With raised eyebrows, she glares at me as though I’m a moron. “The first thing I did was slap her, then I hugged her and cried. You don’t think that’s a pretty clear indication I have some mixed emotions?”
I shrug. “Okay, the slap was a bit out of line.”
She takes another sip of wine. “Enough about my defective baby box. I don’t want to think about it anymore. Do you think she’s ready to go home tomorrow?”
Taking her glass, I steal a sip. “Yes. I think we need to get her out of here. Do you think she’s ready?”
“Ready to get the hell out of Sweden? Yes. Ready for the real world?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. She seems like she’s doing better, but… she still feels broken. Like a vase we glued back together. Tiny pieces are missing, and it’s fifty-fifty if the glue is actually going to hold. She seems so fragile to me.”
“I agree with you. Sometimes she seems stronger, but other times, I feel if I say the wrong thing, she’ll crack wide open.” My feet become uncomfortable in my slush-drenched shoes, so I unlace my sneakers.
She points at the other sofa before I can take off my shoes. “You and your stinky feet can go over there.”
I debate taking off my shoe and shoving her nose in it, but I don’t want to derail the conversation because of stupid sibling antics. We have too many important things to discuss. “What do you think about the psychologist?” I ask as I move to the other sofa.
She bites her lip. “I chose her because Ari had previous experience with her, but I’m not sure she’s the right person. She’s focused entirely on preventing a drug relapse, and I’m not sure she gets that that isn’t the real issue here. I know the drugs are a serious issue, but I’m less worried about the drugs than about the way Ari thinks of herself now. The way she talks about herself... it’s just pure contempt. If that’s what she’s saying, it scares me to think about what’s going on in her head.”
“It’s painful to hear her beat up on herself,” I respond. “But that’s Ari. ‘Perfect every time. No excuses. That’s the Aldrich way.’ That’s all she knows. I don’t think she knows how to forgive herself because it’s not in her nature to tolerate failure. And this is a failure in her eyes, one of epic proportions. I’m petrified she’s going to go on beating herself up until there’s nothing left.”
Charlie pours another glass of wine. “I only got my psychology degree from the College of Dr. Phil, so I could be wrong, but I think Ari really needs some perspective, and I’m not sure how this doctor can give it to her. The way Ari tells the story, you’d think she’s spent the last month on the street corner, selling hand jobs for a quick fix. I hope this doctor can see through Ari’s tainted perception and help her get at the truth.” Looking down, she picks at her chipped fingernail polish. “What if she can’t come back from this?”
Returning to her sofa, I put my arm around Charlie. “She will. I know she will.” She has to.
Charlie leans into my hug then sniffles. “You smell so rank. I don’t know how you live with yourself.” Chuckling I pull her closer, but she fights back. “Seriously, I have no idea why women think they want an athlete. You smell. Your feet are so gross. You’re always scratching yourself. ” I shove my armpit in her face, and she screams. “I surrender. I’ll do anything if you please go shower.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, anything,” she squeals.
I kiss the top of her head. “Stop beating yourself up about not getting pregnant yet. It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen. And if it doesn’t, that just means there’s a kid out there already who’s meant to be yours. Don’t give up.”
“That was really sweet,” she mutters. “Now get your pit out of my face.”
Releasing her, I make my way to the bedroom. At least I made her laugh. We all need a few laughs right about now. I have no idea what’s awaits us in San Francisco. There’s no doubt in my mind that Ari and I can get through this, but Ari and I don’t always see eye to eye. What happens next is entirely out of my control.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chase
Three months later
I swore I’d never go to another club again. After everything that went down with Ari, I was done with this life. And yet, here I am. Never say never, right? Well, maybe except to say you never know where life is going to take you.
The music is crap. Some celebrity who’s famous for being famous is trying her hand at being a DJ, and she should really stick to posing for the paparazzi. But I didn’t come here for the music. The ice in my scotch has melted, and it’s now more water than alcohol. Such a waste of thirty-five-year-old scotch, but I’m not in the mood for drinking.
