by Tracey Ward
She breathes slowly, watching me. “Who was she?”
“What does it matter? The point is I’m not doing it. It can only end ugly, so either we go public with this thing or it’s over.”
“Are you kidding me? You can’t just lay down an ultimatum like that.”
“Why not? You are.”
“No, I’m—” She stops to think about it. Her face falls when she realizes I’m right. “Oh God.”
“Yeah, see? You’re a fucking hypocrite.”
She glares at me. “You’re a closed off asshole.”
“Then what are you doing with me, huh? You just wanted to get a good fuck in. You were bored and I was there. End of story.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s nothing!”
“Then what is it?” I demand heatedly. “If it’s not just sex, what are we doing?”
“I don’t know! But it’s more than sex and it’s more than dating! It’s… I’m so in…”
She can’t find the words and I understand why. We both know what they are, we know what we feel, but the words aren’t with us right now. They’re out there somewhere in the sunlight, away from these shadows and secrets, far from where we stand in this moment. We’re not in a place to see or say what this is between us. It’d shrivel and die if we reached for it right now. I’d rather leave it untouched, unspoken. Unrealized in the light than slain here tonight in the dark.
I take a deep breath, calming my blood. “If I tell you what happened, I could lose everything. It could ruin my career.”
Her face pinches with worry. “Did you do something illegal?”
“No, but if people knew—” I groan, running my hand over my eyes. “I could get kicked out of the NFL. If people even suspected, it could be the end for me. That’s why I won’t tell you. I won’t tell anyone. You’re asking me to risk too much.”
“So are you. You don’t think I have anything to lose here? If I go public about you, it could kill my career. People will never believe I’m being impartial on this job. They’ll look at this project with a microscope and they’ll find faults. I’ll never be trusted again.”
My gut twists painfully as the moment draws out. As we draw our lines in the sand and stare at each other across them. They’re so close, so similar, but suddenly she feels miles away.
“So where does that leave us?”
Harper asks quietly, “Will you tell me the whole story?”
“Will you tell people you’re with me?” I fire back.
Harper doesn’t hesitate. She shakes her head once. “No.”
I nod stiffly in understanding, because my answer is the same. “No.”
Harper’s eyes shine with tears that she’ll never shed. Not in front of me. She’s too strong for that. Too proud. And I care for her too much to make her swallow them.
“I’ll leave,” I mutter deeply, stepping around her to grab my shoes. I pull them on quickly, feeling for my keys in my pocket.
“Kurtis.”
I look up at her reluctantly. This will be easier if it’s fast, like ripping off a band aid. Or an appendage.
She’s standing tall but her face has fallen. It’s blue and gray and sad, shifting in the scrolling light of the television but always remaining the same.
“It isn’t just sex,” she tells me gently. “And it’s not just dating either. It’s… we’re something else. Something better. Or at least we could be.”
“We could be if everything was different.”
“I don’t think everything. Only two things.”
“That amount to everything.”
A jagged sigh escapes her lips, parting them. “Yes.”
I want to hug her, hold her. I want to lie with her and forget we said any of this, but I know I can’t. It’s out there now. Our limitations are in the open, barricades built between us, and there’s no ignoring them now. We can’t get through them and we can’t ignore them, so what’s left? What direction is there to go but retreat?
The thought is gut wrenching.
I step close to her, running my hands slowly down the soft skin of her arms. My forehead falls to hers, the weight of my own body too much to bear.
“I don’t want to do this,” she whispers to me.
“Neither do I.”
“How do we stop it?”
“We can’t.”
She closes her eyes, gripping the front of my shirt in her hands. “Don’t go.”
“I can’t stay. Not like this.”
“You’re not a story to me, Kurtis. You’re so much more. You mean more to me than anyone ever has before.” She shudders on a silent sob. “You always will.”
I lift my head, taking her face in my hands. I pinch my lips together, holding in the agonizing roar growing in my chest. I look at her one last time. At her luminescence. Her light. The stars that dazzle in her eyes. That lit a fire in my heart.
I take in her mouth, an open heart breaking, and I can’t resist. I lean down, my lips brushing against hers in a ghost of a kiss too fast to remember. Too quick to regret.
“And you’ll always be my midnight,” I promise her roughly.
Then I’m gone. As fast as my body can move me, I’m out the door, pulling it firmly closed behind me.
The night is impossibly dark when I step outside. Piercingly cold. It’s probably only seventy but from where I sat next to Harper five minutes ago and now, it feels like the temperature has dropped thirty degrees. The world has shifted off its axis, the plates are moving, and there are earthquakes on the horizon. I need to be prepared. In Los Angeles you always have to be ready for disaster to strike. Earthquake, drought, tsunami. Love.
I thrust my hands into my pockets, feeling my keys. They stab into my fingertips, making them ache, but when I come up on my Blazer I keep on walking. I don’t know where I’m going but it’s not home. Not tonight.
I’m in the university district and it doesn’t take me long to find a bar. It’s loud when I step inside. Dark and sweaty, music rebounding off of every surface, people laughing loudly. I slide through the crowd without touching a soul. At the bar I buy a bourbon.
