Igniting the Wild Sparks

by Alexander, Ren

  I snugly close my eyes, wishing Ricky would become a mute. I warningly growl, “Shut up, Tesco. I told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Finn, who else will you talk to if not Hadley or me? It’s like you’re putting up a wall or wearing a suit of armor. Why? It’s me, your best friend.” He pushes at my leg. “I know! Do you want me to call your mom? Maybe you’ll talk to Mommy.”

  I angrily face him. “Fuck no! She doesn’t need to know shit! I don’t want to talk to anyone! Leave me the hell alone!”

  He sits back, which is probably wise to put distance between us when he asks, “Do you think an affair is going on down there?”

  I finish my burning gulp before I testily shout, “Fuck, Ricky! I told you to shut the hell up!” Slamming my glass down, I hang my head over my legs as my head starts to spin.

  He doesn’t let up carving into my soul. “I don’t believe for a second that Hadley would cheat on you, so why do you?”

  Resting my elbows on my legs, I anxiously thrust my hands into my hair. “I’m not good enough for her! I’m nothing but a piece of shit and a waffling asshole full of fluffed promises! She deserves better than me!” Thoroughly agitated, I shake my head and growl, “Fuck! It’s not just the possibility of her cheating! She’s eventually going to give up and leave me!” I turn my bent head to look up at him. “Okay? Happy? Now go get me some more damn booze or go home!”

  “Why are you so fucking insecure? That’s not the Finn Wilder I know.”

  Dropping my head down, I angrily snap at the floor, “Really, Ricky? Really? Have you visited my life lately? She’s been pressuring me to change my mind! To actually marry her!”

  “You’re working through your issues. You’re getting there.”

  “No, I’m not! Every time I feel like I’m getting closer, I get yanked back like I’m on a bungee cord.” What I told Becks on Sunday when she was asleep echo in my head: Baby, please forgive me for not being the man you need. I’m trying. I’m getting closer, but I’m not there yet. When I’m ready, I want us to get married. I love you to the stars, Becks Wilder.”

  When will I ever be ready? And if I never will be, will she really accept that?

  Knowing the answer to that, I reach over to pour the rest of the Jack into my glass, forgetting I already finished it. Pissed that I’m now boozeless, I shove the bottle across the table with a loud clatter until it falls onto the floor.

  Ricky looks from the coffee table to me and takes a deep breath. “What else?”

  “What else what?” My head hurts from asking that. I lean my forehead into the palm of my hand and close my eyes.

  “Do you think Hadley saw your broadcast this afternoon?”

  I tiredly sigh and scratch my forehead. “I don’t know. She hasn’t called. She may have watched it online. I’m sure Morgan couldn’t call her fast enough, though. Fuck. She’s already mad at me. She heard you and I talking about skydiving.”

  “Holy shit, Finn. She knows?”

  I nod at the floor. “Yeah.”

  “I told you to tell her what we’ve been doing months ago! Then, you fucking announce on live Air what you plan on doing in October without talking to her first. That has to be the dirtiest and most idiotic thing I’ve seen you do. ”

  I lift my head to shoot him a shitty look. “Fuck you, Ricky.”

  “It’s the truth. You shouldn’t have done that, man, and that’s coming from me, a total dick.”

  “No joke.”

  “I don’t blame her for being pissed off at you if she does know about what you did today. She probably already heard about it.”

  “Yeah. I know this.”

  “Shit. I’d tell you to call her, but that’d be a really bad move right now.” Closing my eyes again, I nod and he asks, “Are you going to Morgan’s wedding next weekend?”

  “I doubt I’m still invited.”

  “You should be there. Morgan’s on your team, too.”

  “I don’t really think she’d care if I’m there or not.”

  “Hadley will care.”

  Rubbing the nape of my neck, I crabbily demand, “Why are you still here?”

  Not answering my question, he instead asks, “What about Saturday? Are you coaching the game now since you’re here?”

  I sit up and shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided. I know you’re quite capable.”

