I reach over to where he’s pressing next to me and jab him in the sack. He damn near drops the bar on his chest, but Lance catches it.
“Fuck, man! What the hell…” Kevin sputters, cupping his sack.
I give him a pointed look, “Keep that hot air in your head.”
“Easy, man,” Lance chuckles, positioning himself on his back to start his lift as Kevin hovers over him.
“We aren’t talking about this. I’m over it.” I lift some bells to start my curls.
“Yeah, you’re over it, all right. That’s why you’re swatting away potentials like they’re flies,” Kevin spits sarcastically, turning towards Lance. “He’s not hitting on shit.”
“I’ve had eight years to run that game,” I say honestly. “It’s getting old.”
But there’s more to it. The truth is that I had a glimpse of what I wanted, and that vision is disappearing by the day.
Lance and Kevin share a grin that grates on me.
“I’m not delusional, all right? It’s just time I move on from the one and done game. I’ve got more going on.”
“Yeah, long dark red hair, thick ass, perfect lips, and moody. Can’t say that turns me off. Can I get her number?”
I glare over at Kevin as I speed up my reps.
“You hit me with those bells, dickhead, and you’re getting what you give.”
This makes Lance chuckle. “Ease up, man.”
I look between them both, “If you two are so worried about my dick, feel free to give it a t—”
“Jenner! My office, now,” Coach barks from the door.
Lance and I share a look, and I shrug, tossing my bells on the mat. Kevin whistles Darth Vader’s theme song, and I flip him the bird before making my way to the coach’s office.
“Shut the door.” I do as I’m told but remain standing, a little on edge. He’s a live wire, and in all my years playing with him, I’ve never seen him so strung out during a season. We all want an explanation, but all we can do is stand by as he continues his tirade. Plenty of coaches have bad field-side reps, but ours was never one of them, until this season. His ‘fuck all’ mentality seems to be his new norm, and we’re stuck dealing with it.
“Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the chair opposite his desk. I take a seat as he sorts through a file before snapping it shut. Seeming satisfied, he glances up at me. “I’ve gotten a few calls.”
Instantly, my back straightens. “Yeah?”
“Do you have an agent?”
“No. I’ve looked into it and gotten a few calls, but I’ve been—”
His stare turns arctic. “What? You’ve been what? Is there something more pressing, Jenner?”
“No,” I cup my neck. “I could use some advice.”
“Here’s my advice. Get an agent. And do it soon. There are thousands of athletes who would kill for an invite to the Combine. Do you think you’re special?”
“Hope so.” I want to swallow my fucking tongue after the look the remark gets me.
“You need that invite, Jenner.”
“Understood, sir.”
“And if that happens, you need to be ready. Do yourself a favor, do the research, and return the calls.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
He tips back in his chair, peering at me. “Don’t you want to know who’s interested?”
“Honestly, I’ll take what I can get.”
“Have it your way. We’re done here.”
“Thanks.”
I almost make it to the door, but stop when he speaks up behind me. “Any distraction, whatever it is, let it go. Ball and ball only from here on out until your name’s called. Season’s almost over, but you’re about to enter the hardest four months of your life. No excuses.”
Erin’s Pork Chops and Yummy Rice
Chemist, Oklahoma
Makes 6 servings
1 hour and 30 minutes
1 Stick Margarine or Butter
2 Cans Cream of Chicken Soup
1 Can Cream of Mushroom Soup
1 Can cream of Celery
2 ½ Cans Water
2 ½ Cans Minute Rice
6 Boneless Pork Chops or Boneless, Skinless Chicken Breasts
Melt butter in large baking dish. Mix soups and water together. Stir well. Add rice and stir. Pour ¾ of soup mixture into pan with butter. Lay pork chops or chicken and cover with the rest of soup mixture.
Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour
*May need up to 15 minutes extra cooking depending on meat.
Clarissa
“Mommy, it’s wiggling!” Dante calls from the bathroom from where he stands on his stool.
“Don’t mess with it! You’ve got to let it happen naturally.”
“It’s hanging! Come see!”
“What did I tell you?”
“It feels funny,” he giggles.
“Baby, you need to leave it alone.” I worry my lip after checking my purse and debate on shooting a text. Troy’s been avoiding me since our run-in with his mother, using his time with Dante at his house between his away games, school, and work. I’ve not put up much of a fight because I have no idea where he stands, but there is now a jarring distance between us from where we were. I saw it that day, the minute Pamela drove away, his resentment apparent with the way he looked at me—a far cry from mere hours before.
I’ve been iced out.
His checks are still coming weekly without fail, but his absence is noticeable. He’s kept up his routine with Dante, never missing breakfast with his son. Though we stay friendly in his presence, it’s all small talk, both his interest and his eyes are anywhere but on me.
This is precisely the type of thing I feared. Things got heavy, and he all but ran. We put on a united front for his mother, and for that, I owe him, but I haven’t had the chance to apologize. He repeatedly tried to take the blame for all of it, and it pained me to see him so helpless.
