Earlier—before Sra. Lopes interrupted—I had a chance to come clean. All I had to say was, Phoebe I know what happened.
It’s way too late to go to Phoebe and say, I have the funniest story to tell you about your mom and Avó’s home.
Fuck.
I didn’t think this through. I just set the kickoff tee randomly on the ground without aiming for the upright. I never stopped to consider all the angles. I’m in a relationship with Phoebe. This isn’t friendship only. If I close my eyes and imagine my five-year plan, her face is right there.
My heart does this odd little skip when I think about her. Darkness lurks on the edges when I allow myself to project a time where she’s absent from my life. It’s like running straight at the goalpost. Whoosh. All the air blasts out of my lungs. All along we’ve been headed here. It hits me then. How hard I’ve fallen for her.
I love Phoebe.
I’ve denied it so long when I finally accept the truth, emotion staggers me by its intensity because it’s much more consuming than anything I ever felt for Aubrey.
Nothing like having an epiphany outside the taco shack. All things considered, I deserve to remember this quirky place every time I recall this earth-shattering moment.
I need time and space to come up with a game plan. What to say so we can start over with honesty. That’s the only path for me. For us.
Is it?
There’s a whisper of a voice inside my head that suggests maybe she doesn’t need to know. No. That’s a cop-out, and a stupid move like punting on first down. My lungs compress. I can’t do it. I can’t play that game with her.
The sin of omission.
She needs to hear the full truth. From me. At the first opportunity. Regardless of consequence. It’s the right thing to do.
I promise myself we’ll sit down. Talk it out. Explain why I didn’t say anything back at the hall before Sra. Lopes interrupted. Give her a chance to ask questions. About why I didn’t tell her straight out from the beginning. Make her understand when things changed for me. For us.
Planning for this conversation helps center me. But when I imagine possible outcomes my focus boomerangs like a football bouncing off a goalpost. What if she walks away from me? What if she was joking about falling for me?
I need to prepare for success, that’s all—plan for every contingency or question she might ask. I need to run it by Faith, get her take. Nah. Bad idea. Phoebe has to know first, or she might forfeit, and I’ll be fucked.
I need to talk to Everest. He always has a plan. Sending the mountain a text instantly relieves the pressure building between my shoulder blades.
I hustle toward the dorm’s parking lot where I left my car what feels like hours ago now. Just in case, I need to head over to his place. I want to be near my ride. There’s an urgency to create a plan and have a clear path to follow.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Busy now. Meet at my place in two hours.
I add a like reaction to his text.
Two hours. Damn it. Too long.
I send a text to Phoebe. Will you need a ride after work?
The area surrounding Fortis is sketch. You have to be careful not to walk farther than the four-block radius in any direction outside-campus. Once past the dorms and businesses like Goose’s, Ike’s, and Philz, it’s much more dangerous. The pretty landscape and Roman-style architecture of Fortis get replaced by metal roll-up doors and steel bars on glass windows. Same for the gym.
After a minute my phone buzzes. No. Thx.
I can’t win for losing today. I don’t like the fact she doesn’t want a ride from me.
Sending another text to her I type: Fine. Plz use Rides.
Take a moment. Think things through, I admonish myself. Calm down and figure out why I have a sense of urgency now. Is it because my blinders are gone? I love her, and I don’t want anything to get wedged between us?
What if she doesn’t love you? Shit. What if she wants nothing more to do with me once I clue her in about knowing about her mom and the scams in Vegas? I grow cold at the thought of Phoebe banishing me from her life.
She didn’t want to talk about it either.
Maybe I should wait for a better opportunity to reveal what I know? We haven’t exactly hit cruise control on our relationship. It’s early days, probably best to give us a chance to find some happy.
My family has an attorney. He’s working our case. Maybe this will all go away without any need to have some big talk about it. I have to believe she cut ties with her mom, regardless of phone calls from jail. The Phoebe I’ve grown to love doesn’t hurt people. She’s fair.
Decision made, I text Everest: Situation resolved. See you at practice tomorrow.
I make another call. One that’s long overdue because my brain is fucking scattered and I’ve been shit at balancing priorities.
“Detective Cabrillo,” the voice on the other end of the phone answers.
“It’s Tiago Trindade. I’m calling to see if you’ve made any progress on the title scam affecting my family’s home.”
“We found the person hired to turn in the paperwork to the county recorder’s office. They found him on Craigslist. He received the title packet via a remailing company. We’re digging to find the sender, but we’ve hit a dead end there. They covered their tracks.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re building a case against unknown perpetrators. I’ll unravel this case thread by thread.”
“Have you reached out to the cops in Henderson yet?”
“Where?”
Shit. Fuck. Damn. I told them before when I first reached out. This is what I get for my lack of follow-through. “Henderson, Nevada. Title scams happened there first. Maybe you want to talk to the cops about Helen Sharpe.”
I feel a pinch of guilt mentioning Phoebe’s mom, but then I think fuck it. She started this bullshit, she deserves to pay for it, too.
