Us Again

by Jennah Thornhill

  “You need to sleep the tequila off before you do something you will regret, and without being funny, you have enough shit going on. The last thing you need is a reason to want to scrub your entire body in some strong cleaning solution.”

  Taking me by my elbow, she gently pulls me to my feet so I don’t face plant the floor. Although, as I take small steps towards the exit, I’m starting to think it’s gonna happen either way. The room starts to spin and my stomach starts to make some god-awful noises, it’s going to reject the tequila any minute now. I can feel it creeping back up my throat, to which I try to force it back down by constantly swallowing.

  “You’re gonna puke, aren’t you? I’ve seen that look on your face before and it’s usually right before you spill the contents of your stomach all over my shoes. Quick, let's get you outside before we end up cleaning tequila up off the floor.”

  I can tell she wants to be supportive, but with each slow passing second, I’m pissing her off. She won’t say it out loud though, she will just make me suffer when I’m hanging out my ass tomorrow with my hangover. Stepping outside, the LA fresh air hits me like a wrecking ball. Unable to control my stomach a moment longer, all the tequila I’ve consumed repays a visit. As it all comes back up and splatters all over the sidewalk, as I bend over at the waist and place my hands on my thighs to steady myself.

  “Fuck me. I knew this would happen, why do it to yourself.” Sammi says, as she pulls my hair back with one hand and rubs my back in soft circles.

  Dry heaves wrack my body as the last of the tequila leaves my stomach. My throat is now sore and I decide in that moment, I never want to drink the stuff again.

  Propping me up against a makeshift sign, that belongs to the dive hole we’ve just left, once I finished redecorating the sidewalk, Sammi quickly rushes to the curb to hail a cab.

  What seems like forever, but is more than likely only a few minutes, I stagger my way to the waiting cab that she has managed to get us.

  “I… I love you, Sam, but I also love Nate, I never stopped.”

  My words are more a slur now and my vision isn’t the best, but I don’t miss the pity look, that flashes across her face as I crawl into the car.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nate

  “You have to be taking the fucking piss, I don’t need a fucking therapist. What I need is to get out of this damn cast and get back on the fucking field.”

  I’m raging with pent up anger, as I shout at Paul Kurtland, the chairman of the LA Dodgers. It’s not my finest moment, but talking about my feelings and shit isn’t my thing. If I could walk properly, I’d be pacing his office and throwing shit around the place. Unfortunately for me and fortunate for him, I’m still in this goddamn thing for another three fucking weeks. Now to make things even worse, apparently me and my team now have to go for mandatory fucking therapy sessions.

  Someone is having fucking laugh at my expense so it seems.

  “Look, Nate. You and the rest of the guys have been through a lot these past few weeks. Before we can even think about letting you all back on the field, we need to know you aren’t suffering from some sort PTSD. Not only were you all in a serious plane crash, the Coach you all looked up to and thought a lot of died. Do you understand what I’m saying? Just the loss of someone you love is bad enough, but to survive a plane crash, the way you all did, has to have some sort of impact on a man’s mental health. Before we let you back out there, we need to know that your head is one hundred percent in the game. So, I’m sorry, but you’re all going including you. Once you’ve been cleared by the doc and your cast is off, then normal service within the team shall resume. Until then, I have to play our second team just keep us in the league. I know it won’t be the same without Coach Hopkins. You’re all going have to get used to someone new, but unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about that. I need my teams captain, on top form to help the guys adjust.”

  Well fuck me.

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard the man talk so much the entire time I’ve played for this team. It doesn’t mean I’m on board with this therapist shit. I’m dealing with it in my own way and that isn’t sitting in some Harvard graduate’s office with a medical license, that wears tweed and who thinks they know me. They don’t know shit.