“The bottle,” I tell the guy.
“I didn’t hear you. You want what?”
“I want to buy the bottle.”
“You want to buy the whole damn bottle?”
I don’t repeat myself again. I hold out a fifty and I wait for him to figure it out.
Finally he shrugs, taking the fifty and pulling a bottle of Old Forester off the shelf behind him. He plunks it down onto the bar in front of me.
“You want a glass?”
I take the bottle without a word, heading out of the bar.
I keep it corked because I’m not looking to get arrested. I’m not dumb. I’m not nuts. I’m just—
I’m Latino. We brood. We feel things deeply, ache like a motherfucker.
I’m Jersey. I’m not brooding. I’m not aching.
I’m just a motherfucker.
It takes me two hours to walk to the storage unit. It takes me only a minute to pop the lock on the front, roll the heavy door up out of the way, and pull the cover off my girl. She’s perfect as always. Green and grim. Ready to roll whenever I need her, and tonight I need her like I haven’t felt in years.
The scent of the leather surrounds me like an embrace as I sit down behind the wheel. A thousand memories assault me. Music blaring, bass pumping through the subwoofer in the trunk. Chris and Bennet in the back. Tommy in the passenger seat. Kyla in his lap, her pale skin nearly glowing in the dark as we blazed out across the desert toward Vegas. Laughter and alcohol in the air. Bottles banging on the floor. I never drove drunk, I always stayed sober until we hit the City of Sin, but after that all bets were off. Everything was fair game. Even my best friend’s girl.
I fucked Kyla in Vegas. I fucked her in Los Angeles. I fucked her in the airplane bathroom on a chartered flight home from Miami while Tommy slept it o
ff thirty feet away because that’s all that we ever were; fucking. And I had a right to do it. It wasn’t wrong because I paid for the flight. I paid for the watch on Tommy’s wrist. The clothes on Kyla’s body. I had a right to take anything I wanted, didn’t I? That’s what I thought back then. It’s what we all thought.
But what the hell did we know?
I reach for the bottle, yanking the cork out of the top. I won’t drive tonight. If I did I know exactly where I’d go and it’s not the answer. It wasn’t back then and it sure as shit isn’t now. Spending a night at a poker table with no idea of what time it is, what day it is, is no way to escape this feeling.
Of course, neither is getting wasted, but I’m not a saint. Sue me.
I take a sip of my drink. The bourbon goes down slow and burning, moving like lava through my chest. It cools and solidifies, turning to cement, steadying me. Steeling me. Sealing me. It patches the cracks Harper left behind. It changes my topography, rebuilds me with the broken pieces that refuse to fit together.
That will forever refuse to forget her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HARPER
October 13th
Charles Windt Stadium
Los Angeles, CA
I fumble the small remote in my pocket, counting the buttons until I think I’ve found it. I press down firmly, hoping.
The red light on Les’ camera goes dead.
“’the fuck?” he mutters. He steps back to glare at the unresponsive equipment. “Hold up everyone! We’ve got a problem with the camera.”
Carmen looks over her shoulder at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. It stopped recording all of a sudden.” Les checks the cords, the battery life; everything is solid. He shrugs. “It looks like it’s fine. Just a glitch. We’re recording again on my count. Three… two…” he silently puts up a single finger before pointing at Sam Linden.
He takes the cue, picking up where he left off. “I grew up in a house full of women. Six sisters, my mom, my aunt. The only men were me, my dad, and the dog. Going outside and playing football with other guys in the neighborhood was how I survived.” He smiles shyly, his boyish good looks melting the room. He’s amazing on camera with his sweet brown eyes and tousled blond hair. America is going to love him just as much as I do. “It was either play ball or play dress up, and there’s only so many times a man can take wearing high heels. I don’t know how women do it. I’d rather get smashed on the line than spend ten minutes in those things.”
Carmen grins warmly. She loves a compliment and this kid is full of them. “It’s an acquired skill. Not everyone can pull them off. I think I—“
I press the button again.
“Oh come on,” Les grumbles. “Hold on. We have another problem.”
Carmen sighs heavily. “It’s a static shot. All you have to do is point it at Sam, hit record, and stop when I tell you to. How is that a problem today?”
Les looks at the back of her head silently. I can imagine what he’s thinking. In fact, I’ve heard what he’s thinking over beers more than once since we started this process. I feel bad for the crew because I’m the reason she’s in the head seat today. I just can’t handle it. I’m an exhausted wreck. I cried all night, staring at the TV frozen on the channel Kurtis left it on. I didn’t want to change it. It was silly but it was like I was pressing pause on the world. Like he was still there, in the bathroom or the kitchen, and he’d be back any minute. But dawn came and Kurtis never came back, and now I’m sleep deprived, dehydrated, and destroyed. I can barely focus on breathing. I definitely can’t handle an interview.
I asked Carmen to take over for the day and she’s reveling in it. We’re twenty minutes over the time we promised Sam, something that’s starting to really piss me off. I don’t like breaking promises.