*
This morning I drove Avó to the Japanese Friendship Gardens. Happy to get out of the house, she was in a great mood. Once we started walking the grounds she became confused but tried to hide it. She didn’t remark on the beauty of the gardens or the koi ponds. I realized then she wouldn’t remember this visit.
Another loss for her, and myself.
I managed to avoid Everest in the weight room. Hell, I make sure to evade the rest of the team, too. Except Baloo, who I begged to keep his trap shut over yesterday’s events. He nodded. Then he sent a text to Phoebe about meeting him for coffee sometime soon.
I was forced to remind him about dibs.
He laughed in three syllables. Ah. Ah. Ah. Then told me I was acting the fool with Phoebe. That girl is savage hot.
I hate the fact he has a point.
I’m still obsessing over her and my decision to keep quiet when I get home. Trying to focus on my Lit paper before my shift, I keep losing concentration.
A knock sounds on my door. “Come in.”
Avó opens the door. “Tiago, your mommy wants you to eat before work.”
“I’m writing a paper for school.”
She walks over to my desk. She drops a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re not writing. Your mind is on Phoebe.”
I raise her hand to my lips and press a kiss to the back of her hand. “Me abençoe, Avó.” I ask for her to bless me. It’s something I used to do every time I took a nap here when I was still young enough to take them.
“Que deus te abençoe.”
She asks God to bless me. And it’s so normal, so much a part of our relationship, that I can pretend nothing’s wrong. But my chest feels tight because she’s already losing these moments of clarity.
I draw her in for a hug. I want to share my strength with her, and yet she’s so fragile I have to be careful not to bruise her. “Eu te amo.”
I want her to know how much I love her. I need her to hear the words. I pray her brain will be capable of holding this memory. I’ll take her back to that garden because I want
her to remember.
“Tiago, you need to eat before work.”
Food will always be a foremost thought in any Portuguese mother or grandmother’s mind. I grin at her. “Sure, let’s go to the kitchen.”
We walk down the hall to the kitchen, past the spare bedroom where my dad spends his days in the hospital bed we rented for his comfort. The door is shut, closed off from the rest of the family. Self-inflicted isolation, but we all carry the weight of the pain.
Mom looks up and smiles at us when we enter. “Good, now you can eat so you won’t starve while you work.”
“God forbid,” I say, but I lean in to kiss Mom’s cheek. “Thanks. I appreciate you.” Her eyes fill with tears and they alarm me. “What did I say?”
“You’re a good boy, Tiago.”
I pull her in for a hug, and she squeezes me. Mom shoulders too many worries. This thing with the house. The lawyer we hired makes thirty times per hour more than I do. It’s just one more expense we have to try to pay. And my mother stands beneath the weight of that debt. “Eu te amo.”
“I love you, too.”
“Okay, I’ve gotta go to work.”
“Take your sandwich.”
“I never forget food.”
Mom swats me with the kitchen towel. And I lean down to kiss Avó. “Have a good day. I’ll see you later.”
“Que? Fala Português.”
Oh, God. I glance over at Mom, and her mouth is wide open. She noticed it, too. Avó speaks English. Her mind, sharp a few minutes ago, became as jagged as a broken mirror. The fragment shards all but scattered. I close my eyes against the pain. One day she won’t know me. The part of my heart that belongs to Avó will shrivel and die.
“Adeus.”
“Tiago, onde você vai?”
“O trabalho.”
She nods, and pats my forearm. “Be good. Work hard.”
And she’s back. “Of course. Bye. Hey, Dad. I’m leaving.” He probably won’t hear me through the closed door. But I refuse to mirror his silence. I grab my sandwich and go out the door. Between Dad and Avó, I can’t take much more. The screwed-up fact is we haven’t started down the truly ugly path with her yet.
How fucking depressing.
Unlocking the door to my car, I climb inside. Before fastening my seat belt, I take a deep breath. Unless I want to act like a raving idiot at work, I’ll have to shut down this emotion.
After backing down the driveway I start the short trek to work. While tamping down the need to chew and tear apart more than bread and meat, I reach the parking lot at the gym and pull into the first available space behind the building.
My shift will last five hours. I don’t have any homework due, just the Lit paper I’ll need to finish. But that will take more brain space than I have right now. As long as everyone behaves, lifting weights will allow me to do something mindless.
I spot Caity on the treadmill behind the desk. My stomach drops out. Five hours. Three hundred minutes. That’s how long I might be forced to put up with her. Unless she leaves soon. Doubtful. A sharp point of pain spears between my shoulders like someone rammed a shiv between the blades.
I keep walking without a hitch in my stride. She glances toward me and I see something lurk on her face that tells me she’s been planning something ugly, just waiting for her prey to arrive.
I set my keys in the drawer behind the desk.
Leslie, our personal trainer and instructor, steps up to the desk. “Thank God you’re here.”
She’s breathless, and I’m alarmed because normally she’s as steady as a rock. “What’s up?”
“Can you teach my spin class?”
At least it’s not a medical issue. That’s where my mind went. “Yes, why?”
She looks around before leaning into my shoulder and whispering urgently, “There’s a member giving me the creeps. He’s tried to corner me twice in the room before anyone else showed up.”
