by Leigh Lennon
Yep, something smart-ass is certainly in her wheelhouse, but even with it, I see a little progress.
The camera crews are in my living room when I emerge in a polo T-shirt with the team’s colors and insignia. My sister doesn’t look like she’s slept as she passes me in the same skintight black dress, carrying her heels in her hands. “You aren’t the only one who can have a fun night on the town, you know,” she sasses as she passes me in the hallway. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll look right as rain.”
I guess the rebellious O’Hennessey genes are now in her. I stifle the thoughts of what my little sister has been doing all night long. And stroll out into the chaos as my mother watches with questioning eyes.
“They’ll put all the furniture back where it goes before they leave, I promise, Mrs. O’Hennessey.” There standing in front of my worrisome mom is Leela. And damn, does she look like everything I’ve imagined in my wet dreams of her and more.
She’s wearing her signature navy blue, a color I’ve observed she wears more times than not. My mother turns around, greeting me with a huge hug this morning, and I have to say, my mother and her shoulder-length red hair, she is stunning. Growing up my mom was always called a MILF and I shudder as to what the whole entire world will say when they see her.
“I’m so proud of you, Son. Not many can admit to the damage they’ve done, air it for all to see, and stand proud while doing so.” I don’t admit I hadn’t been given a choice in the matter, but I take her compliment anyway.
“I’m going to freshen up, Leela, if you don’t need me anymore.” It’s more like my mother can’t bear to watch her feng shui living room being rearranged.
It’s the first time I have a chance to chat with Leela. “Wow, you look great, sweetheart,” I begin, and her glower at my little pet name for her makes me happy.
“Um, I’m going to ignore that. But I saw Molly right quick. She doesn’t have to be so dressed up for the interview,” she explains.
“Well, she’s not. She’s just getting home from a night on the town.”
Her lips split into an almost gaping look as she gasps. “Little innocent Molly O’Hennessey is taking after her brother, yeah?”
I shrug. “To my knowledge, my little sister isn’t starting brawls, so I’d say she’s quite tame in the O’Hennessey experience.” She takes a step to walk away, but I loop my arm with hers, pulling her back. The glower from earlier is still there.
“What do I have to do to convince you to drive back with me tomorrow?”
Her phone rings, and she answers it, and to the person on the other line, she says, “Give me a second, will you?” Then she turns her attention back to me.
“Sorry, I can’t. The crew is staying for my mama’s homemade spaghetti and meatballs. They’ll be at a hotel up the road, and I’ll ride back with them, working on the drive back.”
She picks up her phone again. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s the issue with the questions?” She grabs a clipboard from an end table, thumbing through it. This must be Becky. She wanted to be here, but with the first preseason game next week, she had some other things to get ready for. I’m her responsibility but not the only hat she wears.
“Okay, as you can guess,” she says, a little out of breath as she comes back toward me. “That was Becky. There were some other questions she wanted to add. She wants me to push you. Really put everything out there in front of your family. Your parents have been through enough, though.”
My blood is boiling. My parents have been by me through my entire shitshow, and I knew there would be tough questions, but not in the way I know Becky wants.
“What I’m planning then to appease Becky is to stick to the script, but the harder questions will be you and me, talking about your parents. You sharing it, not them. If you can get them out of here for a little bit, we’ll do it after this.”
She’s going to bat for me. Her compassion, in the way her voice lowers to keep this from my parents, does something to me, more so, with her since I realized she was my adolescent crush. And my parents, they’d endure anything for me, and with her secrecy, I know she understands this, too.
“I’m sorry, Kieran. It’s not my intention to cause your family pain. Sure, I want to address the obvious, but…”
It’s instinctual to reach for her hand. “First, you’re doing your job, second, it’s not your fault I put my parents through hell, and third, you’re going out of your way for me. This means a hell of a lot, sweetheart.”
At the mention of her pet name, she rewards me with a real smile. It’s bright and sincere, meeting the gray orbs of her eyes.
“You’re welcome, Kier.” She walks away as the cameramen begin arguing about natural light and such. My sister shimmies up to me.
“Close your mouth, Kieran.” I don’t turn my body to my sister’s bratty comment. “You’ve always had the hots for her. I’m glad instead of being a bully, you’re letting her see the real you. At least you learn from your mistakes, eventually.”
“Who the hell calls liking someone, having the hots for them?” I tease, tickling her. “And also, how about you tell me what’s going on with you, little Sis?” I ask.
“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know? By the way, can I crash at your place next weekend? I have plans in Seattle, but I won’t bug you, and that way, I can catch your game.”
Maybe I’ll get a little glimpse as to what’s going on in her life this way. “Sure, Sis, whenever.” But I never take my eyes off Leela.
“Okay, everyone,” Leela begins. “My questions will be direct, but we can edit around anything you may feel is too much. As I’ve shown you all the questions, everyone has an idea of what you’re going to say.”
My mother is ghost white. Leela gives me a little head jut toward my mom. “Leela, could you give us just a second, please?” I ask.
