Blocked

by Jennifer Lane

Basically.

  “This is why I kept calling you, to try to talk you down. Patrick told me you didn’t take his news well—”

  The understatement of the year.

  “—and we both know you have trouble with your temper.”

  I closed my eyes as I slumped back in my desk chair. When would I learn some self-control? Mom had tried to help me over the years, but I still threw tantrums like a two-year-old. As a psychologist, she was probably embarrassed to call me her son.

  “I don’t know why I’m lecturing you—that’s not going to help anything.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry, Dane.”

  “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who messed up.”

  “This is my fault. I’m the one who cajoled Patrick into speaking to you.”

  I sighed. “I was going to find out some time.”

  “If only I could’ve held onto him…made him love me…none of this would’ve happened—” Her voice broke, and I could hear her choke back a sob.

  “Mom.” I clenched my fist. “What he did wasn’t your fault, not at all. He’s the asshole, not you.”

  Her voice trembled. “They say an affair’s a sign of a problem in the marriage.” She sniffed. “I should have seen it. I should’ve done something about it.”

  “He should’ve supported you more. You’re the most powerful senator in our country, and he can’t handle it.”

  “Well, Patrick is in a tough spot. It’s not easy being married to a successful woman.”

  My lips parted. “You’re defending him?”

  “No! I…” She exhaled. “I’m just so sorry about how this is affecting you. Patrick promised not to make his relationship public until after the November election, and that’s a long time for you to hold onto this. I know how destructive secrets can be.”

  I was quiet for a moment. “How could you tell him, Mom?”

  “Tell him what?”

  “About last year…about Nina.”

  “Oh!” She made a strangled noise. “I’m so sorry. Please believe me, I didn’t mean to tell him. Patrick was just acting so smug, like his absence in your and Jessie’s lives was no big deal, and I let it slip about the pregnancy…maybe I was trying to show him you do indeed need him in your life—”

  “I don’t need him!”

  “Honey…everyone needs a father figure.”

  “Phil’s been a better father to me than Dad ever was.” And I’d gone and destroyed that relationship, too. Good job, dickwad.

  When a rustling occurred in the background, I noticed the substantial uninterrupted length of our conversation—a first since she’d started campaigning. I was probably making her late to something. “Don’t you need to give a speech, tape an interview somewhere?”

  “I cancelled my appearances today. I was just about to get on a plane to come see you since you weren’t answering my calls.”

  “Mom, you don’t have to do that. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can, but you deserve some TLC. I want to be there for you.” She sighed. “I’m so wrapped up in this stupid presidential race that I’m neglecting you and your sister. Maybe…maybe I should drop out.”

  “No! You are there for me. I always remember what you taught me, especially if I’m having an emotional freak-out, and I know you’d be here more if you could. But Mom, you’re doing something incredible right now—you’re gunning to become the first female president of the United States. That’s amazing! That’s historic. Of course you won’t be around for the next couple of months.”

  “I’m not acting like a good mother.”

  I realized how alone she must feel. My dad had abandoned her, and Jessica was a self-absorbed teenager, which left me to support her. “Jess and I will be fine. We will.”

  “I wish you could have a normal college experience. I wish you could go out there and make mistakes without ending up on the national news because of me and my campaign.”

  I winced as the van video replayed in my head. “I brought that one on myself.” Jackhole. “Look, Lucia’s dealing with the pressure too, and I don’t hear her dad planning to drop out of the race. I don’t hear him feeling guilty for how this affects his kids.”

  “He’s not a mother. He’s not the primary caregiver, so what would he know?” As she spoke, her voice grew stronger, capturing a hint of that competitive spirit I knew so well. The competitive spirit I’d inherited from her. “I do not like that man. He’d ruin this country if he got the chance. But poor Mrs. Ramirez—she’s probably so worried about her daughter. All the sexism and objectification of women in this patriarchal society…no wonder Lucia’s struggling with body image.”

  “Señora Ramirez came to the house last night.”

