First Position

by Prescott Lane

  “Don’t you think you should conserve your energy?” she teased.

  “Probably so. What did you want to talk about?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait,” she said and bit her bottom lip, pulling him closer and unbuttoning his shirt. Thank God men are so easy to distract!

  Mason picked her up and placed her on the kitchen counter. In a matter of seconds, their shirts were on the floor, Mason trailing kisses to her breasts. His tongue outlined her aroused nipple, and she moaned. Mason cupped one breast with his hand, while slowly sucking on the other, the warmth between her legs turning into a blazing fire. He ran his hand down her shorts, and his eyes flashed open. Thongs! Emory gave him a knowing smile, as she undid the zipper and button on his jeans, stroking him up and down. His phone rang loudly, vibrating on the kitchen counter.

  “Fuck!” Mason leaned his head on hers in defeat. “I swear I’m being punished.”

  “Just ignore it,” she whispered.

  Ring!

  “If that’s Steven, I will kill him, I swear.”

  Ring!

  “I’m just going to hit decline,” Emory said, reaching for the phone, as Mason kissed her neck. She saw the caller ID on the screen, and her body turned stiff and cold.

  “What?” he asked.

  Ring!

  “It’s not Steven.”

  She turned the phone, so Mason could see the screen. Why the fuck is Alexis calling me? The ringing stopped, an uncomfortable silence fell between them.

  “Why is she calling you?” Emory asked, wondering when Mason last spoke with Alexis. She figured the lawyers were handling everything, and that husband and wife were not speaking. Have they been talking behind my back? Does she want Mason back?

  “I have no idea,” Mason said, handing her the sweater and bra and putting back on his shirt. “I haven’t spoken to her since I got hurt, I promise.” He knew how awkward this was for Emory, and it was just another reminder how difficult it was to move on with Emory, sexually or otherwise, while still married. There would be no sex, again, tonight.

  Ring!

  “Jesus!” Mason yelled, looking at his phone. “It’s her again!”

  Emory hopped down from the countertop. “Put her on speaker.” Mason did, then answered.

  “I was wondering how many times it would take for you to pick up.” Alexis said, strolling through the shoe section of a high-end boutique.

  “What do you want?”

  “Well, right now, I’m looking at the most fabulous pair of Christian Louboutin shoes that would just do wonders for my calves.” She held the shoe up, wanting the salesman to bring them to her, then continued to look around.

  Emory rolled her eyes. “You called to talk about shoes?” Mason asked.

  “No, you never did understand my need for designer shoes.” Alexis snapped her fingers that she needed a few more pair. “I’m calling because I wanted to congratulate you on the Panthers contract.”

  “Who told you about that?”

  “A little thing called Google.” Alexis sat down and slipped off her shoes, waiting impatiently for the salesman to return. “I wish you had accepted the larger Seahawks contract, but whatever.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” The salesman returned with several boxes and knelt down in front of Alexis. “I’m thinking a little piece of that contract should be mine, since I’m still legally your wife.”

  “We’ll see what Steven thinks about that.”

  “Yes, please ask him,” she said, wiggling her toes. “And when you talk to him, ask him how he feels about adultery?” The salesman raised his brow.

  So did Emory. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked for speaker.

  Mason looked at Emory, warning her with his eyes to stay quiet. “What are you talking about? I never cheated on you.”

  The salesman slipped a pair of red heels on her feet, and Alexis stood to admire herself in a mirror. “Emory Claire? Did you not think I would find out? Google works for that, too!”

  Mom saw this coming. Mason slammed his fist on the counter. “Leave her out of this, Alexis!”

  “Now why would I do that?” she said, sitting down to try on another pair. “Our whole marriage was about her. You started dating me to get back at her. You fucked me to try to forget about her. You proposed to me because she wouldn’t see you anymore.” The salesman stared at the boxes to harness his fear of the woman before him.