  “You need to be there. Not just for the team, but for–”

  “I’m going to go grab a shower.” I stand and unsteadily walk to the hallway, imparting, “You’re welcome to go home.”

  “Gee, thanks, bud. I love you, too.”

  Friday, I gather some more interviews I can do. It’s best to keep busy. If I don’t, I think, and thinking is not an option.

  “Hey, there, stranger.”

  Without glancing up from the files in the cabinet drawer, I banally say, “Hey, Cara. What do you want?” Nope. Not in the mood for stupid chitchat.

  “You okay?”

  “Yep.” I slam the filing cabinet door shut and read through a folder, wishing she’d leave my hangover and me alone.

  “You look like you had a rough night.”

  I unenthusiastically look up at Cara. She’s wearing a tight, black blouse with two opened buttons. She’s definitely pushing the office dress etiquette, especially since Hank just hired her permanently after she graduated last week.

  Peering back down to the paper I’m reading, I halfheartedly shrug. “It was definitely rougher than I had wanted.” While I was in the shower, my good friend Officer Tesco took my last bit of vodka and all my beer. Every damn bottle. That fucker is going to beg to jump out of the plane later without a parachute when I’m done with him.

  “I thought Finn Wilder liked it rough?” I look up from my folder and see her biting the corner of her lip as she smiles. I do, but Becks likes it, too. Shit. I don’t want to think about her, but then again, she’s all I can think about.

  I suspiciously narrow my eyes at her. “Who told you that?”

  “Your legions of fans.” She grins and her eyes wander over me. Is Ricky right about her having a thing for me?

  I impetuously roll my eyes. “Like they would know something personal like that.”

  Cara moves closer and her perfume floats around me. “They know what you’re like with all the dangerous stunts you do.”

  “That’s all they know.”

  “Why? Is there more to Finn Wilder than meets the eye?” I really don’t have time for this.

  Regarding her uncertainly, I impatiently ask, “Is there something you wanted?”

  She perks up. “Did you have lunch?”

  I shake my head and return to my folder. “Not hungry.”

  She touches my arm, and I jerk my head up and glance down at her hand before I look at her face again. Smiling, she says, “Let’s get out of here. We can go get some coffee and you can help me with tomorrow’s game plan.”

  “Game plan? It’s not football. You have a batting roster and assigned positions. Not hard.”

  “Please? Maybe you can also take a look at my resume? Let me know what I have to change?”

  I suppose I need to focus on the team, even if there are two distractions on it. Sighing, I throw the folder down on my desk. “Why not, I guess? I don’t want to be gone too long, though. I have shit to do. I’ll drive.”

  She grins wider. “Okay.”

  I pay for our coffees and walk over to sit down next to Cara on the corner loveseat near the fireplace.

  “I love it here,” she comments as she takes her Styrofoam cup from my hand.

  “I’ve been here once or twice,” I reply, trying to be somewhat affable. I know I’m coming off as a prick, but I just don’t have the initiative to care today.

  She sips her cappuccino. “I thought you weren’t going to be in Richmond. Didn’t you have a trip or something?”

  “Change of plans.” I take a sip of my own coffee and hope she’s not going to delve any deeper
.

  “Are you going to be at the game tomorrow now?” At least it’s reasonably safe question.

  I glance around to the nearly empty place and uninterestedly reply, “I haven’t decided.”

  She opens a folder and the sound of paper rustling draws my attention back to her. She hands me one and says, “I brought the roster with me. Is there a trick to this?”

  I shrug and she leans against me to show me the list. Looking down at the roster, I point to it and say, “You want to put some of your best batters up first to get a leg-up on the opponent, but also not leave yourself with a trail of weak ones, either. I know this isn’t a major or minor league team, but we still have some good hitters.” I take the paper and put it on the coffee table to start rewriting it, moving Cara with me. “The first batter should be Gloria since she’ll have the pitcher throw a few. That’ll give us a chance to see how the pitcher is throwing. Second, should be Brandon since he’ll at least get to second base. Grant needs to bat third since he’s our best hitter.”

