from us, like we are some combustible thing…”
“But we are!” I shout, interrupting him and startling myself slightly in the process.
I lower my volume, not wanting to be a crazy chick who screams when she’s frustrated.
“We are combustible, Mack, don’t you see? We have the capability to hurt people, and hurt ourselves, and change the course of what we want out of life. Does that not bother you?”
I curl my hands into balls, my breathing becoming labored.
“How can you not see the worst case scenario here? I could be kicked out of school, lose my scholarship, have nowhere to go when I have no way to take care of myself. I’d have to go back to… I’d have to go find some dead end job and live on food stamps.”
My eyes start to well up, and I can feel the actual fear of these things coursing through my veins, lighting up my skin with a blaze of goosebumps. My heart pumps fast and fierce, my body feeling like it’s heating from my chest outward.
“And you! You could be fired and never coach again when you’re just starting to find your way out of the darkness. And that’s just individually. What about together?”
I slam my eyes shut as I fight the tears that are trying to escape.
“I can’t be strong for you, Mack. I’m too busy trying to be strong for me, and to get past my own shit and what happened to me and I can’t be what you want. I can’t be the type of woman you look for or what makes you happy and what happens if I give all of who I am to you and find out later I’m just a throwaway too!?”
The silence that follows my verbal outpouring is deafening. And as my mind rewinds and replays what I said, I feel the color drain from my face.
“What happened to you?” His voice is barely louder than a whisper, and I know the look on his face will be one I don’t want to see, so I don’t look.
I just stand there and say nothing.
“You said… you had to be strong for yourself. Because of what happened to you.”
He says his words slowly, like he’s turning them over in his head, trying to figure out any possible meaning behind what I said.
“What happened to you?”
Suddenly, my world shifts and I have to lean forward and brace my hands on the windowsill to steady myself. My breathing stutters and stops and starts as I gasp for breath because I feel like every item in this room is piled on top of me, holding me to the floor as my lungs claw for air.
Strong arms come around me, picking me up and carrying me somewhere. But I fight at the embrace, as I try to inhale something. Anything.
“… for me, Rachel, just breathe for me.”
A hand slowly rubs my back as I curl onto my side and struggle, struggle, struggle to take any beloved oxygen into my body.
“Come on. It’s just you and me. Just take a breath for me, sweetheart”
And suddenly I inhale deeply, the blurring on the edges of my eyes receding. I inhale again in a large gasp, my body scrambling for every last bit of air it can take in.
“That’s it, Rachel. You’re going to be fine.”
Inhale.
Exhale.
My mind feels fuzzy after my anxiety attack, and my body has broken out into a light sweat that is now chilling my skin. My eyes well with tears as I realize I’ve had my first full blown attack in years, and I hate that I allowed myself to get to a point where I wasn’t able to calm myself down.
But I notice something different. Something that doesn’t normally happen when I come down from an attack. I find myself wrapped in a warm cocoon, against a hard body, with the scent and feel of safety hitting each of my senses.
I burrow deeper into the warmth, reveling in the security I feel in Mack’s arms. After a few minutes has passed and I feel like my heart has finally slowed and my breathing has returned to normal, I move my head slightly until I’m looking directly into Mack’s eyes. We are snuggled together on our sides, our faces inches from each other, as Mack rubs my back in slow, steady circles.
“You would never be that to me, RJ,” Mack whispers, his gaze combing my features. “You could never, in a million years, be throwaway.”
He leans forward slightly, and presses his lips to my forehead, then my temple, and my entire body finally releases into a puddle wrapped in his arms as I let go of the final piece of tension and anxiety left over from my attack.
We lay wrapped in each other for who knows how long.
It’s safe.
It’s warm.
My heart rate picks up and calms at the same time. And his hand never slows on my back. Not even when his phone rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Not even when there’s a knock on the door.
But ignoring it doesn’t do either of us any good when the door just opens and I hear her.
“Mack, what are you doing?”
His hand stills, and when my eyes dart to his face, I see him staring above my head at the front door.
“I thought we had plans for tonight.”
And the way she said plans, I have a very clear picture of what she means.
I know Mack feels me tense in his arms, and I can simultaneously feel him struggle with whether or not to hold me tighter or let me go.
“Don’t worry, Ronnie, I was j
ust leaving.” I say, pulling myself out of Mack’s arms, righting myself and standing too quickly.
Mack reaches out to brace me, but I lean on the edge of the couch instead, shying away from his hands.
“RJ, you shouldn’t go anywhere right now. You need more time to calm down. You could get in an accident.” His tone is desperate, and I can only imagine what he’s thinking.
I shake my head, pushing away from the couch as I find my balance.
“I’ll sit in my car for a few minutes and if I don’t feel better I’ll call Jeremy.”
I walk briskly to the door, grabbing my purse from the table next to it.
“RJ, we still need to talk about…”
“About what, Mack?” I respond, not looking at him as I dig through my purse for my keys.
All of the calm and serenity I felt in his arms just a moment ago has faded, replaced by my own insecurity.
“About the fact I just embarrassed myself by having a full blown panic attack for the first time in two years? About the fact that you and I have no business being anywhere near each other because we keeping saying and doing stupid shit?”
I pause as I see Ronnie shuffling back and forth in the doorway out of the corner of my eye. I look to Mack, my eyes probably watery, my body exhausted, my mind a mess.
“Or about how you double booked for tonight?”
His eyes widen slightly, as I turn and storm past Ronnie and through the yard between his house and Amy’s.
I think I hear him call my name once, but then I hear the door to his house slam closed and I keep moving towards the street, my steps never faltering.
* * * * *
I’m not surprised when I’m snuggled into pajamas, staring blankly at the TV, and I hear a knock at the door. When a minute goes by and a knock comes again without the slightest move from me, Charlie glances at me for a second before pausing the movie and walking to the door. I hear it open, I hear murmuring for a few minutes, and then I hear the door close just as quietly as it was opened.
The Keeper Page 21