  I’m Nate Michaels, I don’t share fuck all with anybody. The only person who knows the real me is thousands of miles away and doesn’t care if I’m dead or alive. Not once while I was in the hospital did Dean or Sammi mention her. Which tells me she doesn’t give two fucks and has clearly moved on with her life. Anger starts to simmer beneath the surface of my skin again, only this time it’s not directed at Paul. It’s because I know if the tables were reversed, I’d have been by her side like a fucking shot. Even if she didn’t want me there, at least she would have known I cared. I don’t get how she can be so heartless, we meant something to each other once upon a time. Planned our entire futures together, there was never anybody else who even came close to making me as happy as she did. In my heart and mind, she was it for me. She was my entire world and more.

  Sensing I’m not going win this battle with Paul and if I have ever want to play again, then I’m going have to do as he says, I agree to go.

  “Okay, I’ll go, but I’m telling you now, the second this doctor sees that I’m perfectly fine and this cast has gone, I am back on that field. I have to play; this game is my life.”

  Sitting in his high-backed leather chair, he just gives me a small nod of approval, while tapping his fingers on the wooden desk in front of us both. Saying no more, I snatch up my crutches that are leaning against the empty chair next to me. Before hobbling to my feet and placing them under my arms for support. Just as I’m reaching the door, I’m stopped in my tracks causing me groan.

  “Nate, before you go, you’ll need this.”

  For fuck sake, I just want to get out of here and back to my bottle of Jack. Coming from around his desk, Paul comes to me, saving me from hopping like a fucking rabbit back to him and hands me a small card.

  “This is the address of the doctor’s office; you’re going to need it. Don’t worry though, this is a very private practice, the doctor is the best in her field. No-one will ever find out about any of you having to see her. It’s one hundred percent, club business only.”

  Placing the card in my hoodie pocket for me, so I don’t have to let go of my crutches, he gives me a curt nod of his balding head, a silent understanding between us. Telling me that I’m protected and he intends on keeping it that way.

  After dragging my sorry ass out of the teams HQ, Dean comes to collect me. Seeing as I can’t drive, he’s been chauffeuring me around if I’ve needed to go anywhere. I know he’s busy with his own high-profile job and I appreciate him doing it for me. It’s just I hate relying on anyone.

  “How did it go turd face?” He asks me once I’ve managed get into his waiting car.

  “Fucking painful if you ask me, they want me go for counselling. It’s a bastard joke.”

  Contempt for having to go see the damn therapist, drips from me. It’s the last thing I want to do.

  “It might be a good thing; I mean you did just go through a pretty bad ordeal.” He says all that while pulling away from the curb and into the busy LA traffic.

  “Who’s fucking side are you on? You know me better than most people. Do I look like I to need sit in some docs office, spilling my guts for it all to be over analyzed?”

  I look at him from my place in the passenger seat and raise my eyebrows, daring him to tell me otherwise.

  “I’m not saying you do need it, what I am saying is it just might be a good thing. If it gets you back on the pitch quicker, then I suggest you shut up and put up, because by the sounds of it, they have no intentions of playing you until you’ve been.”

  Well that's me told.

  Crossing my arms across my chest, I puff out a breath of annoyance, to make it perfectly clearly that I am in fact not h
appy about this one tiny, fucking, bit.

  The rest of the ride to my penthouse building is spent in silence. I’m pissed and Dean knows it. Sliding in behind a delivery truck, he stops the car for me to get out. Only it’s not that easy when you’ve not got full function of both ya legs. Dean goes to get out to help me, only I stop him instantly.

  “I’m okay, I can do this on my fucking own, just like everything else. Now thanks for the ride, I’ll see you around.”

  I’m a bastard. This I know, but I can’t help it my heads all kinds of messed up. Dean doesn't deserve the shit I've given him, but right now, he's only one around for me to verbally attack. Like a champ, he takes it from me with no complaints.