  “He is? I thought—”

  “Grant is our best. After watching him during practice, he’s our most consistent batter. We can rely on him for some RBIs, at least. Fourth, is cleanup. That’s reserved for the batter who can hit the homeruns, our most powerful hitter.”

  “That would be—”

  “Amos.”

  “I guess he’s hit a few.”

  “He has. With bases loaded, he can hit a homer and send everyone in, possibly including himself.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know there was an actual strategy to the way people bat.”

  I nod as I scribble numbers with small notes next to their names. “There is.”

  She slowly says, “So, what about everyone else?”

  I place the list on her folder. “Just have them follow, whichever way you want. The cycle will eventually repeat if you can hold off the outs.”

  She frivolously laughs. “You’re so smart!”

  I skeptically chuckle and pick up my coffee. “It’s softball, not brain surgery.”

  Leaning against me again, she brushes her hand on my knee and purrs, “Still, smart is sexy.”

  I shrug. “That’s what I hear.” Not sexy enough, apparently.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  I inhale and before I take a drink, I ask, “Why’s everyone asking me that?”

  “Because there’s definitely something on your mind.”

  “Nope. Just softball.”

  “How are things with Ha—?”

  I sharply look at her and warn, “Don’t.” The pain creeps over me and I grind my teeth to push through it. Damn it.

  Cara offers a sympathetic smile at my brooding. “Oh, I see. Are things that bad between the two of you?”

  Resting my elbows on my legs, I stare down at the light-colored, wood laminate floor. “I… I don’t… I can’t.” I shake my head to finish that thought. Yes. It’s been two days since I’ve talk to my girlfriend. I’m just waiting with baited breath for the axe to fall, ripping my heart out and ending my life.

  “I’m so sorry. It looks like you need to talk, Finn. What happened? Was it because of—?”

  I cut her off at the pass again, “I can’t talk about it.” I restlessly furrow my hand into my hair and shakily sigh. It’s killing me not to talk to Becks and to know she’s down there with a man who’s in love with her, too. I’m drowning here and there’s no life preserver in sight.

  She pats my knee. “Why not?”

  With my forehead on my hand, I quietly mutter, “Because it hurts too damn much.” Fuck. In my mind, I can see them holding hands, kissing… Shit. I can’t do this!

  “Finn, it’s okay. You have friends who care about you.”

  I drop my hand and look around the shop. I can’t lose it here. People might recognize me and I’ll end up a Top Story at every water cooler in the Richmond viewing area. I impassively watch as an employee drags out a mop, taking it behind the huge potted plants dividing the small tables from the rest of the seating area that is situated around the massive fireplace.

  Cara says, “I don’t want you to be alone. I’m here if you want to talk.”

  I blink out of my stupor and again shake my head. “Thanks, but I don’t.”

  “Okay.” Leaning forward, she takes a paper from the folder on the table, brushing her tit on my arm. Feeling awkward, I move out of the way and she glances at me with a smile. When she sits back, she says, “Well, here’s my resume if you want to look at it.”

  “Sure. Why are you concerned with your resume if Hank just offered you a job at the station?”

  “I still want to keep my options open, so I can keep moving up.”

  “Oh.” She hands me the paper and I take it to examine, but not really concentrating. Nevertheless, I need to before my mind wanders to other things. As I get to the middle of the page, I notice a word that makes me unexpectedly laugh. “Urine? You actually have that word on here?”

  She laughs. “I did clean it up when I worked at that place!”

  I laugh again, and it actually feels good. “You can’t put that on a resume, Cara.”

  “I’ll change it.” I keep reading, but stop to chuckle about it every other sentence.

  Casually, she puts her hand back on my knee, but then astonishingly slides it up to my thigh. An alarm sounds in my head, stopping me, yet I don’t stop her. I want to ask what she’s doing, but she’s not really doing anything wrong. I’m not the one who ran off with… It feels nice to be consoled, even if it’s not the woman I want telling me that everything is going to be okay.

  I clear my throat and say, “I don’t see anything else that stands out.” I lay the resume down on the coffee table and her fingers squeeze my leg. Why does her touch feel good right now? I’ve never wanted her to touch me before.