I don’t like telling lies either, but I’ve gotten pretty adept at it.
“I think we should call it a day,” I tell the room. “Obviously the camera is malfunctioning. We’ll get it sorted out and finish the interview another day.”
Les nods distractedly. He steps away from the camera, eyeing it with suspicion.
Travis is giving a similar look to me.
“I have more questions for Sam,” Carmen complains.
“Next week. Right, Sam?”
He stands eagerly. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
“Perfect. Thanks for putting up with us.”
“No problem.” He hurriedly shakes Carmen’s hand before heading for the door. He grins crookedly at me, squeezing my shoulder as he walks by. “Thank you.”
“Run,” I whisper with a smile.
As the door closes behind him Carmen stands to survey the room. “Well, what do we do now?”
I turn on the overhead lights in the room. The fluorescents that she hates. They accentuate her laugh lines and sallow her skin. “You go on and have a good night, Carmen. We’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”
“With a new camera?” she asks, lifting her red Prada purse off the equipment table.
“Fresh out of the box.”
Satisfied, she raises her hand to the room now at her back. It’s her only address to the crew. A silent goodbye.
It’s a blessing.
“Thank God,” Les breathes when she’s gone. “We’re not doing this with her again, right? Once your head feels better you’re back in action?”
“I’ll be better tomorrow. I promise.”
“Good, because I can’t work with that bitch again.”
“Don’t get that on camera,” I warn him.
He frowns at the equipment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it. It’s turned on. It just kept pausing.”
I pull the remote from my pocket, tossing it to him. He catches it easily. “Sorry about that, but I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“You paused it?”
“It was the only way to shut her up. She was talking more than Sam was.”
“What the hell?! Do you know how freaked I was that this thing was broken?”
“Do you know how tired I was of her fishing for compliments from Sam? You guys think I have a crush on him. Talk to Carmen.”
Alec grins. “She called him ‘baby’. Did you catch that?”
“We’ll have to edit that out,” Travis agrees.
“You don’t want to leave it in for authenticity’s sake?” I tease.
“This is about the players. If Colt Avery calls him baby, I’m leaving it in. Carmen is unimportant.”
“Can you explain that to her?”
“You think I haven’t tried?”
I smile, the expression tight on my mouth. It feels good and ugly at the same time and suddenly, out of nowhere, I feel like crying again. I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes, turning my back on the crew. I rifle through my bag for a jar of aspirin.
“My head is killing me. I’m going to head home if that’s okay with you guys. I think a good night’s sleep is all I need to feel better.”
I turn around to face them, to tell them to have a good night, but my words die on my lips.
The three of them are standing in a row behind me. Les is in the middle, a small, round cake in his hands. My name is scrawled across the yellow surface in bright orange. Kodiak colors.
“Happy birthday, Harper!” they shout in unison.
I wince against their enthusiasm and I feel like crying for a totally different reason. I’m a mess today, not equipped to handle any of this. “You guys didn’t have to do this,” I breathe shakily.
“You get so consumed with work you always forget your birthday,” Travis explains. “If we didn’t do it, you’d have no idea how old you are.”
“Too old to celebrate my birthdays anymore, I know that much.”
“Do you want to eat cake with us or not?”
“Yes,” I laugh, pushing my sunglasses back up. Tears are in my eyes but I don’t hide them anymore. I don’t know who they belong to at this point; Kurtis and my hurting heart or thes
e three men who love and care for me every second of every day. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to eat cake and cry with my friends, and whether it’s because I’m happy or sad doesn’t make a difference. The cake will taste the same. The tears will fall as fast.
I think what’s important is that I’m not alone.
An hour later the cake is gone. I had one piece, the boys ate the rest. We sat around the room with the lights low and our feet up on chairs. We laughed and talked and reminisced about other birthdays and other projects. Other women we’ve crossed paths with that were even harder to handle than Carmen.
We gossiped about the players because we’re objective but we’re human. In our work we can turn it off, but in real life we talk trash just like everyone else. The general consensus is this; Colt is crass, Trey is kind, Sam is sweet, Tyus is angry, and Kurtis… we all agreed that Kurtis is a mystery. One with no interest in being solved. I felt physical pain when I heard his name, the back of my throat closing tight like a vice. I didn’t expect it to be like this. I didn’t know it would hurt this way. I never imagined losing him because I didn’t realize I had him. Not until he walked out the door and I knew he wasn’t coming back.
As the night gets later our little party dies down. Les leaves first. Then Alec. Before I know it I’m alone with Travis and his face is serious, his eyes watching me closely. I know what he’ll say before he says it, but even so, I feel gutted when the words pass his lips.
“Are you going to tell me the truth now?”
I fall apart on the spot. The tears fly from my eyes in a torrent that can’t be contained. Travis waits patiently while I sort myself out. He doesn’t crowd me and he doesn’t pressure me, and I’m so grateful to him for that. For everything, even seeing through me. Even calling me out on my lies.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, hiccupping on a sob.