A small hand travels up my arm as a curvy redhead sidles up beside me. She places a fresh scotch in front of me. “Thought you might need another one. I know it’s your favorite.” She makes a show of crossing her legs. “Don’t you worry, baby. I’ll always make sure you have what you need.” She winks then takes a slow sip of her martini.
“Thanks, but I’m good. You have it.” I push the glass back in front of her.
She blathers on about something as I stare at her forehead, giving the appearance I’m paying attention. From the way she’s leaning forward and pushing her arms against the sides of her full breasts, practically daring them to fall out, I don’t think she cares if I’m listening or not. As she licks her lips, her message comes across loud and clear: she’s there for the taking—all I have to do is say the word.
The sound of shattering glass gets my attention, and I notice a couple of my guys in a shoving match. Leaving my untouched drink, I rush over to break it up. The first week of the pre-season isn’t the time to lose my linebacker and safety to a suspension. Thankfully the fight breaks up just as fast as it started. By the time I push through the crowd, security is escorting a belligerent Oakland fan out of the club, and the Oakland fan’s friend is buying a round of shots for everyone to help smooth things over. It’s my job to make sure everyone behaves, so I stick around for a few to make sure everything’s copacetic. Tempers cool, and everyone splinters off. Looking at my watch, I realize how late it’s gotten. Time to get the hell out of here.
I walk over to the bar to pay my tab, and Vasquez, our cornerback, taps my shoulder. “Looks like you left a broken heart over there.” He points at the redhead who looks wounded I haven’t come back to the table. He squints to get a better look. “Oh shit! Isn’t that Jessica that works in the front office?”
“Yeah. And?”
His eyes go wide as he laughs. “Dude! Dipping the pen in the company ink. You dog!”
Palmer, our tight end, gives me a knowing glare. “You’d better be careful. You fuck her over, and you’ll end up traded to Tennessee or some shit.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s in marketing. The worst thing that could happen is she’ll choose a shitty picture of me for them to use for my bobblehead. I think I’m fine.” I throw a hundred on the bar. “And no matter how much she tries, my pen is nowhere near her ink. I’m polite because she works for the team, but that’s it.” I nod in her direction. “But if you want a chance, have at it.”
“I don’t get it, dude. Every time we go out, chicks throw themselves at you, and every time, you go home empty-handed. I’ve never seen you leave with a chick. Not once. With all this talent around, you’ve got to be hitting some of it. You got a woman we don’t know about? You’re not back together with your ex, are you?”
If only it were that simple. “Nope. Definitely not back together with my ex.” I pat Vasquez on the back. “Get home safe, guys. I’m out.”
As I make my way through the crowded club, women try to catch my attention. I’m not blind. I know what they’re doing. A flirtatious smile and a wink. The way they run their fingers along their necklines to draw my attention to their cleavage. It’d be easy pickings if I were looking for it. But I’m not, so I just walk through the club and wait for my truck at the valet.
Once I get in my tr
uck, I call Spencer. “Hey, I’m on my way over. You guys still up?”
“Yeah, everyone’s up,” he replies. “Did you go out tonight?”
“Yup.”
“Dude, isn’t enough enough already?” he asks. “All the bars and clubs. Going out all the damn time. How long are you going to keep this up?”
I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel. “As long as it takes.” Traffic starts to get heavy, so I need to pay attention to the road. “It’s getting crazy out here. I’ll see you in a few.”
How long can I keep this up? I tell myself I can do this forever, but can I really? Before we left Sweden, Ari and I spent hours talking about her trip home. We debated treatment options, and I thought we had a good plan. She didn’t trust herself to live alone, which made sense, so she was supposed to move in with me, and I’d support her as she went through therapy.
Her psychologist, on the other hand, had other ideas. She convinced Ari that getting into a relationship while trying to break an addiction was a recipe for disaster. The only way to really kick the addiction was to focus entirely on herself without the added expectations and demands of a new relationship.
