Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2)

by C. R. Grissom

  Rummaging through my pack, I double-check my bag. I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything. I kiss Grams on the run and take off for work. My shift starts in less than an hour.

  I remember every caress on my way to work.

  “Hey, Goose. Hi, Dawn,” I say, stepping inside the restaurant when they both glance at me.

  Dawn’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “What?”

  “There’s something different about you.”

  I can’t brag about having mind-blowing sex with Tiago, so I say, “It’s gorgeous out. You guys don’t realize how nice your weather is because you’ve lived here too long.”

  “The weather never put that look in my eye,” she observes.

  “Shut it, you.” I laugh while I go put my backpack on one of the hooks that line the wall near the employee restroom. I choose the hook closest to an outlet and charge my now-dead phone.

  “Goose, where do you want me today, in the suit, or waiting on tables?”

  “Table service today, Phoebe. You’re on umbrella tables. Dawn has the regular picnic tables this evening.”

  I grab an order pad, and head outside. Dawn stops me.

  “I know what you’ve been up to.” She bobs her eyebrows.

  “Shh. Don’t broadcast it.”

  “Why not? If someone put a smile that wide on my face, I’d be cawing from the rooftops.”

  She surprises a giggle from me. “And when it happens to you, I’ll help put the word out.”

  “M-hmm.”

  A few hours pass. We’re busy and there’s little downtime, except for a quick fifteen-minute break about two hours earlier that I spent eating a street taco and resting my feet.

  I’m clearing off my last table when Goose taps me on the shoulder. “Your shift is up,” he informs me taking the tray I’ve piled with the remains of my last customer’s meal. “I’ll see you Sunday afternoon.”

  “Thanks.”

  I wash my hands at the bathroom sink. Check my face. Yup. Still glowing. I grab my charger from the outlet and check my phone. I’d powered it off to charge. I didn’t think about turning it on until now.

  Wow. What the hell? My phone is blowing up in my hand. I have no idea what’s causing my phone to act like a slot machine that just hit a jackpot. I quickly turn the sound button off. Heart wheeling in my chest, I try to figure out which app is vomiting notifications at me. My hands shake. I have some messages, but that’s not what’s going viral.

  Pressing my cell against my chest, I wait for it to stop going haywire. My heart slaps against my ribs in tune with the mobile buzzing like an angry hornet’s nest. It takes five full minutes before it stops vibrating. Well, it doesn’t stop, but the buzzing slows considerably.

  Whatever happened or hit the fan will not be any easier to handle in front of Goose or Dawn or Jorge, one of our cooks. I slip my phone into my pocket and sling my bag over my shoulder. Ducking around the building to the parking lot, I unlock my phone.

  Something that went viral got posted to KickBack. There are almost six hundred notifications. I haven’t had this many notifications since I changed my account and dropped my last name. The number keeps increasing while I take deep breaths to prepare myself for the fuckstorm.

  Clicking into the app, I see I’ve been tagged on each post. I recognize Caity’s KickBack account name. She tagged the Gladiator football team, which includes all the coaches. There’s more text under a video captured from an app called Neighborhood. My anxiety has reached new heights, and I’m having trouble focusing on the small print.

  I hit the play button. I don’t understand. There are angry voices off camera, but just two cop cars in the frame. Is she stalking Tiago through this app?

  The camera shifts, Tiago is explaining to a cop about a freaking creeper that got kicked out of the gym. Is she trying to get him fired from the gym? I don’t understand. Then the so-called creeper enters the frame. It’s Calvin. Mom’s boyfriend. I drop my phone. My ears start ringing and my vision starts to telescope. I slide down the side of the building and force my head between my knees, so I don’t pass out. My body goes ice cold in early October heat.

  The video plays on. The name-calling. When I hear two female voices scream, I grab my mobile. I’ve stepped into a nightmare where my worlds have collided.

  Calvin charges Tiago but gets held back by one of the cops.

  Tiago eggs him on. I shake my head, cautioning Tiago. Don’t piss him off. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing. But Tiago can’t hear me.

