by Sierra Hill
Letting his comment linger, I pick up my empty cereal bowl and head to the sink. Out of the three of us, I’m the only one who ever puts my dishes in the dishwasher. Cade will remember to do it when Ainsley’s around, but Lance never does it. Half of our dishware seems to end up in his bedroom closet, under his bed or on his desk. The guy is a fucking pig. And I swear, I’m like the naggy-wife in our relationship, always harping on him to clean his shit up.
The dishwasher closes with a thud, and I pull out the OJ from the fridge and take a big swig from the bottle.
“So, were you over at Ainsley’s last night?” I ask, figuring he stayed the night there.
“Yeah. We had to go see her little sister’s school performance and then I crashed there.”
“How are things going with her, by the way? I mean, with her mom skipping town and all.”
I’ll admit, I have mad respect for Cade’s girl. She went through hell and back with a crazy-ass mom who left her and her fifteen-year-old sister to fend for themselves. Who the fuck does that?
You, asshole.
While the circumstances are completely different, I guess the same could be said about me. I left Logan alone to deal with her pregnancy by herself. I abandoned the mother of my child and listened to my own fucking father’s advice.
“She’s just a money-hungry gold digger. Don’t let her fool you into thinking you need to raise a child with her. She’s going to ruin your college and future NBA career, son. Let me handle it for you.”
So I did. I let my dad take matters into his own hands and deal with it while I was out partying like a rock star in college.
Well, actually, I wasn’t even aware about the pregnancy right way. I found out much later and by then, it was too late. The problem had been solved. But I knew I’d made a mistake and I’d tried reaching out to find Logan. To explain.
But she never responded to any of my emails – not one single one. Even after I’d sent dozens.
And then one day, they just came back Sender Error. I was left with no other way of locating her. I didn’t have her number. I didn’t have her address. I didn’t even know where she wound up going to school – or even if she did. Damn her for making me agree to her no contact rule. It could have changed the course of our life.
Begging my father to help me find Logan was of no use. He remained tight-lipped and wouldn’t allow me access to any information. Said it was for my best interest to just drop it and forget about her.
What the hell was I supposed to do? I was a freshman in college, twelve-hundred miles away from her, working my ass off to prove myself for a future ball career in the NBA. I had no other choice but to let her go.
The guilt I felt turned me into a man possessed. I became obsessed with two things: becoming the best college point guard I could be, and adding as many notches on my bedpost as I could. And let me tell you. When I set out to accomplish a goal, I damn well do it with gusto. There was no stopping me.
Now as a senior, I’m so close to the NBA draft in June that I can taste it. And I’ve had more than my share of hoops hunnies along the way. So I’d say I did a pretty damn good job of achieving my goals.
It was the only way I could release her from my thoughts. To get her out of my head and out of my system. Fat lot of good that did me.
The problem with any form of self-medication – drugs, alcohol, food, women - is that it rarely works. I’ve remained unattached and single my entire college existence because no one could ever measure up to Logan. To her perfection.
I know – no one’s perfect. And over the years, my feelings toward her morphed. I began to doubt what we had was ever really that good. Surely it was simply my over-active imagination that remembered her as this unblemished, untouchable woman that really didn’t exist.
All those doubts vanished the moment I woke from my semi-conscious state to find her sitting next to me in the dentist chair a week ago.
Logan’s thick, blonde hair had been tied in an intricate braid, that swooped over her left shoulder, hanging down low. The tip brushed the top of her round, shapely breast. I’d never been so envious of hair before.
Even with my eyes closed, her soft sweet scent – lavender and powder – transported me back to the summers we spent together. It brought a spark of lust that my body long since remembered.
I wanted to hate her. For ignoring me. Dropping me without so much as a word.
But when she spoke, the whiskey-smooth sound of her voice had my body melting into the chair. I was ready to let go of my simmering anger to spring forward into action, falling at her feet and begging for forgiveness.
I’ve always been an easy-going guy. Unflappable. While most see me as annoyingly cocky and full of myself (which I admit, I am), I’m also pragmatic. I don’t allow my emotions to get me riled up or off course.
It’s what made me a good team captain – on and off the court. I’ve had to talk guys down off the ledge many times over the years. Most recently, when Van struggled with some of his life drama, I had to straighten him out. Set him on the right path. Remind him what was important.
Why was it so hard to do that for myself after being confronted unexpectedly by Logan? My first girlfriend. My first lover. My first everything.
After Logan ditched me, I said fuck it. I wasn’t going to put myself through that kind of devastation again. Fool me once, etc. You get the picture.
Cade is still blathering on about something that happened last night with Ainsley’s sister when Lance stumbles in, looking like death warmed over.
His voice is gravely, likely wrecked from all the puking I heard last night while he was wasted. Seriously, I think we need to stage an intervention soon.
But I won’t say anything this morning. I’m not ready to take on anything that serious right now. I just need to get through the next two months of school, graduate and then get my ass drafted into the pros.
And that means forgetting about Logan Shaw.
****
Three-Weeks Until NBA Draft
Moving is backbreaking work.