I go to the monitor with our video feeds. I expand the room with the cycle bikes. “Which one?”
“Him.” She points at a short, but fit bald guy who has to be at least twenty years older than Leslie.
“Got it. Look, stay on the desk.” I lean in to her to whisper, “I’ve got my own issue with the blonde on the treadmill behind us.”
Leslie nods without looking over her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I know who you’re talking about.”
“Cool.” I grab a clean workout towel from the drawer under the computer. “Call Sonny. He needs to be aware of the situation.”
She mouths the f-word. “You’re right. Shit.”
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
“Appreciate you, TJ.”
“Back at you,” I say. And head up to the spin class. I’m her first replacement in case she gets sick or has the day off. Natalie, our part-timer, fills in for Leslie when she goes on vacation. But she’s not on the clock today.
I spot the asshole as soon as I step into the room. I don’t want to clue him in that I’ll be teaching the class, because that will leave Leslie vulnerable and alone downstairs until Sonny shows up.
He starts talking to a striking Asian woman on the cycle next to his who has to be about ten years older than me, but at least twenty years younger than him.
Won’t this be fun.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her expression freeze. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know he’s full-on creeping her.
Her gaze darts toward me and our eyes meet and lock on. His back faces me. I mouth, “Follow my lead.”
She nods ever so slightly to let me know she’s with me.
I stroll over to them. I smile at the woman, putting everything I’ve got behind it. She kind of startles, but her lips curve in return.
“Hey, I’m TJ. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself the last time we were in this room together.”
“TJ, it’s nice to meet you,” she says evenly. “I’m Chelsea.”
“Chelsea, I’m going to ask you to move. This cycle gave us trouble during the last class. Why don’t you take that one?” I point at an empty cycle between two other women.
When I hear his sharply indrawn breath, I wait for the explosion. Men like this guy are clichés, fifty looms and suddenly they look around at their lives and devolve into instant dissatisfaction. They think, Is this all there is? I want more. I’ve earned more. So they dissolve their marriages to find more.
Families are traded and wives are upgraded.
Chelsea hustles over to the other cycle, shooting me a relieved smile when she climbs on.
“I thought the blonde was going to teach this class,” he asks.
“Nope, she set up the room for me.”
I can’t push him too far. Just enough to keep him in this room proving he’s still got it, and everyone wants it. I figure out my approach to poke at him and get his ego involved.
I nod at him. “Do you need help setting up the cycle? It can be confusing for…” my pause is deliberate, and I finish with a stammer “…first timers.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s not physics. Like a soft toss from a weak pitcher or as easy as having an inexperienced teacher lead the way.”
I lean closer to him, like I’m sharing a secret. “Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow.” I wink at him, then wait for the butt-wipe to climb on the cycle.
Before taking a position on the instructor’s cycle, I study the room’s occupants. When my gaze lands on Chelsea she mouths, “Thank you.”
Most of the cycles are occupied; members are ready to get started.
I hit the remote for Leslie’s music to start, and we’re off. I recognize most of the people in the class. Though the asshat and Chelsea don’t look familiar to me. The nice thing about spin is that you can have a triathlete next to a first timer. Each person sets the tension they want on the cycle.
My gaze remains fluid, checking on members, making sure everyone is okay. I keep my expression neutral. No one needs help as the first song ends
and the next begins. I call out a couple of changeups now that we’re beyond warming up. Some people groan; others pedal along without comment.
I monitor the creeper’s session and make sure my numbers are consistently higher than his. It’s not an issue at all. But I keep my eye on him for two reasons. First, if he passes out, I can call nine-one-one, and making eye contact stomps on his buttons.
His focus should be squarely on me. Not stewing over his missed opportunity with Chelsea. Sweat runs down his face like rain on glass, and I’m perspiration-free.
Pushing my body into conditioning mode, the space where I can run or pump my legs forever, allows my body to reach peak rhythm. Now my shirt blooms with wet patches. Years of being an athlete, especially playing competitive soccer, have molded my endurance to sustained activity. You have to be able to run the pitch for forty-five-minute halves. There are times when play slows, but if Coach ever saw you get winded, you’d get pulled out of the game. And your next two weeks of endurance training would suck donkey scrotum.
As a placekicker, I don’t have to endurance run anymore. I lift and condition with the team, and here at the gym, but I no longer have to run for forty-five minutes at a time. I do it because I love it and I don’t want to lose my speed. There’s satisfaction in hitting my stride and maintaining the upper edge of my performance ability. But in this room, it’s boiled down to me and the shithead. I’m so deep in the zone I nearly forget to call out transitions to the class.
Standing up is one of the transitions he doesn’t do well. I should be ashamed of myself for enjoying the look of terror that crosses his face when he tries to stand. But he made Leslie and then Chelsea feel threatened. Fuck him.
At minute thirty-eight Sonny slides into the room.
I know he’s there to chat with the loser who decided the gym is the new hunting ground for his next date. Sonny will let him know continued harassment of other guests at the gym will get you a fast-track veto of your membership.
Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2) Page 21