  Alexis had just spewed a mouthful, and Emory tried to process her words as quickly as she could. They never loved each other. Mason had told her that his marriage was about career and convenience, but she found that hard to believe. Now Alexis confirmed Mason was telling the truth. How very sad. Emory wondered if everything Alexis said could’ve been avoided if she’d just been honest about her pregnancy. If I had spoken up, it would have spared everyone a lot of pain and angst, including myself.

  Mason clenched his fist. “I’ll ask again. Why are you calling?”

  “To personally tell you I want everything, plus 50% of your future earnings.” Alexis motioned she would take all the shoes.

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it!” Mason barked, Emory massaging his shoulders.

  Alexis cackled. “I could always withdraw my divorce petition, and we could continue our happy marriage. Me spending money and traveling around, and you thinking about Emory all the time. We got along so well that way.”

  “You’re such a fucking bitch!” I can’t believe Emory is hearing all this. Will she stick it out with me?

  “You mean, you don’t want to get back together?” Alexis walked to the register to check out. “Then give me what I want, or I will tell everyone how my shitty, cheating husband left me for some washed-up dancer. I’m sure the Panthers would like that storyline in the paper so soon after you signed.”

  Mason threw his hands up in disbelief. “You leftme, Alexis.” Emory stepped away, knowing there was nothing she could do to soothe him.

  “If you want to take that risk with sweet Emory’s reputation, that’s fine. I’m sure all the pictures in the paper of the two of you together would prove my case. You took less money to be close to your mistress who wrecked our marriage.” The salesman looked at her -- part confused, part terrified.

  Mason took a deep breath. “Emory and I have done nothing wrong. And I was more than fair in the prenup. . . .”

  “Fair?” she interrupted. “You want to talk about fair. Let’s talk about how fair it is to be married to a man in love with another woman.” The salesman quickly processed her purchase, hoping she’d leave before he was subjected to any more craziness.

  “Alexis, we both used each other,” Mason said calmly. “Let’s just move on.”

  “Seems like you’re more anxious to move on than I am. I have nothing better to do.” The salesman placed her shoe boxes into several bags and handed her a receipt. “I will drag this out until I get what I want. And I will drag little Emory with me if I have to.”

  “Fuck you!” Mason hung up, and paced around the kitchen, taking several deep breaths to gather himself. He then walked to Emory, pulling her into a hug, and she buried her head in his shirt. “I’m sorry you heard all that. I’ll talk to Steven. It will be fine,” he said, hoping to convince himself, too.

  * * *

  They left the apartment and headed to Mason’s condo for the night, where they could avoid seeing Wesley again and hopefully attempt to relax before the morning drills. But before relaxing, Mason needed to clear his head. He walked out to the balcony of his condo, and called Steven to unload -- about Alexis’ threats and new demands, begging him, once again, to finalize the settlement and divorce. Gripping the balcony ledge, he didn’t know how much more he -- or Emory -- could take. “I have to protect, Em.”

  Steven sat quietly on the steps of his back porch, Olivia and Noah napping inside on the sofa. He listened attentively to Mason, but felt helpless to resolve the situation. He didn’t have a magic wand. “Mayb
e we have to pay her what she wants, or she’s just going to keep demanding more.”

  “Then do it. I’ve been saying that for months.”

  Steven paused. “There has to be another way.” He looked up into the sky, hoping for direction from some higher power. Divorce law was never his specialty, and handling a family member’s divorce, he knew now, was clearly a mistake. He was much more comfortable negotiating with, and lying to, NFL teams to secure contracts for his brother. Management was easier to handle than his brother’s wife.

  Mason glanced at Emory in his kitchen, picking kung pao chicken out of a carton with her fingers, so happy with this simple pleasure. “It doesn’t matter. I’m starting over with Em. Please just do it.”

  “OK, but there’s just one more problem.” Steven rose from the porch step and took a few steps onto his lawn, kicking a stick towards the fence. “She wants to see you before she signs anything.”