And now, it’s as if any relationship we started has evaporated into thin air. Before there was an issue of us and the blowup, things were good. Better than good. We were functioning like a family. However, between that day and Troy’s new distance, I’m growing more confident that trying for anything beyond co-parenting would be a mistake. If only I could get that kiss out of my head. The longer he keeps me at arm’s length, the more I try to convince myself it was just a territorial play to win me. Maybe it isn’t me that Troy wanted. Maybe he just wasn’t comfortable with anyone else playing house with his son.
Clarissa: Are you at work?
Troy: No, I’m off tonight.
Clarissa: How was your Thanksgiving?
Troy: It was like being dragged around a field of razor blades by my balls. Yours?
Clarissa: Far more uneventful. Do you think she’ll come around?
Troy: One day, she wants to spend some time with him soon.
Clarissa: That would be fine.
Troy: I’ll set it up. So, what’s up?
Clarissa: Do you have any singles?
Troy: Singles?
Clarissa: Dolla dolla bills yo. (Dollar eyes emoji)
Troy: What do you have in mind? (Devil emoji.)
Clarissa: Chillout, perv. Your son’s about to lose his first tooth.
Troy: Yeah, I’ve got a few.
Clarissa: Great. I won’t have to write an IOU.
Troy: Which tooth?
Clarissa: One up front.
Troy: Shit. I hope it comes back.
Clarissa: That’s usually how it works.
Troy: I mean, comes back straight. I had crooked teeth.
Clarissa: Really? Your teeth are perfect.
Troy: Yeah, after four years of braces.
Clarissa: Ha. Can’t picture that. So, can I come get the money?
Troy: How about I play tooth fairy tonight?
Clarissa: How will you play it? I was thinking a stick of gum and a few dollars
Troy: That’s it?
Clarissa: Yeah. He’s got a mouthful to
lose, and we aren’t going overboard for losing teeth.
Troy: He’s our kid. We can spoil him if we want.
Clarissa: Fine, Daddy Warbucks, can I run over and grab the cash or not?
Troy: You call me daddy again, and I’ll make it rain.
Clarissa: Har har.
Troy: I’ll bring it over later. Just let me know when he’s out.
Clarissa: Okay, thanks.
The flirtatious text exchange makes me hopeful, and I can’t help but spend a few minutes on myself. Troy’s seen me in every imaginable state, but some part of me wants the ‘what if’ connection back. I let my hair down and tame it with a little beach wave spray before covering my arms with lotion. Half an hour later, I have Dante tucked in, his tooth waiting underneath his pillow for the Tooth Fairy, who pokes his head in shortly after a light knock on the door.
This particular fairy is covered in sweat, his muscular frame showcased by the long-sleeved tee clinging to him and sweatpants. His thick copper blond hair peeks out of his toboggan framing his face, outlining his square jaw. The sight of him knocks a little breath from me as I greet him.
“Hey,” I say, tightening my robe. I can feel the late fall chill coming off his skin. “You’ve been running?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I do.”
When he finally lifts his eyes to mine, that kiss is all I think about, but in his posture, I feel the agitation he’s still harboring. I don’t know how to make this right, but I can sense his need to do the same.
“Troy, I wanted to tell you—”
“I was thinking—”
We share a smile, and he lifts his chin.
“You go fir—”
“What were—”
This gets a laugh from us both.
“Want some water?” I offer.
“Sure, thanks.”
He follows me into the kitchen. “You smell incredible.”
“Thanks.”
He leans against my counter, crossing his arms. “Going anywhere?”
My phone rattles on the counter, and both our eyes drop as Brett’s name lights up the screen. My eyes flick to Troy’s, whose voice cools when he speaks.
“Don’t not answer on my account.”
“I can call him back.”
“Answer it.”
“I said, I’ll call him back.”
He shrugs, indifferent.
Maybe he regrets his declaration now that things got heavy, and a part of me hates him for it. I was doing just fine before he forced his way into my daydreams with his intoxicating kiss and words. His perfect words.
And I believed him, and for a moment, I took them seriously. And everything about his demeanor now tells me I’m a fool. But that’s what words are, a fool’s gold.
Pretty promises make liars out of men and suckers out of the women who believe them. It was the kiss I believed most, and now that feels like a lifetime ago.
The man in my kitchen is not the man who kissed me. He’s jaded by my lack of belief in him, which I understand all too well. I’m not jaded by the first guy I kissed, or the man who took my virginity, nor the short line of boyfriends that followed.
I was raised by the Machiavelli.
Joseph Arden was just as handsome, just as dazzling, just as charming, equally disarming, and exploited his affect whenever it suited him.
But Dad had my devotion, and I was the only lady he couldn’t leave. That was my leverage. And I’m sure as hell not going to, nor will I ever, use my son as leverage for any man, especially his own father.
Troy pulls a five-dollar bill and a printed gift card from his pocket.
“I was thinking this code, and some cash would be cool. You know so he has some game money?”
“Oh? That’s perfect,” I say, grabbing him a water.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the bottle and standing wordlessly in the kitchen, staring at one of Dante’s drawings on the fridge.
“Troy, I’m sorry. I truly am.”
