Wide Open

by Tracey Ward

  She’s afraid now. You can’t see it on her face because she’s strong, but I know it because she told me. Only me.

  “Are you cold?” I ask her quietly.

  She smiles. “On the outside, yes. Inside I’m on fire.”

  I chuckle, lowering my head to watch as the towel erases water droplets from her legs. Her hips. Her smooth, rich skin that’s soft under my fingers as I drag them behind the towel, unable to stop touching her. I’m gentle over her breasts, even as she moans in the back of her throat and my dick jumps eagerly. I dry her arms, her neck. I pull her long, dark hair over her shoulder and twist it until it releases a stream of water onto my feet, and when I look into her eyes to ask her if she’s hungry, she’s watching me.

  “Hi,” she says quietly.

  I smile. “Welcome back.”

  She hums happily in the back of her throat as she pushes her fingers through my wet hair. I wrap the towel around her, securing it under her arms.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Harper nods emphatically. “I bet you are too.”

  “I’m starving.”

  “Takes a lot of energy to destroy another team.”

  “Not as much as it should have. They’re not a good team.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “But true.”

  She wrinkles her nose unhappily. “I guess you’re right. So are you going to feed me?”

  “Will you be able to get away?”

  “I can probably manage.”

  “How did you manage it just now?”

  Her eyes cloud, turning dark and distant. A shadow of when they’re blind. “I lied,” she tells me honestly. “I told Travis I had to go to the bathroom. It’s the only place he won’t offer to go with me.”

  “Long trip to the bathroom,” I joke, but inside I’m thickening. I’m turning to stone bit by bit, avoiding the feeling that tries to overwhelm me. The old feeling, the familiar feeling. The memory of lies and secrets, stolen moments, hidden meetings. A woman I wanted who could never be mine. It’s all too real, more than I can handle standing naked in an opponent’s locker room.

  “Yeah, I’ll have to think of something to cover up the time,” she mutters in agreement.

  “Tell him you stopped off to fuck a football player in the shower. Give honesty a try and see what happens.”

  She doesn’t react to my shot, not on the outside. She feels it on the inside, though. I know she has guilt over lying to Travis and a not so small part of me is happy about that. I want it to bother her like it bothers me. I want it to gnaw at her. I want it to stop.

  I want her. All of her, all the time.

  Harper dresses as I dry off. She does it quickly and silently, and when she’s done she kisses me hastily. It’s a goodbye and I know by the feel of it that she won’t have dinner with me tonight. She won’t lie again, not today. Not to Travis.

  “I’ll see you later?”

  “Yeah.” I yank my shirt over my head. “I’ll see you later.”

  She hesitates for one awkward moment before turning her back on me and hurrying out of the locker room.

  I don’t watch her go.

  The rest of the team is long gone from the locker room. I lagged behind, intentionally missing the bus so I could stay to see Harper. Her crew was already planning to stay later to get some shots of the inside of the stadium after our win, do interviews with Kodiak fans who flew all the way out from L.A. to Tennessee to watch us play. We’ve won all three of our regular season games and last night the New England Patriots lost to the Buffalo Bills, 40-38. Every day we’re looking more and more like the Super Bowl favorite and the fans know it. Away game turnouts are at an all-time high. This is the season everyone is convinced will be the one they look back on and applaud themselves for being at every game. They think this is the season when we go all the way, and even I have to admit we’re off to a solid start to make it happen.

  I should be happy about that and an hour ago I was. But now all I can think about is the year I spent living a lie. Now all I feel is shit.

  I shove my gear into my bag before slinging it over my shoulder. I’ll have to go through the locker room and grab my shoes before I catch a cab back to the hotel. I’ll go alone. I’ve missed dinner with the team and I’ll hear about it from Coach Allen, but for the first time in a long time I don’t care. It was worth it to be with her.

  I round the corner to the locker, already dreaming of calling ahead for a steak from room service, when I see that I’m not as alone as I thought I was.