  Tiago kicks the for sale sign. It topples and skids across the grass.

  One of the cops tackles Tiago and cuffs him. Cold sweat pops between my breasts and at my hairline. No. No. No. Avó stands next to a younger woman, who must be Tiago’s mom. Both women are ashen. Then his mother screams when he’s pushed onto the lawn face down.

  Avó crumples to the porch. His mother calls out in terror.

  No. No. No. Tears stream down my face. This can’t be happening. Not again. Not here. Not to Tiago’s family.

  Tiago tries to stand.

  One of the cops tells him to stay put.

  Tiago says something to that cop, but his voice doesn’t carry so his words aren’t heard. The cop hurries over to join the other cop near Avó and Tiago’s mother.

  “No. Don’t,” I whisper. Don’t leave Calvin. Even the guy filming bobbles his phone because the video tilts but when he warns, “Hey, asshole. Stop. He’s just a kid.”

  All the air in my lungs escapes as Calvin stalks toward Tiago. When Calvin’s shoe connects with Tiago’s head, the sound carries like someone kicked a cantaloupe.

  I gag. Crawling to the metal can, I manage to throw up the remains of my street taco into the garbage. Wiping my mouth on the hem of my shirt. Tiago remains unmoving on the ground.

  An ambulance screams to a stop in front of the house. EMTs efficiently strap Avó to a backboard and load her into the ambulance. I’m sobbing because she looks so frail on the gurney. And Tiago remains still on the ground.

  One cop cuffs Calvin, and the other dashes over to Tiago. He’s speaking, but again, the sound doesn’t carry. But it looks as though Tiago might be conscious.

  The other cop takes Calvin to the squad car. Vicious asshole. I hope they leave him there to fucking rot.

  Tiago’s mother races to him. She has words with the cop. Her angry, tear-stained face becomes burned into my memory.

  The cop helps Tiago to his knees. I almost faint when the camera captures his face. One of the EMTs quickly checks Tiago. He places a pad over Tiago’s eye and gently tapes it into place. He says something to the cop and then runs to the ambulance.

  They take off, but the sirens are silent and the flashing lights of the strobe bar attached to the roof are the only sign they’re in a hurry.

  The film fades after Tiago is helped to the back seat of the squad car.

  Caity’s face now looms in front of the camera. “I don’t think our placekicker will be available for the game this weekend. Digging a little further, TJ Trindade and his family might have to find a new place to live. Maybe Phoebe Makenna Sharpe can pitch in? Her mother—currently a guest in the Henderson Detention Center—is notorious in Vegas for helping people out of their homes. Allegedly,” she purrs.

  She holds up her laptop to the camera showing the original headline when it all blew up back home. It reads, Henderson native, Helen Sharpe, arrested today for her suspected involvement in title scams resulting in at least thirty-three displaced homeowners.

  I’m standing behind Mom in the pic while she’s being led to the squad car. My face is blank. I remember that moment of absolute shock. Sick to my soul when they came for Mom, and I heard what she’d been a part of with Calvin. She never gave him up.

  “Gladiator fans, don’t despair yet. TJ’s family has been working with an attorney for weeks to clear up the potential title fraud. We can’t know Phoebe’s involvement with the scam, or if she helped her mom target TJ and his f
amily, allegedly. Stay tuned. I’ll be sure to post all developments.”

  I need to hide. I can’t face anyone right now, except Agnes will need to know I can’t stay with her tonight. She doesn’t answer, which works in my favor.

  At the beep, I don’t know what to say. “Agnes, it’s Phoebe. I won’t be coming home after all. Something happened earlier.” I pause to catch my breath. “Everything is sideways. Tiago—” My voice catches. “I can’t see how we’ll move past this current crap. Look, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I walk to my bike, without a thought about where I might go, except avoiding campus. I can’t risk running into anyone there. I need a quiet place to think.

  Did Tiago know?

  I start pedaling toward the diner I spent the night at all those weeks ago. A burning need pushes me to put as much distance between myself and the school as possible. This is why Caity went quiet. Stalking Tiago. Stalking me. Her patience paid off.