It sucks, especially in the heat of Arizona. So why the hell I offered to help Van move from his dorm and into his new apartment is beyond me.
Graduation was last week. Van, Cade, me and a few of our other teammates all graduated with our degrees. Lance didn’t fare so well, so he’ll remain behind as a fifth-year senior. Not a biggie, though – a lot of the guys do that if they were redshirted as freshman – which Lance was. It gives them another year of eligibility.
But for the rest of us, we’re moving out and moving on. In Van’s case, he’s going to be shacking up with Cade’s little sister, Kylah. Or Ky-Ky, as I’ve called her for years. It still freaks me out that they’re together.
I wasn’t surprised they became a couple, because they’re a good fit, but I was shocked at the speed in which Van turned it into a serious relationship. Living with a girl? That’s a big fucking move.
And then there’s Cade. He just got engaged. Holy fuck - to get engaged right after graduation? Fucking stupidity, if you ask me. But nobody did ask me, because I’m a Debbie Downer when it comes to relationships. Guys steer clear of that topic around me.
Van and I have already made a few trips down to the moving van and I’m sweating like a pig. Sweat pours down my back as we carry his couch down the hallway. I’m at one end of the couch walking backward when I notice Van grinning.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re smiling about, dude, but we’ve still got at least three more loads. And then you promised me a twelve-pack.”
We slide the couch in the back of the van and he waves me off, heading back up the stairs to his room.
“I was just thinking about everything...you know, what’s going on with everybody now. How crazy it seems that Cade’s going to be a married man in the next year.”
I scoff. “Idiot. Why the fuck is he rushing into something like that? No man should settle down at twenty-two.”
Van gives me
an eyebrow raise, as if it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. He’ll probably be Cade’s brother-in-law some day in the future. Hopefully he and Ky will take their time, though. She’ll only be a sophomore next year.
Van slows down ahead of me and peers at me over his shoulder. “He wants to settle down. Knows she’s the one. I get that. Unlike you...some of us like having a girlfriend. It’s nice to know you’ll have someone to sleep with every night.”
We enter his dorm, which is clean and tidy, save the boxes strewn about.
I take a swig of water and wipe my brow. “Eh...I can have someone in my bed every night, too. They just don’t have to be there in the morning to make me happy.” I smirk.
Van laughs, running his hand through his newly shorn hair.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll have tons of hot women following you around once you go pro.”
“Damn straight, I will. Getting pussy anytime I want, in every city I go.” I grin, knowing the odds of getting laid by a bevy of hot female fans is a sure bet. I’m getting wood right now just thinking about it.
As we wait for the elevator, his desk resting between us, Van poses another question.
“Now that we’re done with school, are you going back home before draft day? Aren’t your parents back there?”
I’ve known Van for four years and he’s never asked me about my background or family story. Then again, I’ve kept that information private and haven’t divulged much about my early years. I don’t like people knowing about my wealthy upbringing. It turns people into clingers, who only want to become friends because they think you can give them something.
And my feelings toward my father are complicated, at best. If I bring him up or talk about my family, questions always arise about our relationship. And that’s uncomfortable territory. My dad and I used to have a solid father-son relationship. He was my biggest fan. Staunchest supporter.
He still is, but I don’t reciprocate those feelings. He took away the one thing I’d found, other than basketball, that fulfilled me. I can’t forgive him for that.
I try to evade Van’s inquisitiveness with my short, smartass reply. “Maybe. Not sure. Next question.”
Van scratches his chin and chuckles, seemingly undeterred by my evasiveness. “What about your tooth replacement?”
“What about it?”
“I thought I remember you saying you had to go back in to get the permanent tooth seated or something like that.” He shrugs his shoulders.
When my tooth was knocked out back in March, the dentist replaced it with some sort of temporary bridge. I have a permanent structure waiting – and have received several messages from his office recently - but was waiting until after graduation.
I rub my hand over my jaw, the sweat sticking to my facial stubble. “Technically, I can have the work done anywhere. But yeah, I’ll be back up there next week, after Memorial Day weekend.”
“So you are going back to Seattle. Are you going to see your family?”
Van’s digging, and I don’t understand why. Maybe it’s just to pass the time as we move his shit, or because we’ll soon be going our separate ways. Either way, he’s never been this interested in my life.
I know Van has a great family dynamic. I’ve met his parents and his brother, Dougie, on numerous occasions. They are great people and I can tell they are a strong family unit. But that doesn’t mean I want to compare stories or discuss my dysfunctional family drama.
The elevator door opens again and we set the desk down, both stretching our backs and necks in the process. I could definitely use that beer right about now.
I tilt my head and roll my eyes at Van, who’s casually standing there like nothing is amiss.
“What’s your deal? Why so interested in who I’m going to see when I’m back home?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It just seems like you’re hiding something, man. You never talk about your family. I mean, you know everything about mine – even Dougie. But I don’t even know if you have siblings or if you’re an only child, or what.”
Van’s got a point. Everyone on the team knows, acknowledges and understands the situation with Van’s brother, who has cerebral palsy. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be an open book like him.