  “Why?”

  “Her lawyer called me today. She’s refusing to sign anything until you talk to her face to face.”

  Mason sunk to the ground. “Can this get any worse?”

  Steven walked up the steps of his back porch and saw his wife and new baby sleeping peacefully. At times, he envied his brother’s NFL career, and the excitement and opportunities that came along with it, while he, the dutiful agent, stayed in the background. Not now. Mason was in pain, in deep emotional turmoil, with performance drills a mere twelve hours away. Steven needed to focus his brother, or there wouldn’t be a future NFL career, reminding Mason how to approach the drills, and to take it easy at the outset.

  Mason tried his best to listen, but his mind was elsewhere. “How am I going to tell Em I have to meet Alexis?”

  “Dude, your mind is fucked!” Steven walked into his backyard and hurled another stick at his fence. “Is Emory there?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Put her on the phone.”

  “She’s eating right now. I’m not sure I should interrupt her.”

  “Just put her on the phone, Mason!”

  “Don’t you think this should come from me?”

  “Put her on the damn phone!” Steven took a seat at his patio table and braced his head with his hand.

  Mason walked back inside, and Emory peeked up from the carton, able to tell from his drawn face something was wrong. “What’s the matter?” she asked, licking her fingers.

  “Steven wants to tell you himself.”

  “About Olivia and the baby?”

  Mason shook his head and handed her the phone. Steven recounted the history of the divorce and Alexis’ demands, and new demands, most of which Emory already knew. But Steven wanted to make sure she knew every detail. Emory took a deep breath when he was finally through. “Well, buy the bitch a plane ticket, and make sure it’s coach.”

  Emory hung up and slipped the phone into Mason’s pocket. She walked Mason to the den, pushing him down on a leather chair and straddling herself on top of him. “Get Alexis out of your head.”

  “I know, I know,” he said somberly.

  “Don’t let her take any more time from us -- or from your career.”

  “I know, I know,” he replied again, more convincing this second time.

  “She had six years with you that should’ve been mine. Ours. I’m not about to waste one more second worrying about Alexis. You shouldn’t either. Let her say whatever the hell she wants.”

  Mason looked into her steel eyes -- Emory was one tough woman. He knew most women wouldn’t put up with all his bullshit, but she seemed unfazed by it. As long as he was honest with her, she seemingly took things in stride. “I told Steven my priority is to protect you from this mess, and I will.”

  Emory smiled and kissed his lips. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

  “Nervous, but my arm is feeling good.”

  “You’re going to do great. I’m going to pray for you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, babe.” He ran his hands through her hair. “I really need to sleep well, and I sleep better with you next to me. Will you stay?”

  Emory knew she couldn’t say no. She just hoped her nightmares wouldn’t return. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself and keep Mason from a restful night. She hoped sleeping beside him would bring some semblance of peace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Emory believed in the power of dance and also the power of prayer. Prayer, like dance, sustained her through good times and bad. When she worried about herself, she usually found herself at the ballet barre. When others were involved, she usually found herself on her knees. And she now found herself before an array of prayer candles, holding her rosary beads, in the rear of St. Peter’s. She lit a candle, thanking God for shielding her from nightmares last night and for bringing Mason back into her life. She prayed for his health and success. She looked up at a statue of Mary holding Jesus in her arms, thinking of her own mother and baby, both lost to her, and put her head down, releasing tears like a river escaping a dam. God, please give me strength. I need a sign.

  Father Tony touched her shoulder from behind. “Looks like you are struggling, my child.”

  “Yes, Father,” Emory said, startled, wiping her face. “My past.”

  “You’ve come to the right place,” he assured her. “In Philippians, God tells us to forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead.”

  Is this my sign?