  Tyus Anthony is parked on a long blue bench running alongside the lockers. He’s still in his uniform, his head down, his body leaned forward over his knees. He looks like he’s either praying or he’s going to be sick.

  “Are you okay, man?”

  Tyus doesn’t look up. “What are you still doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Don’t. Go away.”

  “So you can sulk alone?”

  “Fuck you, Matthews.”

  I step into the locker room, dropping my bag onto the floor and taking a seat on the bench opposite him. The room is muggy from sweat and showers. The air is thick to breathe and I’m dying to get out of here, but instead I sit. I look him in his angry eyes and I ask him again, “You okay?”

  He sits back, sneering at me. “No, I’m not fucking okay. Do I look okay?”

  “You look like you’re about to cry or kill something.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Which one?”

  He stares at me, his face tight with anger and irritation.

  “It’s Ramsey, right?” I ask, deciding to go for the jugular. Tyus doesn’t look in the mood to dance around the obvious and neither am I. “You’re mad ‘cause he took your spot.”

  “I’m mad that people saw me riding the pine the last three games, sitting on my ass while some ignorant motherfucker goes out there and fumbles every pass. He can’t even remember the playbook.”

  “He’s learning.”

  “Yeah, and I’m being taken for granted.”

  “They’re holding onto you as a failsafe in case Ramsey collapses completely.”

  Some of the fight fades from his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly. It’s bullshit.”

  “It is. It’s also how it’s done,” I remind him bluntly. “It’s how it’s going to happen to me someday too. One day my run times will slip and my dexterity will fall off, and they’ll draft a rook to take my place. And they’ll ask me to train him. It’ll happen to me, it’ll happen to Avery. It’ll happen to Domata, and someday it will even happen to Ramsey.”

  “And today it’s happening to me,” he growls.

  “Yep. You’re nothing special. None of us are.”

  “Jesus, Matthews, this is the most depressing pep talk I’ve ever heard. I’m gonna go slit my wrists after this.”

  I lean forward on my elbows. “No, you won’t and no, it’s not. I’m not trying to cheer you up. You don’t want cheering up. You don’t need it. You need to face the fact that your career with the Kodiaks is ending. Nothing in the world can change that. Even if Ramsey shit himself on the field tomorrow, they’d trade him off for someone else. They’re not coming back to you, and I don’t know why, but I think you do. And that’s what pisses you off more than anything.”

  He licks his lips, pinching them tightly between his teeth until they leach their color. Until their pale and lifeless. He releases them on a burst of air, looking away. “I can’t remember shit sometimes. People tell me something and I can’t hold onto it. I forget almost as soon as they said it.” He taps his temple with his finger. “It’s the hits. I keep taking ‘em and every time I do I lose a little piece of my brain. I had two concussions last year and Coach started asking questions. He and Luxe are watching me close. Too close. They know what’s up.”

  “It’s in your med files, isn’t it?”

  “Luxe started recording it this year. Memory loss. It’s a deat
h sentence. No team worth anything will ever pick me up when the Kodiaks drop me.” He laughs unhappily, the sound biting. “I’m done. I’ll be lucky to make it through the season.”

  I look down at my hands. “I’m sorry, man.”

  “Don’t be. That’s what I don’t want. People feeling sorry for me.”

  “Okay.”

  Tyus pauses, considering his words carefully. “What would you do? If it were you sitting here, what would you do? Would you ride out the season from the sidelines?”

  I look up at him, spreading my hands helplessly. “I don’t know. I don’t think you can know until it happens to you.”

  “We might win the Super Bowl this year. I could get a ring and quit, but I wouldn’t feel like I earned it, you know? I won’t play in the game. I’ll barely see the field on the way there. It won’t mean shit to me.”

  “I get that.”

  “Fuck,” he mutters, swiping his hand across his mouth. “I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this.”