  Taking in a deep breath, I fleetingly peer around the small area around us, unsure of what to do. Part of me wants to jump up and drive straight to wherever the hell Becks is. While the other part of me just wants to shut everything and everyone out so I can wallow in my own madness alone.

  She says, “That’s a relief.” I reluctantly glance at her and she smiles as she strangely studies my face.

  “Yeah. Just that one fix.” I chuckle again, thinking about what she had on there. Her blue eyes sparkle from a combination of the overhead lighting and the sunlight coming in from the plate glass window next to us. Before I look away, she unexpectedly leans in and kisses me. At first, my mind goes blank like it does when I dive, but then the one thing I can’t stop thinking about floods my mind and the pain rages through me.

  Do I kiss her back?

  What if the pain doesn’t go away?

  What if it does?

  CHAPTER 19

  Saturday afternoon, I pull into the spare parking spot in front of Finn’s apartment, or my spot as it soon will be…sometime…maybe.

  Only an hour before, I returned home from North Carolina. My apartment was devoid of Finn’s things, leaving me to feel empty and abandoned. Figures he’d come back here after our last time on the phone. He’s pouting, which he has every right to since I botched his surprise trip for me. I still feel so guilty about that.

  Yet, on the other hand, because he lied to me and publicly gave me the metaphorical middle finger, he can shove it up his moping ass.

  Since his car is here, I mentally prepare for an argument, and I’m so ready to give him one. I don’t want to have one right before our game, but it can’t be avoided and will be better for us to get it over with before we appear together in front of the team. He has to hear me out and understand that I’m in love with him, not Rod, and that I won’t put up with his jealousy anymore.

  On his end, if he doesn’t take reverse his plan to suicide jump from that thing, then he’d better be ready for me to tear his balls off on live TV.

  I bound up the steps, smoothing my red Legal Eagles shirt when I reach the porch. Although I’m mad at S
parks, I smile at my number 11— his number 11—and fine-tune my ponytail before I turn the door handle. Locked. I use my key to open the door and step into the quiet apartment, taking a careful look around. Dirty dishes and a couple cereal boxes litter the counters. In the living room, I notice the two glasses on the coffee table, and the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor. Why in the hell is a bottle on the floor? He can’t even clean up after himself?

  Sighing, I walk to the bathroom to check there, since I had missed it last time. The door is open. No Finn. I then go to his bedroom and push open the door. His bed is unmade, clothes are all over the floor, and an empty bottle of Jim Beam adorns his nightstand. He’s been drinking way more than I originally thought he was. I now have my reason why he didn’t call me back. Oh, Sparks.

  “Finn?” I don’t even know why I call out for him when I just checked almost every room. I poke my head into the spare bedroom, which is his office, but nothing stands out.

  Returning to the kitchen, I look around for a missed note he might have left me amid the clutter. Nope. I didn’t bring my phone since I inadvertently let the battery die. I plugged it in and left it at home, so if he called within the past 20 minutes, I wouldn’t know it.

  I check his patio, but he’s not outside, either. Where could he be? Maybe Ricky picked him up and they went to the field early. That’s a possibility. Or, maybe he drove to West Virginia to give his fucking bridge the good news in person. That’s an even greater possibility.

  I clean up some of the mess before I leave, so there’s not that to contend with if I come back here after the game. God. I don’t even know where I’ll be staying tonight. If I had to pick right now, it wouldn’t be here for a while.

  After locking up, I drive to Byrd Park, where we’ll be playing our games. It’s also the park where Rod cried for Eden. As I pull in, I notice Rod’s gray truck right away. I then see him talking on the phone, while hanging over the side of the truck bed with his bright red cap on backwards. Only Rod.

  Walking up to his truck, I hear him say, “You wish. Whatever. Don’t try your damn voodoo shit on me.” He randomly glances my way, and seeing me, he straightens and says, “I gotta go. Later, bitch.” Rod hangs up and smiles at me. “What up? Long time, no see, slut puppy!”