  With no more words said between us, I manage to maneuver my way out of the car and up onto my crutches that Dean passes me from the back seat. Slamming the passenger side door, I hobble my way through my building door and to the elevator. Passing Bob my doorman as I go.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Michaels.” The old guy tips his hat to me, to which I offer him a weak smile. It's the best I can do right now. I'm afraid if I open my mouth then I'm going to bite his head off as well and he certainly doesn't deserve my self-pity anger.

  Three hours later, I'm ten sheets to the wind with almost a bottle and a half of Jack in my system and Maria ‘the real redhead,’ riding my cock. This is one woman that never fails me. One simple text sent from me and she’s at my door fifteen minutes later, in nothing but a pink mac and a pair of heels. She knows the score, she comes over when I ask her to, gives me what we both want and leaves. In return I pay her rent on her condo for that month. It’s an agreement we’re both happy with. it’s also all I can give her… give anyone to be honest.

  “Fuck, Nate. Yes.”

  Her moans of pleasure as she rocks her hips back and forth don’t really do anything for me, but I keep going until we both get our happy ending.

  “That’s it you dirty girl, ride my dick.” My words are slurred but she gets what I’m saying, because after a few more hip rotations, she’s coming like a freight train.

  Pushing my hips up into her, I try to find my own orgasm only the fucker ain’t anywhere to be seen. So, for the first time in my life, I fake it. Pushing my hips up, I contort my face into what I think is my ‘coming expression,’ and give a low moan in fake satisfaction. Now normally I’m with her all way when we’re together. Yet my head is elsewhere and inviting her over this evening was a mistake on my part. She’s a beautiful woman if you like the whole LA fake look, she deserves better than what I’ve just given her.

  She climbs off me carefully because of my damn broken leg. My cock slips free from her body and instantly I grab the bed sheet, before she notices that the condom is actually in fact empty.

  “You okay? You don’t seem your normal self.” She asks me, I can tell it’s out of her comfort zone, because we never exchange small talk. I’m not about to spill my guts and tell her how the only reason I’m functioning right now, is because of the liquor I’ve consumed.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just the leg pissing me off.”

  I don’t even look at her when I answer her, I continue to lie on my back and stare at my bedroom ceiling.

  “Right, okay then. If you say so.”

  With that she shuffles to the edge of the bed naked as the day she was born and slips her heels back on. Before collecting her mac from the living area and leaving me to stew in my own self-pity, alone.

  Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I remove the wasted condom from my now limp dick and throw it away in the trash can, I keep by the side of my bed. Then somehow, I manage to get a pair of boxers on, and onto my own two feet without face planting the carpet. Once again with the aid of my damn crutches, I head into the kitchen to hunt down the left-over Jack.

  Finding what I need, I unscrew the cap and take a healthy mouthful and swallow it down like a pro, enjoying the burn as it glides down my throat. It’s when I look up and catch my reflection in the glass of my kitchen cupboards, I realize that the man staring back at me, isn’t me. My eyes are bloodshot with no feeling in them whatsoever, they’re dull and have no life in them. I have nearly a full Father Christmas beard going on and my cheeks are becoming hollow.

  Without a second thought and in a rage, I’ve never felt before, I grab the Jack and throw it across the kitchen, until it shatters on the floor. My hands are shaking and I can feel the tears in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I’m not that man. Weak. I’ve got myself out of worse messes before, I’ll be sure to do it again. Letting out a scream, I grab my crutches once again and head for the sofa.

  My last thought before I pass out is that, I don’t need no fucking therapist.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eliza

  After nursing the hangover from hell and having Sammi take great pleasure in reminding me of my very drunken behavior in the dive bar. I took three days to try and come up with a decent, but not career suicide excuse, as to why I couldn’t take the job. You know what I came up with? Nothing. Nada. Fuck all.

  On day two, I finally told Sammi all about what I had agreed to do and why I got in the state I did. To which she laughed at me at first. Then proceeded to tell me that we’re no longer teenagers with hormones ruling our brains and it was time that we faced each other again. That he was coming to me for his problems, that I wouldn’t have to tell him anything about me.