I fought tooth and nail against the shrink. To say we’re in “a new relationship” is far from accurate. I’m not some guy she just started dating. I know her better than anyone. We have a lifetime of history, and my love for her is completely unconditional. I thought I had proven that but apparently not. I got the crazy idea of proposing to show my commitment, but Charlie got me to back down. Proposing to “flex my commitment muscles,” as she called it, was the wrong reason to do it and would probably end up scaring Ari more than reassuring her.
No matter how convincing I tried to be, the doctor had planted those seeds of doubt in Ari’s head, and that was all it took. She’s so worried about misstepping somewhere along the way that’s she’s following every rule to the letter of the law. As I quickly learned, that meant pushing me away as hard as she could. About a month after we got back, Ari called a special therapy session. I was hoping it was to talk about us moving forward, but I was way off. Her shrink explained that by waiting for her, I’m inadvertently putting pressure and expectations on Ari. Ari said she was afraid her recovery was preventing me from living my life and it would make her feel better if I worked on my life independent of her. She said when she’s finally ready to move forward, we can see if we’re still in the same place. She all but told me to go out and date other women.
At first I thought it was a test, her way of trying to see how committed I really am. But when I didn’t start going out, she got so upset. So now I go out. At least twice a week, I meet up with friends or teammates. We go to a bar or club, and I stay out for an appropriate amount of time, then I come back here so we can run. She’s always happy that I went out, but her words have an underlying tone of anger and resentment. I’m not sure if she’s waiting for me hop in bed with someone else and break her heart or if my going out reassures her that I’m really not going anywhere. I’ve overanalyzed this to death without coming any closer to figuring her out.
The biggest issue is Ari doesn’t trust herself. She doesn’t trust her judgment, and she’s placing all her faith in this psychologist. I know the shrink is helping her, but there are times I see Ari ready to make a breakthrough, as though the real Ari is peeking out through the storm. Then the shrink will say something like, “Do you really think you’re ready for that?” in her condescending tone, and Ari will wilt like a flower without water. I’ve never seen Ari wilt before, and it breaks my heart every time.
But she says she feels better when she leaves her sessions with Dr. Clawson, so what can I do? I promised her we’d go at whatever pace she needs, so I’m keeping my word. While I wish I was holding her as she falls asleep every night and waking up with her every morning, that’s more about me than her. For me to keep fighting to play a bigger role in her life is just selfish. I also learned quickly that making enemies with the shrink is a really bad idea. Once I showed her I was part of the team no matter what my title was, she eased up a little.
So we’re not together. We’re friends. Just friends. As much as it sucks to be unable to hold Ari’s hand or tell her how much I love her, I know it’ll all be worth it one day.
She moved in with Spencer and Charlie, but I still see her every day. Exercise is a huge part of her therapy plan, so I’m at their house by five every morning, and we run between ten and fifteen miles. Then we hit the gym together. I’m boning up for the season, so it works out well for me. Plus, working out burns off a lot of sexual tension. Having to see her in sports bras and yoga pants without being able to do a damn thing about it is torture. I’m in the best shape of my life, but it’s fucking killing me.
After our workouts, we go back to Charlie’s for wheatgrass smoothies. That’s how much I love this girl—I’m drinking fucking wheatgrass. Every freaking day! But I do it with a smile because it makes her happy. She’s on an all-organic vegan diet. She claims it’s to help her body detox, but I think it’s guilt. She hasn’t come right out and said it, but guilt is one of the major issues she’s working on, and I think it’ll be a long time before she learns to let it go.
The bulk of the rest of the day, she’s in some form of therapy. She does individual therapy five days a week. Group therapy three days a week. Once a week, she meets with either Charlie, one of my parents, or me for a session. I think those sessions just stir up shit from the past, and I have yet to see the purpose, but I go and participate.