My sweetheart stands, and with one snap of her fingers, the camera crew disperses. She kneels near my mother. “Mrs. O’Hennessey, the good thing is that we can edit out anything.”
“Thanks, dear,” my mom replies. “I’m fine. I really am.”
My heart hurts for her because she’s nervous. Her fear is saying something that will paint me in the wrong way.
“Mom, we can do this with just Dad and Molly, if that’s easier?”
“No, Son, I can do this.” Her attention is on Leela, who is at my left. “Call your crew back. I’m ready.”
Leela clears her throat, and the cameras turn on, giving us a second to adjust to the lights. “Okay, we’re going to get started right away. Mrs. O’Hennessey, can you tell me what kind of child Kier was?”
My mother beams at the question. “Oh, he was always so busy. Full of energy. And sweet. Can’t forget how sweet he was.”
Leela laughs at this. “Are you telling me he was a mama’s boy?”
My own face blushes at her question. But I don’t care if the whole world knows. As long as my mom is comfortable.
“Oh, yeah, he was certainly a mama’s boy. It’s not something I’m sure he wants aired for everyone to hear, but he was.”
“And, Kier, what do you have to say about this revelation?” The redness on my face has to be seen on the camera. But Leela is calming her with my mom’s favorite subject matter—her kids.
“I’ve always been close to my mom. She taught me to cook at an early age. She would be out with Dad and me when we threw the ball around.”
Her questions are more of a personal nature, how I was as a child, a student. My dad talks about his own football career, which ended after college. She showcases us as an athletic family, which is true, to this day. My mother still plays tennis, my sister coaches junior high volleyball and basketball, and my dad and I still shoot hoops.
It’s not until this is covered that Leela shifts in her seat, and I understand more hard questions will follow.
“Siobhan, I know you’re very proud of your son. And you should be. But could you explain what went through your mind when you’d see
weekly reports of the choices Kier was making?”
I had seen the questions. This has been one of them, and probably the hardest, but my mom has always been my number one cheerleader. “As his mother, of course I was disappointed, but also as his mom, I felt I had a responsibility to him. We raise our kids the best we know how and hope that their lives will be full. But my job as his parent doesn’t change just because he’s an adult. Sure, I couldn’t put him over my knee anymore, but to say I was complacent in his behavior would be wrong. And as far as what really pushed him to strive for a change—the fear of losing this love he has for the game has been the reason for the turnaround. And as hard as it was for him at the time, and no matter how much it hurt me to watch him suffer through his consequences, it was probably the best thing that happened.”
A tear threatens to fall from her face, and as my eyes connect with Leela, I silently plead for a reprieve.
“Okay, guys, let’s take a break.” My mom excuses herself for a moment, and my father follows her.
I retreat into the kitchen for a breather. I spread my hands out onto the counter, my way of not punching something. “Your mom’s doing well in there.”
I twist my body around and am instantly lost in the gray orbs of Leela’s. “Thanks. And thank you for giving us a little break.”
“Sure. The one thing I know without a shadow of a doubt is how much you love your family, and your mother, in particular. That part about being a mama’s boy? Priceless.”
In our little encounter, I know she’s trying to encourage me.
“Listen, we don’t have much more. You and I can deal with the harder questions, then we’ll be done.”
I watch as she leaves, but then the funniest thing happens. She twists her entire body around and imparts the sexiest wink. I know she knows this will give me the encouragement to get past the next several hours. And fuck, I love her for this little tiny gesture of hers.
Chapter 10
Leela
“That’s a wrap,” I say after Molly answers the last question concerning her relationship with her famous brother.
“I understand you have some one-on-one questions for Kieran?” Mrs. O’Hennessey asks. When I give her a little nod, she continues, “We’re heading out to lunch. Need us to bring anything back for you two?”
I shake my head because I plan to vacate this house as soon as I can. Being here with Kieran is messing with my head. I see the changed man, but after being an asshole for a good portion of his life, can he really truly and honestly change?
“I’ll just eat leftovers from last night, but thanks, Mom,” Kier replies.
“I adore your mother. The questions seemed easier for her after her little break.” I’m scanning everything Becky had emailed me. Most of them I don’t agree with, but I choose three to concentrate on.
“Okay, do you mind if we get started? I’d like to get home. I love helping my mama in the kitchen. And with Nona there, I’m sure there’s going to be plenty of wine.”
“Yeah, sweetheart, let’s go ahead and start.”
This time, the cameraman follows us as Kier leads me through his childhood home, showing me walls of pictures of him and his sister. He coins it his mom’s personal wall of fame. We finish the tour in the kitchen, sitting down at the table.
“So, I have to ask you, Kier, watching your parents during the interview, was it hard to see how upset your decisions made them?”
He takes in a long breath. “Yeah, I’ve been recently reminded, not just with my past in the league but also with my past with other individuals—I was a jerk. And the term jerk really isn’t harsh enough. But since the particular word for me can’t be said on the air, jerk will have to do. I haven’t been a very nice man, not for a while. And when New York released me, I had to do some serious soul searching. So now, I’m content with the man I’ve become. It may take others a while to trust me, and I’m up for this challenge, but I know who I am now. When it comes to my parents, though, the hurt I’ve caused them physically sickens me.”