  Tiago. His head. The sound when Calvin’s foot connected makes me gag all over again, but I have nothing to throw up.

  There’s an empty hole where my heart once beat.

  If he didn’t have a clue, what will he think of me now? Avó on the gurney. Tiago’s mom. His dad doesn’t ever leave his room.

  Oh my God. They can’t get kicked out of their house.

  Tears pour down my face to drip off my chin. I need to talk to someone. Faith.

  What will she think?

  Oh hell. I’ve probably lost her as a friend. My only freaking friend. My stomach drops to my feet. I keep pedaling in a daze. I finally reach the diner. The waitress takes one look at my face and seats me in a corner, away from other diners. I’m so grateful.

  I order tea. Clasping the mug helps warm my hands. I wish I could forget the sound when Calvin’s foot connected with Tiago’s head.

  Earlier, I sent a text. Then I turned off my phone. I should know within the next few hours whether I’ve lost everything I’ve built here.

  Mom took Tiago away from me. I had so much more to lose this time. It’s gone.

  Tiago’s family hurt by mine.

  I made a bad bet; went all in.

  And I’ve got nothing left.

  I have to fix this for Tiago. For Avó. And lastly, for myself.

  I hear my name called, and I glance toward the voice. A sob escapes before I can stop myself.

  Faith hurries over and drops in the booth beside me. She wraps her arms around me, “Oh, Phoebe. I’m so sorry.”

  “Everyone will hate me, especially Tiago.” My breath catches.

  She passes me a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “You’re wrong about that.”

  Crying so hard now, I can’t speak.

  Faith says, “I feel you. I understand fucked-up matriarchal relationships—trust me. Your mom is not you. She’s not a reflection of who you are as a person.”

  “She never loved me. I know it sounds like I’m playing a pity card. I’m not. It’s a statement of fact. I left Las Vegas because these scams broke me. She’s responsible for cheating honest people out of their homes. And now I find out Tiago and his family will be on the street because of my mother. Why wouldn’t he hate me?” My breath stutters.

  “Listen to what you just said. She did. She scammed. Your mom is the cheater, not you. God, if people start blaming each other for their relatives, we’ll both be screwed.”

  The waitress warily approaches our table. “Can I get you something?” she asks Faith.

  “Yeah. We need some comfort food. Diet Coke for me, a platter of fries, apple pie with vanilla ice cream, and a second bowl of plain vanilla ice cream, if you have it?”

  “We do.”

  “Great. Okay if we share?”

  “Sure, honey. I’ll go put your order in,” she says kindly. “If I can manage, we’ll keep this section clear for you two girls.”

  “Thank you,” Faith says.

  I spend hours with Faith. Talking about Mom, and my current living situation. Why I carry a change of clothes. We eat. At one point, she texts Caleb and Everest asking for any info on Tiago.

  When Everest calls, Faith passes the phone to me. “How is he? Where is he?” I ask.

  “I’m heading to the hospital now. I’ll let you know when I know.”

  “Thanks, Everest. He needs you right now.”

  “He needs you, too.”

  My sob breaks free. “His dad can’t walk. He’s bedridden, and can’t afford physical therapy. They can’t lose the house, too.”

  “Phoebe, we’ll figure this out. One step at a time. He’s not alone, and neither are you.”

  *

  The next morning, I shuffle toward Grams’s door. Before I reach her apartment, she steps outside. Her face looks two shades paler than normal. Her eyes are reddened and wet. She’s clutching Gavin, who has his arm firmly around her, steadying her.

  Dread makes my heart flutter and bash against my ribs. Something is wrong. It has nothing to do with me. I’m sure of it.

  “Grams, what happened?”

  “It’s Agnes. She’s been rushed to the hospital.” Grams swallows. “They think it’s her heart.”

  My brain doesn’t process her words immediately. It’s like she’s speaking Portuguese to me. Then the words make all too much sense, and fear scorches everything inside me. Fear for Agnes who has become my mentor and my honorary grandma. My knees collapse and I sit down on the warm cement, indescribably afraid I’ll lose Agnes, too.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Oh, Phoebe. Let’s go to the hospital. We can try to find out how she’s doing. We can’t find out anything from here.”