I keep waiting for these sessions to taper down. How much therapy does one person need? At first it made sense, but now, I don’t think anyone but the good doctor actually thinks Ari’s going to take drugs again. The therapy is supposed to be helping her learn to forgive herself, but I’m not seeing any results on that. Personally, I think all the sitting around and rehashing every wrong move she’s ever made isn’t helping her move forward but is holding her back. Talking for five days a week about what she’s done—the drugs, the baby, running away—is her way of beating herself up. She tears herself down every day, and the therapist just lets her. I tried talking to Ari about it, but she shut me down. She trusts her doctor, so what can I do?
It kills me to be kept at arm’s length. I want her to be the last thing I see when I fall asleep and the first thing I see when I wake up. I miss the million intimate moments that happen between us when we’re alone. It’s not just about sex, although I miss that too. It’s the quiet conversations about nothing and private jokes that evolve from minor everyday occurrences. So much of our time together is chaperoned by my sister, and it’s wearing. I’ll admit I’m a selfish bastard. I want her all to myself. But this isn’t about me, it’s about her, so I’ll happily keep living like we’re in junior high as long as she’s moving forward.
I may not get to be the last thing she sees before she goes to sleep, but I’m close to it. Ari has insisted she stay pharmaceutical free. No anti-depressants or sleep meds, not even melatonin, but like many recovering drug users, sleep can be elusive for her. So every night, I show up at Charlie’s, and Ari and I go for a run. We push it until she’s ready to collapse. Most nights she barely makes it to her bed before crashing. She gets to sleep, and I get to see her. It’s a win-win. Minus the fact I always leave with a hard-on, but all good things come with a price. Training camp starts in a few days though, and I’ll have to stay in the hotel with the team. I’m really worried about what she’ll do while I’m gone.
I pull up to Spencer’s just after one. Grabbing my bag out of the back, I jog up the front steps and let myself in. Spencer’s at his desk, working on his laptop.
I poke my head in his office. “Hey. Where’s Ari?”
“They’re downstairs binge-watching some show about teenagers being stalked by a maniac. They tried to explain it to me, but I tuned them out. Good luck getting her out of here to run. I don’t think they’ve moved from the sofa in hours.” He stops typing and looks up. “The nice thing about
having Ari here is that she can watch this shit with Charlie instead of me. I should have had her move in years ago. I might have gotten to skip One Tree Hill and Gossip Girl and whatever the hell else I’ve been subjected to.” He shakes his head. “The things I do for your sister.”
“Quit your bitching. My sister’s the best thing that ever happened to you.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “I’m going to change real quick then pry her away from the TV.”
I get out of my club clothes and into my running gear. As I come out of the bathroom, I run into Ari stretching in the living room. She stops me dead in my tracks. Damn, she’s gorgeous. No makeup, her hair tied in a sloppy knot, just pure Ari, and she’s absolutely stunning.
She looks at me from between her legs while she stretches her hamstrings. “Don’t leer. It’s creepy.”
I stretch my quads. “I’m not leering. I’m waiting. You ready to go? It’s getting late.”
“Almost.” She shifts positions to stretch the other leg. “Did you go out tonight? Is that why you’re so late?”
I groan. “Are we really going to do this? Can’t we just go for a run?”
She shrugs as she ties her laces. “What are you talking about? This is what friends do. They talk about their day. I’ll start. Since I saw you this morning, I went to therapy, then I went to the Huckleberry house and helped make dinner. Once we cleaned up, I took a bunch of the kids to the park and gave them a lesson. Then I came home and got sucked into this show Charlie is watching. Now it’s your turn. What did you do today?”
“How did the kids at Huck like your tempeh or chickpeas or whatever you made them?”
Ari’s been volunteering at a crisis center for runaway kids in the city. When she started, I was really nervous about if she was ready for the stress and heartache that comes with working in that arena, but it’s been good for her. The kids love her, and she feels as though she’s making a difference.
Love To Hate You Page 33