  “She did?” Mom paused, and I thought I detected a twinge of guilt in her voice. She probably felt badly she hadn’t visited me this year. “What did you think of her?”

  “Loud—she talks nonstop.” I grinned. “Lucia calls her ‘Hurricane Silvia.’”

  Mom chuckled. “I guess I’ll see the hurricane at the last debate in October.”

  I’d forgotten about the last debate. Mom had told me to focus on my classes instead of attending the first two. But both our families would be there for this one, and I wondered what it would be like to meet Lucia’s dad. Would I hate him as much as I predicted? Would he hate me? He probably would, particularly if he knew how much I lusted after his daughter. But it was a no-brainer that Mom would love Lucia. Her beauty lit up a room.

  “Thank you for the pep talk, Dane. Thank you for being you. I’m so proud you’re my son.”

  I gripped the phone tighter. Though I’d shooed her away, the truth was I did want my mom to visit. I missed her. And I abhorred hearing such a strong woman doubt herself because of her shithead husband.

  “Your father and I disagree on many things, but we both know how much you love volleyball. You belong out there, leading the team. Is there any way to make this right with your coach?”

  “Phil hasn’t called me yet.”

  “Then you call him.”

  I blew out a breath. “He doesn’t want to hear from me.”

  “Dane, don’t mind-read. You don’t know that—all the evidence I’ve heard suggests Phil likes you. You’re letting your feelings for your father get in the way of your relationship with your coach.”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Mom.”

  “Sorry. Listen, you probably have to get to class, so I’ll let you go. Please call if you want to talk more about the situation with your father, or…anything. I’m here, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, Danish.”

  My cheeks warmed. “Love you, Mom.”

  I checked my watch after I hung up, and she was right that I needed to leave for class soon. After staring at my phone for too long, I typed a text to Phil:

  I screwed up big time, and I want to apologize.

  Can I meet you before practice?

  After class, I clenched my teeth as I knocked on Phil’s door. Here we go. The door swung open, and I faced my assistant coach. “Uh, hey, Jason.”

  “We’re waiting for you, GD.” He gestured to the small table where Phil sat. Next to him was a woman who looked familiar. As she stood, Phil got to his feet as well.

  “You remember Michelle Farris?” Phil asked.

  I nodded as I shook her hand. She was an associate athletic director—my team had met her during orientation.

  “I oversee the department’s drug testing,” she explained as we sat.

  I paled. “Did I fail a drug test?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know, did you?” Her eyes nailed me to my chair. She’d been an All-American basketball player somewhere, and her tall frame and elegant business suit conveyed intimidation all the way. “Are you using drugs besides alcohol?”

  Phil glared at me. This wasn’t getting off to a good start.

  “No, ma’am.” I gulped.

  “Good.” She pushed a paper acros
s the table toward me. “We treat alcohol violations, like your flamboyant underage drinking stint last night, the same as positive drug tests.”

  Waves of nausea roiled in my gut. No way I’d stay on the team now.

  “Here’s what we expect you to do.” She pointed at the paper in front of me. “You need to schedule an assessment with our sport psychologist, Dr. Valentine, and follow her recommendations regarding further treatment.”

  I looked up at Phil to find a serene smile on his face. He’d urged me to see the psychologist over a month ago, and now he was getting exactly what he wanted.

  “Secondly,” Michelle said, recapturing my attention, “you’ll be tested more frequently. When your athletic trainer calls you for a drug test, you’re to report immediately, no questions asked.”

  I nodded. Drug tests were so embarrassing, with Tina forced to watch me take a piss. Now that mortification would multiply.

  Michelle pointed at the third bullet point on the contract. “If you have another alcohol violation or positive drug test, you’ll be suspended for two weeks from your competitive season.”

  “And if that happens,” Phil said, leaning forward, “you’ll find another position or leave the team. I won’t have our starting setter missing two weeks in season. You’d lose all credibility with the guys.”