  After another day of consideration, I came to the conclusion that I’m just being a wimp. I’m a grown ass woman now, it’s time I pulled up my big girl panties and faced him. I’m also a professional, my job is my priority and if I can deal with some of the cases that walk through my door, then I deal with Nate Michaels.

  I’m now on day four since my meltdown with the tequila and it’s the day that I’m going to face the man who ruled my head and heart. Today is the day when I see the first five guys from the team. Nate being the last one on my list, which is the way I put it, so I can concentrate on the first four guys. I know if I see him first, then my nerves will be shot to shit and I have a very funny feeling that he might not want to leave once he sees me. I’m hoping I’m wrong though.

  Crawling out of my comfy bed, I head to the bathroom and start the shower. There is no way I’m seeing Nate for the first time in eight years, looking like I’ve put my fingers in the plug socket. Or smelling like a homeless person has thrown up on me. Just as I’m stripping out of my shorts and vest, there’s a knock on my door.

  “I have coffee, I thought you might need it.” Sammi shouts through the closed door. Slipping my clothes back on I go and open it to let her in.

  “Thank you, you’re right I do need this, but I thought a shower was more important first. Now that you’re here, I will take this first.”

  Taking the mug she’s holding out to me; I sip it and moan in happiness as the caffeine hits just the right spot.

  “You’re very welcome by the way, but for future reference, please don’t make those sounds when I bring you coffee, it’s quite disturbing.”

  With them parting words, she flounces from my bedroom doorway, making me giggle as she goes.

  Once I’ve woken myself up properly with my shower and caffeine, thanks to my best friend. I start to flick through my closet to look for my most professional outfit. I don’t know why though; all my work outfits are the same, just in different colors. Usually I just grab something and put it on, but today I’m taking a little bit longer to make sure I look good. All the while there’s a voice screaming at me in my head, that I’m only doing all of this because I will be seeing Nate. Deciding to be a little daring, I pick a dress out that I would normally wear out for a dinner date. Yet it can still be classed as smart for the office. Pulling the red dress down from the hanger, I throw it onto my bed. I dry and curl my hair into loose waves and apply some simple make up. When I’m ready, I stand in front of the mirror and smooth my hands down over my dress, at the same time taking a deep breath.


  “I can do this, he’s just another patient.” I tell myself.

  Grabbing my purse from the floor by my bedroom door, I walk out and into the kitchen to grab an apple. To which I get a whistle of approval from Sammi.

  “Someone looks hot today and I wonder why?”

  Taking my apple from the basket on the kitchen counter, I turn away from her.

  “You can shut it as well.” I say as I walk out of our apartment.

  I’m on my fourth guy from the LA Dodgers, who just so happens to be Darryl Walsh, their number two pitcher and Nate’s stand in. For the life of me I can’t think why I thought it was a good idea having Nate come in last. All day I’ve been a bag of nerves, but I’ve remained calm and still manage to treat the guys accordingly. Some of them are okay, some will need a bit more time to recover from the crash and their loss.

  Darryl being one of them that’s okay, he’s actually more concerned about his team mates than himself, one in particular.

  “Thing is, doc. No-one has seen him since he came out of the hospital. Only the boss man and then he was in and out before any of us could see him. We can’t lose him, without him on the team we’ll be fucked. I’ve tried calling him, but he never answers. A couple of us even went over to his place, but he wouldn’t answer the door. Now I know if I was like that, I’d try and get all the help I could get. I’m here now and all I’m worried about is our Cap.”

  I can clearly see that he’s one of the good ones and clear him to play again, with only one mandatory follow up appointment. Handing him his appointment card over the desk, we both stand and shake hands.

  “If you can fix our Cap, then I will owe you one very large drink, because right now he’s broken. It’s going take someone with a lot of patience and strength to get through to him.”