I had two more questions to ask him, but I’ve been given jurisdiction over my piece, my art as I like to call it. And I’ll be damned if I do more than I’m comfortable with.
“Thanks, Kier, for the tour. And for sharing your parents with all of us.” At the way my voice hitches and the words I use, my camera crew understands I’m done.
“That’s it? I thought there would be more.”
“Nope, I decide what goes into my piece, and I’m happy with what we’ve gotten.”
I wait for my crew to pack up, and I pull out my bag that contains my interview necessities. Kier’s right next to me, and he isn’t making my retreat easy.
“Hey, Leela, before you leave, I have one favor to ask of you. And don’t shoot me down right away. At least think about it.”
“Hell, Kieran, you know how to really sell a woman on something.”
With a shrug, he continues. “Can you give me thirty minutes of your time tonight? I won’t interfere with family dinner. Just—”
I cut him off, “Okay, I’ll think about it. I’ll text you?”
“Okay.” His signature megawatt smile is blinding but beautiful. I don’t want to let my guard down, but something inside me is screaming to do just this.
It’s eight o’clock, and I have to give it to the arrogant asshole. He’s not pestered me. But with his eyes begging me earlier to say yes, I pull out my phone.
Me: Everyone is leaving soon. If you still want thirty minutes and not a second longer, I’ll be ready on my porch at 10 p.m. Don’t you dare be late.
As if he’s been sitting on his phone, I receive a return text right away under what I programmed him as.
Bully Asshole: Great. See you then.
I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into, but since I still have a little bit more time with my nona, I pour myself a glass of red wine and try not to think of what Kieran has planned.
When the clock reads 9:40, I mosey upstairs, putting my Converse on with my skinny jeans and black T-shirt I’d changed into after the interview. After adding some fresh mascara, a spray of my perfume, and pulling a comb through my wild hair, I’m downstairs and at the door.
“There’s some weirdo waiting for you outside,” my nona calls after me. This makes me giggle, and when I open the door, it’s Kier, in a suit, with a bouquet of white carnations.
I instantly look at myself, realizing I’m underdressed. “Um, should I change?” I ask.
He closes the space between us, handing me the flowers. “No, not at all. You look perfect.” He pulls me by the hand, and I allow him, as he opens the door to his SUV.
“I said thirty minutes,” I remind him.
With a little wink, he responds, “I know. And if you want to amend your allotted time with me, that’s fine. No complaints on my end, but if you don’t, I’ll have you back here before your coach turns back into a pumpkin, Cinderella.”
I crawl into his vehicle, wondering where in tarnation he plans to take me.
The ride takes ten minutes, and we end up in the middle of nowhere in pitch blackness.
“Are you a serial killer?”
“Yeah, sweetheart, I’m a serial killer because all serial killers admit to this beforehand.” I open the door as he does. “Stay put, let me come around and get you.”
The flashlight on his phone illuminates the darkness. He extends his hand to mine, and I take it. He pulls out something from the back of the SUV, and we continue to walk.
“Are you going to tell me what this is?”
“Yep, but in just a second.” We walk maybe twenty steps, and he stops. “Have a seat.” He shines his light at a portable chair behind me. “But do me a favor, sweetheart. I need you to close your eyes for a second.”
“Um, okay, but everyone knows I’m with you, so if you kill me, you’ll be the main suspect.”
His chuckle calms my nervousness. “Duly noted, sweetheart.”
I hear shuffling around
me, and with my eyes closed, I sense light around what had just been pitch black, but I don’t open them, not yet.
His footsteps approach, and his hands connect with mine as he pulls me toward him. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”
Around an empty field are the sparkling white lights you see at Christmastime. I notice four poles maybe six feet tall in a square and one pole in the middle. Each pole has lights wrapped up and around it and then strung in the air to all meet in the middle.
On his phone, he hits something, and music begins—Justin Timberlake’s “What Goes Around… Comes Around.” I’m not lost on the song, the meaning of it, or the fact that I was a total Justin Timberlake groupie fan when I was younger.
“You remember I loved him growing up?” I ask, not mentioning the structure he erected for me or the song or something I spy in his hand.
He opens it, and there’s another corsage. “Since the first one probably got thrown away, here’s the one I should have slid on your hand the night of the dance.” He extends his hand to mine. “Can I have this dance, please?”
I give him my hand as he leads me onto the makeshift dance floor of grass under the lights. He wraps his arms around my waist, and I’ve not realized until now, but I’ve barely said anything, unable to form the words.
“You’ve not said much, sweetheart. Is this okay? I know it doesn’t make up for all I’ve done—”
Putting my finger to his lips, I cut him off and quiet him. But I’m not expecting him to kiss it as he does. This sets off an excited shiver from within me as I allow him to pull me closer to him. I don’t miss the large pipe of steel poking into my stomach, and as my gaze meets his, he gives me a sheepish grin.
“Sorry, it sort of has a head of its own.” This causes the both of us to break out into a barrage of hysterical laughter.