“It’s fine,” he says, eyes drifting over me before he darts them away. “Just so you know, I’m going to be working a lot, I’ve picked up more shifts to get Dante’s Christmas presents, and I’ve got my games.”
I cross my arms and nod. “Okay.”
“So, I won’t be able to watch him as often as I’d like. You might want to make other arrangements for Mr. BMW. The next few months are going to be grueling.”
“It’s fine. I understand. So, I was saying before that I’m sorry—”
“I heard you. You think he’s out enough for me to sneak in?”
I exhale the last of my hopes to rid the tension between us.
“I would give it a few more minutes just to make sure. He still believes in this stuff for the moment. I don’t want to take that away just yet.”
“Cool.” He leaves me in the kitchen, taking a seat in my recliner. “Mind if I watch Sports Center?”
“Uh, sure, yeah, go ahead.”
After a few minutes of amiable silence, I finally speak up.
“Tell me how this works.”
“What?”
“The draft.”
“If I draw enough interest, I get invited to the NFL Combine. It’s a four-day camp where reps from all thirty-two teams observe the potentials to see who’s the best fit for their franchise.”
“When will you know if you’re invited?”
“By the first of January.”
“That’s got to be nerve-wracking.”
“I have to make sure I’m ready. Push myself harder. No time for bullshit.”
I swallow his comment. “I’m sure you will. You look,” he turns to me, his lifeless stare making it hard for me to breathe. I’m not a fan of this version of Troy, and it stings me that he’s become so closed off. A complete one-eighty from the man who assured me he wasn’t going anywhere. It strikes me then just how much I wanted to believe him. “You look like you’ve been working out a lot.”
“Yeah.” He turns his attention back to the TV.
“And then what?”
Eyes still trained on the screen, he shrugs. “And then I may or may not get a letter to attend the draft. If I do, I’ll have the choice of showing up or watching from home.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll bring my mother. This is both our dream.”
“That’s really something. I love that you’re so close to her.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry I caused a rift between you. I’ve been meaning to apologize in person, but Dante has been around and—”
“Yeah, me too.” He stands, and I stop him with a hand on his chest, which he promptly removes. “Clarissa, I’m tired, okay? Too tired to fight.”
I step back, feeling slapped. “It’s okay, I think you’ve made yourself pretty clear.”
He lets out a heavy exhale. “Sorry, I’m not acting the way you need me to.”
“It’s not that, I just thought maybe—”
“Maybe what?”
His icy demeanor contradicts his statement. This man is itching for a fight.
“Nothing, let’s do this.”
“I’ve got it.” He heads toward Dante’s room. Standing at the door, I look on as he tucks the money inside his pillow after retrieving the tooth. Just as he starts to step away, Dante jackknifes in the bed mumbling something about a truck. Troy jumps back as I signal him from the door not to speak. Troy glances back to where Dante sits, his eyes still closed before he falls back into his bed, none the wiser. Troy steps outside the door. “That was close.”
“He does that sometimes, restless sleeper. Talks a little once in a while.”
“Yeah, I got smacked in the face when we went camping. I woke up with his toe in my ear.”
I chuckle. “He’s growing out of it. Out of so much. He called me Mom the other day and I almost cried.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve always been Mommy.”
“Must be nice,” he mumbles be
fore stepping past me. “Thanks for letting me have my own first.”
“Troy, please, I just need you to understand. It’s just been him and me for so long.”
He stops in the center of my living room. “Oh, I think I’ve been pretty fucking understanding.”
“You have. And I appreciate it so much. Just—”
“Night,” he says without glancing my way.
Fed up, I call out to him from the front door as he starts to cross the lawn. “You know, you are going somewhere eventually, Troy. Eventually, you’re leaving, and where does this situation stand? Have you thought about that?”
In his eyes, all I see is contempt. “That’s all I think about. And if I can earn this ticket, Clarissa, he’ll never want for anything again. I’m making fucking sure of it. So, please, for once, stop telling me what to think, how to act, or what to feel, and stop giving me unsolicited dating advice. You want understanding? You got it. You want respect? All yours. You want patience? I’ve got some of that left for you too. You want me to think of him and only him, we’re on the same page. Cool?”
His venom is deserved, but I’m unprepared for the hurt it causes and can barely manage my reply. “That’s fine.”
“Night.”
Troy
Palming my forehead, I sit on the bench, feeling my mapped future falling away piece by piece. We just suffered another loss. One we can’t come back from. Our chances are slim to none at this point in making the playoffs. My college ball career is ending, and I’m having a tough time swallowing that I’ll never have a bowl game. The locker room is eerily silent. Coach didn’t mince his words with his pissing post-game rant. A few guys walk past me and give me a nod. I caught every pass, ran like my life depended on it, scored two touchdowns, but it wasn’t enough.
Lance slaps me on the back as he wordlessly leaves the locker room while the rest of the guys shed their gear. There’s nothing to be said, and today, even Kevin seems lost in his own thoughts.
I pull my phone from my duffle as I head out of the locker room.
Clarissa: I’m so sorry. If you need to talk, I’m here.
Talking is the last thing I want to do.
The Underdogs: The Complete Series Page 44