  I nod, unable and unwilling to find words to make it better for him. It’s a raw deal, one of the ugliest parts of our careers, and I would be belittling the importance of it by trying to console him. It’s not what I would want and I know it’s not what he wants either. All I can do is sit with him, nod my head, and agree that it’s fucking unbelievable.

  But it doesn’t make it any less real.

  “You want to catch a cab back to the hotel together?” I ask him.

  “Nah, I’m gonna stay a little longer. I want everyone to be asleep when I get back.”

  “You’re rooming with Avery?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does he know about the concussions?”

  “Probably, but he doesn’t say it. He’s probably waiting for me to bring it up.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “Would you?”

  I don’t answer because I don’t know. A year ago, I’d say no. I would keep it to myself. I’d hide it from everyone. I’d internalize it along with everything else in my life that was a boiling hot mess and I’d suffer in silence because that’s how I thought it was done. Now, though, I wonder what I’d do. Would I bury it or would I tell Harper? Would I trust her with that truth? I don’t know, but I know I’d want to.

  “You should tell Colt,” I hear myself say to Tyus. “You shouldn’t go through it alone and you know you can trust him. I would tell him.”

  He barks a laugh. “For real? You of all people would tell someone?”

  “If there was someone I knew I could trust, yeah. I’d tell them.”

  “There’s nothing he can do about it.”

  “You’re not asking him to fix your problems,” I remind him as I grab my bag, lifting it back onto my shoulder. “You’re telling him so you’re not alone. Being alone sucks. Believe me.” I clap him on the shoulder, heading for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell Colt. Get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, you too.” He waits until I’m at the door to call out after me. “Hey, Matthews! You didn’t tell me what you’re still doing here?”

  “I wanted to get off in the shower without an audience.”

  He laughs. “For real?”

  “Yeah,” I answer honestly, thinking how hollow the half-truth sounds. “For real.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  KURTIS

  October 12th

  Marengo Apartments

  Los Angeles, CA

  “Your feet are cold,” Harper tells me tiredly.

  Her head is tilted back against the arm of the couch opposite me, her legs stretched out along mine. My legs are longer, my feet hitting her just above the hip. I wiggle my toes against her side, making her giggle and squirm.

  She swats at me. “Knock it off, Ice Man.”

  “My feet aren’t cold,” I inform her, flipping idly through the channels on the TV. “Your body is hot.”

  “Ever the flatterer,” she sings softly.

  I grin as I search for something to watch. The light from the television flickers across the dark room. It casts a blue glow over everything, including Harper and her elegant features. She looks regal lying there at the end of the couch. In reality, she looks regal even when peeling a banana, but there’s something austere about her when she’s tired like this. Something so somber. Something that sits well with me, soothes me. Matches me in a way I never thought possible.

  “What do you want to watch?” I ask.

  She wrinkles her nose indecisively. “Something stupid.”

  “That should be easy to find.”

  “What do you watch at your place?”

  “Stupid shit.”

  Harper laughs. “I doubt that.”

  “Home improvement,” I amend honestly.

  “The Tim Allen show from the nineties?”

  “No,” I chuckle, rubbing my hand up and down her leg next to mine. “Home improvement shows like do-it-yourself instructionals and remodels.”

  “Do you do that kind of thing?”

  “Nah, not yet. But someday I will. I’ll buy a house and fix it up. I’ll make it how I want it.”

  “With your own two hands?”

  “I’m told I’m pretty good with them.”

  She hums, sinking lower into the couch. “Yes, you are.”

  I smile, pinching her calf. She yelps, kicking at me lightly.

  “Will you invite me over to this newly renovated house?” she asks when she’s settled again.

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  “I won’t hold my breath. I’m still waiting on an invitation to your current house.”

  “It’s not worth seeing. It’s a studio. It’s probably smaller than this place.”

  Harper laughs incredulously. “Yeah, right. Your paycheck is, what? A thousand times the size of mine. I’m sure your place is much bigger and much nicer than this.”