  I felt my chest fall with a long exhale. Though Phil was obviously still angry with me, he’d used the words “starting setter.” I latched onto those words. Whatever they did to me, I could handle it, as long as I still got to play.

  “A third positive and you’re done,” Michelle said.

  I looked her in the eye. “That’s not going to happen. I need volleyball.”

  “You sure didn’t show that commitment last night, Mr. Monroe. As a scholarship athlete, you represent Highbanks. Evading your government protection detail, running off to guzzle alcohol as a nineteen-year-old—that is not an image we want to portray. You need to get your act together.”

  “I will.” I swallowed. “I promise. I’m very sorry.”

  After all of us signed the contract, she scooped it up and pushed off her chair. The rest of us stood as well. “Are your agents outside?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’d like to speak with them, make sure things are running smoothly. Anything else we need to cover?”

  Phil cleared his throat. “There’s a disciplinary issue we still haven’t discussed.”

  “Another one? Do you need me to stay?”

  “I think we can handle this on our own,” Phil said.

  My heartbeat surged at his ominous tone.

  Once Michelle had left and we’d retaken our seats, the coaches stared at me as I fidgeted in my chair. I wove my shaking hands together to still them. “I, I want to apologize to both of you. Phil, I should’ve never cussed you out—”

  “I don’t mind your colorful language—it’s part of your passion. As long as you don’t let the officials hear it.” His hand skated through his grey hair. “But I won’t tolerate your lack of respect.”

  “Yes, sir.” I hated that he’d questioned my respect. I had to do better. I turned to Jason. “And it was absolutely wrong of me to shove you.”

  Jason fumed. “Damn right it was!”

  “I…I know you wanted to deck me right then. And I appreciate your self-restraint, Jason. You’re a better man than I am.” I watched his shoulders lower a half-inch as he sat back a bit in his chair.

  “You’ve both treated me so well,” I continued. “You put up with the stupid Secret Service, and you’ve given me every opportunity I could ask for. I definitely respect you, and you didn’t deserve that from me.”

  “What the hell made you act like that, then?” Phil’s eyes searched mine. “You’ve always channeled that fire of yours into the game, where it belongs, but this time you targeted us? We’re on your side, Dane. We want to make you exceptional.”

  “I know.” I looked down. “I messed up. I had an argument with my dad before practice, and I was so pissed off at him. I think I took my anger…and misdirected it onto you. Unfairly. I’m really sorry.”

  Phil nodded and was quiet for a moment. “I’ve never met your dad. What’s he like?”

  “He’s a pompous prick.”

  “Whoa,” Jason said as he cracked the first smile I’d seen from him all day.

  “So I guess you’ll have much to discuss with Dr. Valentine.” Phil’s eyes twinkled.

  I sighed. “Played right into your hands, huh?”

  His slight smile faded. “I meant what I said. You’re under inordinate pressure, Dane. Anyone in your situation would need some support.”

  I nodded.

  “And that’s why I’m letting you return to practice. Today.”

  “Really?” I grinned.

  “But don’t think you’re in the clear.” Phil folded his arms across his chest. “You need to build back trust with us, and with the team. I think you’re mature enough to suggest just how you’ll do that.”

  When they kept staring at me, I rubbed my hands over my face. “I’m supposed to decide my own punishment?”

  Jason nodded.

  Ugh. This sucked. I couldn’t float something too easy, or it would look like I was making light of my horrid behavior. But I didn’t want to commit myself to consequences too hellish. “I guess you could make me run extra?” When they didn’t respond, I added, “After practice, I could run sprints, or long distance…”

  “What did you do this morning?” Phil asked.

  “Ran at the park.”

  “How many miles?”

  I shrugged. “About six.”

  Phil unclasped his arms. “Physical fitness has never been your weakness. Your work ethic is unparalleled on the team—it makes the guys want to follow you.”

  I never expected my coach to compliment me after how I’d treated him.

  “Extra running won’t do much for you. Give us some other way for you to rebuild our trust.”