  Emory thanked him for the encouragement, and he left without another word. She reached for a devotional card near the candles and recited a few more prayers until her phone dinged, echoing through the empty church. She rummaged quickly in her purse to mute it and saw a text from Mason. Killed it. Meet me at Myers Park.

  * * *

  Mason stood near a side street in the historic Myers Park neighborhood. He looked at his watch; he was a few minutes early. His shoulder was sore, but the excitement he felt from throwing for the first time since his injury -- and finishing the drills -- was well worth it. Performing well made his shoulder feel better, too. He completed short throws and long out-routes, crossing routes and post-patterns, shaking off the rust and hitting receiver after receiver in stride. It felt good to be on the field again. It felt good to begin to develop a rapport with his receivers -- to learn their talents, to see how they made their cuts, and to adjust the velocity of his passes to their speed. It was only the first day, but an important one, and he’d passed his first test. His coaches were impressed, and management was relieved. Leaving the field, he offered a quick prayer of thanks for stubborn, old Dr. Lewis and his grouchy nurse.

  Waiting for Emory, his excitement shifted to nervousness. This could go either way. Mason always acted on impulse, rarely thinking things through, but what he’d done this time was more than impulsive -- it was brazen and rash, beyond anything he’d ever done before. To pass the time and calm himself, he texted his mother and brother about his successful morning, and both quickly responded with congratulations.

  Emory drove into Myers Park and saw Mason, finding it odd to see him standing alone. She pulled up next to him and rolled down her window. “Good job this morning.” He flashed a mischievous grin. “Why are you standing there? Where’s your car?”

  “A few blocks away.”

  “Did you have car trouble or something?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  She looked at him, squinting her eyes. “Then what are we doing here?”

  “Park your car, and I’ll show you.” Emory drove a few feet and parked at the curb. Mason took her hand. “It’s such a beautiful day. I thought we could just take a stroll.”

  “OK,” she said cautiously, with a sideways glance, a slight breeze blowing through her hair.

  They held hands walking down a cobblestone sidewalk underneath large, sprawling oak trees, with sunlight glistening from moss dangling above them. The trees surrounded large houses, each with a different style of architecture from a day gone by. They walked a few blocks, Mason recounting
his completions and Emory recounting the power of prayer. He then stopped abruptly, pulling her into a kiss, then turned her around to face a white Acadian house across the street, with large, white columns and a huge wrap-around-porch with a swing. It was gated with bricks and ironwork, the driveway a paved flagstone. The house itself was large, but not overwhelming, not even close to the stately mansions nearby.

  He led her across the street to a keypad at the front of the property. “Punch in the code,” he said, as Emory looked at him curiously. “It’s 302, by the way.”

  Her jaw dropped. Our hotel room.

  Mason dangled a key in front of her. “Welcome home.”

  She stared at the key, then Mason, then the house. Her mind spinning, she couldn’t believe what he just said. She gazed at the front of the house, seeing a garage on the far side, with Mason’s Audi SUV parked in front. Her mouth moved as if trying to say something, but nothing came out.

  Mason took her hand, nervously. “You don’t like it?”

  “I. . . .” Emory started. “We. . . .” She drew a deep breath. “It’s lovely and charming and. . . .”

  “Ours.” Mason rubbed her hand, then punched the code. Emory was frozen, speechless, watching a huge wrought iron gate open before her, as if it was some theme park ride. He pulled her hand to follow him, but she couldn’t move, her feet planted firmly on the sidewalk.

  Mason looked back at her. “Come on.” She shook her head slightly. Shit, she’s not ready. He could hear his heart pounding. “Em?”

  She looked into his piercing blue eyes and could see his fear. “What about Alexis and the prenup? What if she wants the house?”

  Mason put his hands on her waist. “We agreed not to give her any more of our time, right?”

  “Right.” Emory nodded to convince herself. “But the house, it’s got to be so much?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mason said, waving her off. “It’s not that much. Plus, you haven’t seen the inside. It’s a fixer-upper.”