  “It’s not,” I promise her, lowering the remote. I glance around the living room, mentally measuring the space. “I’d say my entire apartment could fit inside your living room and kitchen. Maybe throw in the bathroom.”

  She sits up, pulling her legs under her body. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. You can come see it if you want to. I’ll take you over there anytime, but it’s nothing special. The AC sucks and the toilet runs at all hours. It’s a downer.”

  “Why do you live there?” She sits forward, her eyes bold and curious. “Is it the same reason you drive the old Blazer?”

  I stiffen under her gaze, put on alert by her perceptiveness. “Why do you think I drive the Blazer?”

  “’I betrayed a friend. There was a lot of money involved’,” she answers, quoting me. “At first I thought that meant that you took money from someone, but it was the other way around, wasn’t it? Someone stole from you. Someone close to you.”

  She’s digging, and not at random. She’s honed in on the X marking the spot like I gave her a map right to it, and maybe I did. Maybe I meant to. But now I’m torn on how to react to her. She’s right and she’s wrong. She’s so close to the truth but just on the other side of it, and how she got there is a surprise but it’s not a mystery.

  “So clever,” I mumble to myself.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “No, but you’re not far off. You’re close enough.”

  “What’s the truth, Kurtis?”

  “It’s what I said,” I reply on a sigh, striving for patience. Looking for the nearest exit from this conversation. “I had a friend and now I don’t.”

  “You had money and now you don’t.”

  “I had a lot of things that I don’t have anymore. Half of them I never needed.”

  Her shoulders tighten, rising around her neck. “Quit with the cryptic and just tell me.”

  “It’s not worth telling.”

  “It is to me.”

  I hold her eyes, not answering her. She watches me for too long, longer than she normally would, like she’s trying a new tactic. Like she t
hinks she can outlast me.

  Good fucking luck.

  Finally her shoulders slump. “Are you ever going to tell me the truth?”

  “Not the whole thing, no. Probably not.”

  “You know that’s unfair, right?”

  “I don’t really care if it’s fair or not. It’s how it is.”

  “God, you are such an ass,” she groans. “From the start I’ve done everything I can to be honest with you to get you to trust me, and you never will, will you? You’ll never tell me the whole story.”

  “Is that what you’re sticking around for? To get the story no other journalist has been able to crack?”

  She scowls at me and my assessment. “I’m not asking for the documentary. I’m asking for me because I want to know you and this is obviously a huge part of you.”

  “It’s not. Not anymore. Let it go.”

  “Why can’t we talk about it?”

  “Why do we have to?” I demand, feeling cornered. “What does it matter?”

  “It matters because you still don’t trust me. Do you know how much that hurts? I opened up and told you about Derrick. That was really difficult for me. I didn’t enjoy that, but I trusted you enough to tell you because I felt like you deserved to know.”

  “And you think you deserve to know about this? About the money?”

  “Yes,” she answers boldly. “I think I do.”

  I stand from the couch, gently pushing her legs out of the way. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Bullshit you don’t,” she snaps, standing to face me. “I am giving and giving and giving, and you’re offering next to nothing up in return.”

  “Because you keep hunting for it. You’re sniffing around, looking for clues. You’re not with me for me. You’re with me to get the story.”

  “That’s not true. I want to know for me, for us. You have to open up to me at some point or this is never going anywhere.”

  “You want me to open up but you won’t even admit to your closest friends that we’re together.”

  “You won’t tell anyone anything about you! Why do you care if people know I’m with you or not?”

  “Because I’ve done this before,” I blurt out. I feel my chest heave, my body revolting against my mind, but I push through it. “I’ve been here before; sneaking around and lying. I hate it. I hated it then and I hate it even more now. I’m not saying I want to take pictures and make a sex tape. I’m not inviting the world into the bedroom with us, but I don’t want to hide it either. I won’t keep hiding it. Not again.”