  Crap. I tried to drum up ideas. He’d said fitness was my strength, but what were my weaknesses? I knew in an instant: pride and anger management. My cockiness had gotten me into quite a few scrapes throughout my life, which had then escalated due to my hot temper. I chewed on my lip. “Um, I could apologize to the team? Take responsibility for my blow-up?”

  “Now we’re talking,” Phil said. “That would show leadership.”

  And cause humiliation.

  “What else?”

  He wanted more? My gaze drifted to his bookshelf. “And…” I couldn’t believe I was about to suggest this. “I could learn about meditation, and teach it to the team?”

  When Phil beamed, I knew I’d hit pay dirt. “Excellent idea. You can start by reading this one…” He reached behind him to pull a worn book off the shelf. “It’s a primer on meditation by Jon Kabat-Zinn.”

  As I accepted the book, I noticed just how many mindfulness titles lined his bookshelf—this was clearly his wheelhouse.

  “We’ll see you in the locker room in fifteen for your apology.”

  “Uh, sure.” My stomach twisted as we stood. I hadn’t expected things to proceed so quickly. “Thank you, Phil. Thank you, Jason.” I squared my shoulders. “This will never happen again.”

  After I hustled to dress for practice, the team gathered in the locker room. I stood next to my coaches with a suddenly dry throat. I shifted from one foot to another.

  Jason raised his hand, and the guys got quiet. “Dane’s got something he wants to say.”

  Shit…it’s show time. “I…I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday.” That sounded way too stiff. “I let my personal life interfere with my commitment to the team, and I behaved disrespectfully—in practice…and later.” Still too formal, and not very heartfelt. A couple teammates looked uncomfortable, and the rest looked bored. I sighed. “In other words, I was a total dick.”

  A few laughs drifted toward me. When Josh stood, everyone stared at him. I wondered what h
e was up to as he lifted his hand to his mouth then tilted his head back—oh, no, he was miming drinking beer. Then he lowered his hand and gave his best stoner smile as he closed his eyes. In his cheesiest voice, he drawled, “God, I looohhve beer.”

  Laughs erupted in the locker room, and even the coaches cracked up. Everyone was laughing but me. When Josh opened his eyes and grinned, I couldn’t help it—the bastard made me start laughing too.

  In that moment, I knew the team had accepted me again. I was back.

  Chapter 17

  “YOU HAD QUITE A DAY YESTERDAY, HMM?”

  “Yes.” I felt my cheeks warm and glanced away from Dr. Valentine to her bookcase. A framed photo of a grey, fuzzy cat perched atop shelves jammed with books.

  “That’s my cat, Annabelle,” she explained.

  I nodded. The cat was huge.

  “She’s, uh, plus-sized.” I looked at the sport psychologist to find her grinning at me. “I think she might have binge-eating disorder.” She waited a beat. “Do you have pets at home in Texas?”

  “We have a cat, too.” I imagined his soft, black fur spilling over my lap, making me sweat as I completed biology worksheets on a hot day. Then, if Alejandro entered the room, I’d feel the sharp prick of claws on my bare legs. “His name’s Squinky.”

  “Squinky?” Her head tilted.

  “Short for Escuincle, or Brat. My brother Alex named him that because he hisses at him all the time.” I chuckled as I pictured Alejandro’s scowl. “The Squinkster doesn’t like my dad either, but he cuddles with me and my mom.”

  “How sweet—not many cats like to cuddle. So, Tina told me your mom came to the hospital to visit you?”

  I nodded.

  “She must have been worried about you passing out at practice.”

  I looked down. “She was.”

  “Is she still in town?”

  “She had to get my brother Mateo back to school, so they left this morning.”

  “How old is Mateo?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Squinky doesn’t like him either?”

  I bit back a smile at hearing a classy professional like her repeat his ridiculous nickname. “Actually, Matty told me Señor Squink has resorted to sleeping with him, now that I’m not there.”