“I don’t. So enough of the inquisition.”
“Okay. Chill out, bruh. Sorry it’s such a touchy subject. But it’s clear there’s an issue there. Ever since we returned from Seattle, you’ve acted weird. Different. And it’s not because we lost or you got your tooth knocked out. What happened?”
I sigh deeply. “Fuck, man. It’s complicated, okay?”
“What’s so complicated about it?”
I have to say Van is more perceptive than I’ve ever given him credit for. Christ, he should go into investigative journalism instead of finance. The guy won’t let up.
I rub the back of my neck before we lift the desk again, heading back toward the moving van.
Fine, if he’s looking for a salacious bit of gossip, I’ll give him that. “It’s just weird, okay? I ran into my old girlfriend back in March. It turns out she’s a dental assistant, and works for the dentist who did my emergency repair.”
Van’s lips twist into a smile, his eyes wide. “Wow. That is weird...you had a girlfriend?”
He laughs hysterically and I punch him in the arm to shut him up.
Once he catches his breath, he grins. “Such a small world, ya know? How’d it go with her?”
I give him a sardonic laugh. How the hell can I describe what happened with Logan? Everything about that night is surreal. All the memories it evoked. The uncomfortable tension. The guilt it dredged up. The anger that flooded me for letting her get away and for her not ever responding to me.
I think back to how we left things. She was both sad and angry. I don’t blame her.
“I think if she could have, she would’ve knocked out all my teeth instead of repairing them.”
“So, things didn’t end well?”
I shrug my shoulders and stare off in the other direction, trying to decide how much I’m willing to divulge. But Van’s a trustworthy guy, so I go for it.
“I honestly don’t know. One day she was just gone; vanished. And I haven’t seen or heard from her until I ended up in the dentist chair.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, letting the words hang between us like a heavy tree limb. Heavy with the implications. Weighted with the history between Logan and me.
“Whoa.” Van acknowledges softly. “Sounds like some kind of star-crossed lovers story.”
I huff. “You have no idea.”
Van’s silent again, which I’ve always appreciated about him. He doesn’t talk to fill air like Lance does. He’s thoughtful about his approach. And then he leans into the front cab of the truck and returns with two ice-cold beers, handing me one.
“Sounds to me like it’s beer o’clock. And then you can tell me all about her.”
Chapter 7
Logan – Memorial Day Weekend Present
It’s my roommate’s birthday this weekend and I’m baking her cupcakes.
Baking has always been my favorite hobby. Although I’d likely be labeled an ‘outdoorsy’ type of girl – one who grew up on a farm and didn’t mind getting dirty – there is something so homey about baking that appeals to me. I guess it’s a way of trying to connect with my late mother. She passed away when I was twelve from ovarian cancer.
Fuck you, cancer, and the horse you rode in on.
My mom made every birthday special by making elaborate birthday cakes for us – my brothers Luke, Landon, Leo and me. The lone girl. The daughter my mother desperately wanted and the girl my father tried to forget.
I still have love for my dad – I really do. He’d tried his best for many years to be there for me after mom died. When I found out about Camp Cheakamus Adventure, he did everything in his power to help me find a way to attend. The cost was too big for a dirt-poor farmer’s daughter, but he helped me find the f
unds through scholarships offered in the community.
Those were my formative years. Puberty sucks in the best of times, but for a motherless girl living in a testosterone-filled home, it was as pleasant as a Vietnamese POW torture cell.
My brothers were hellbent on making my life as difficult as possible. They didn’t dote on me like other brothers might with younger sisters. I was like a zebra in the lion’s den. They tore me apart every chance they got. If they even heard a sniffle from tears, they’d either make it ten times worse by taunting or picking on me. No emotional support whatsoever.
My dad, on the other hand, gave it his best shot. He just wasn’t around enough – working from before sun-up to sunset, and then a part-time job down at the local pub. He did have some intuitive sense to know when things were bad. He’d comfort me when I was sick. Help me when I struggled with my homework. Sit on the sidelines of my soccer games and cheer me on during the games he could attend.
Those encouraging endearments abruptly ended the moment he found out I was pregnant at seventeen. That’s when he kicked me out of his life and his home.
It took me years to recover from his rejection. From the humiliation of facing a pregnancy alone, with no one to hold onto when I needed the emotional support of family. Or anyone to love me.
But the pain of rejection was a thousand times worse when I tried contacting Carver – who was by then in his first two months of college. It was weeks after I sent him the initial email, pleading for him to call me. At first I just wrote a “Hi, how are you doing? Please call me.” I gave him my cell number, but didn’t hear back which thoroughly surprised me, because he’d always begged for me to give him my number.
On the second attempt, I emailed him the entire story – how I was pregnant, didn’t have a place to live, didn’t know what to do. I was so scared and terrified about having a baby. I didn’t want to ruin his life, or mine, but I needed his help. I wasn’t too proud at that point to ask for it.
What I received in response wasn’t what I had expected. To this day, I don’t know if it was a lifesaving moment or one I’ll regret the rest of my life.