  “Grams. When did it happen?”

  “Last night.”

  I drop my head between my knees when my vision tunnels. I’m light-headed with guilt. I spent last night at the diner. Once I sent Faith the text, I turned off my phone because of Caity’s KickBack post. I threw myself a pity party and didn’t stay with Agnes. She was alone.

  Tears blind me. “I was supposed to stay with her last night, but I didn’t.” I look up at Grams. “How long before someone found her?”

  “Phoebe, love. Don’t do this to yourself.”

  “Whisht, lass,” Gavin says softly. “Dinnae blame yourself.”

  This is all my fault. I reach into my backpack and grab my phone. I hold the button to turn it on. Last night, I turned off notifications for KickBack and shut down my phone. Glancing at the app, I see the number has climbed beyond five hundred again.

  I have fourteen phone messages. My hands shake. I can’t seem to angle my thumb properly to launch the phone app. I didn’t get a call from Tiago, which scores another mark on my heart. Continuing to scroll through voicemail to find a message from Agnes, I see one recorded at two-twelve in the morning.

  “She left a message.” I touch the icon to play and press my phone against my ear.

  Her voice sounds ragged. “Listen, kiddo. If you don’t get your heart smashed to pieces at least once in your life, you’ll never know what it means to really fall for someone.” She takes a deep breath. “Maybe you should give that boy a break, huh? Or ask him to give you one, okay? And, uh. I’m not feeling too hot. Maybe I’m having my own kind of heart issues? I’m going to call myself a ride to the hospital. I hope the boys they send over are lookers and not a bunch of duds. I’m letting you know so you don’t worry. Bye.”

  Tears drip off my chin. “Agnes left a message telling me she was planning to call an ambulance.” I make eye contact with Grams. “She didn’t want me to worry.”

  Grams joins me on the cement, and draws me into her arms. “Phoebe, don’t do this to yourself. She would be the last person on earth to want you to feel any guilt.”

  “I should have been here.”

  “Honey, sometimes we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.” She gives my shoulders a squeeze. “Whether we accept it or not.”

  Guilt presses a weight upon my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Agnes needed me. She was forced to call her own ambulance when she started to feel unwell because I wallowed.

  Boo fucking hoo.

  Whatever happens, I’ll face it because I didn’t lose everything. I have Grams, and I pray that Agnes will pull through. I hug Grams, careful not to crush her. “Can we go to the hospital?”

  “Of course, darling,” she confirms. She raises her hand. “Gavin, be a dear and help me. Sitting down is the easy part. Getting back on my feet adds difficulty.”

  We both help Grams to her feet.

  “She’s been taken to Silicon Valley Trauma. It’s only about fifteen minutes away.”

  There’s a sense of urgency making the rhythm of my heart erratic.

  We climb into Gavin’s crystal-red Cadillac sedan CTS. While it’s not new, it’s got to be as immaculate as the first time it left the showroom floor about a decade ago.

  Gavin pulls out of his parking space, and we head out of the complex. Frick and Frack sit in their golf cart in their reserved space. Observation mode. Flasher off. We’ve caught their attention because in unison their heads turn to follow our progress out of the lot as if they’re spectators at a tennis match.

  I stifle the urge to point a stiff middle finger at them.

  They aren’t worth it.

  The drive seems endless. When we pull into the parking structure for the hospital, I have to pace myself and not outdistance Grams and Gavin to the main entrance of the hospital. I might arrive a few minutes faster, but it would be unbelievably rude to leave them behind.

  When we arrive at the front desk I ask for Agnes Marlowe. “She arrived in the middle of the night or early this morning?”

  “Hmm. Are you sure she was admitted?”

  My pulse scrambles. What if she didn’t make it? My eyes fill with tears. “She would have arrived by ambulance. She wasn’t feeling well. Like maybe something to do with her heart?”

  The elderly volunteer consults a paper binder—paper—while my brain short-circuits, and my hands shake.