Swagger

by Liz Lincoln

  Marcus would be there.

  As she sat in her car, staring at the front of Celia’s house, her fingers itched to get out her phone and send Marcus a text. Better yet, call him. She wanted to share her news.

  If it weren’t for him, would she have taken the initiative and reached out to Celia? He deserved some credit for this, even if she was still angry with him. Had she made a huge mistake, ending things with him, assuming he was like all the other men in her life who thought she couldn’t do it herself?

  She shook off the thoughts and put the car in reverse. She couldn’t deal with that right now. She could only handle so many panic-inducing topics in one day.

  *

  —

  The email from his advisor at USC was like a beacon, pulling Marcus’ attention back to his laptop whenever he tried to do something else. The computer sat open on his kitchen counter, distracting him no matter where he went in the large room.

  He paced the living room, trying to work off some of the angry energy. A line from the old movie The Wedding Singer popped into his head: “Things that could have been brought to my attention yesterday.”

  He understood Adam Sandler’s character’s frustration. Someone—his advisor, perhaps—could have told him before the semester started that his geology class wouldn’t transfer. Which meant he wasn’t going to graduate this winter. He was still one class short of being eligible for his bachelor’s degree.

  Mother. Fucker.

  The kicker was, he didn’t care all that much that he wouldn’t get his degree. He had plenty of good years left before he retired from football. And he clearly didn’t need a diploma for that. Yeah, he wanted to get his degree someday, but there was no rush.

  It was his parents who wanted him to finish now. Hell, they were still pissed he hadn’t finished it when he was in LA. His father repeatedly brought up his “bonehead” decision to declare for the draft after his junior year.

  Yeah, a real bonehead decision that had been. He was living his dream and making bank.

  And really, all the unease and frustration he’d felt in the last week had nothing to do with whether or not he had a college degree. Though he could admit that if it weren’t for trying to get that college degree, he never would have met Bree, so at least he had that.

  He still hadn’t figured out a way to earn her forgiveness. It was hard, because while he understood she didn’t like what he’d done, and he could understand given her ex and her family and her advisor, why she took it the wrong way—he got all that—he didn’t quite see how he’d done anything wrong. Those guys had all tried to change her. He’d simply opened a door. What was wrong with trying to help someone you cared deeply about? Hell, someone you loved?

  God, it was killing him to have realized he was in love with her now that he didn’t have her. Which was all the more reason why he had to figure out a way to get her back. Part of him thought maybe it could be as simple as calling her and asking her out to dinner so they could talk.

  But that was probably wishful thinking.

  His computer pinged, indicating a new email message. It was probably either spam or notice of an electronic bill. Inevitably something to piss him off more. But he was apparently a masochist, because he headed for the counter to check the message.

  Ralene James, MD

  His mom. Perfect.

  Even better, the subject read, “Graduation Party.”

  Marcus groaned aloud in his empty kitchen. He looked around the lonely, spacious room. He needed to get a pet. Not a dog, because then he’d need someone to come in and take care of it when he was on the road, even walk it when he was at practice all day. But a cat would be good. A cat would be okay overnight alone.

  Was it weird for a single guy to have a cat? Then again, did he give a shit? Hell, he could admit he missed Diablo too. After their shared ordeal, the cat had been downright friendly the times Marcus hung out at Bree’s. He was fully recovered and decided Marcus was his new BFF. The night Marcus slept over there, Diablo had decided the best place to sleep was between Marcus’ legs, chin propped on Marcus’ thigh. Yeah, he definitely missed the little guy.

  Decision made. Tomorrow, go to the Humane Society and adopt a cat.

  Slightly cheered by his decision to get a furry roommate, Marcus manipulated the mouse and opened his mom’s email. Reading it, his cheer faded. Fuck fuck fuck.

  Shit.

  She’d invited all his aunts and uncles and cousins and other assorted extended family on December 26 for a family holiday/graduation party.

  Fuck.

  He had to call her. This was not a conversation they could have by email.

  He really wished Bree were there. This conversation would be a million times easier if he could sit on the couch holding her hand while his mother berated him.

  Once he was done dealing with his mom, he needed to figure out a way to make things right. His last class had been that morning, and the exam was take home, which he would email back to her. He wasn’t willing to accept that he’d never see her again. He didn’t even know if she’d be living in Milwaukee much longer. Still, they could find a way. He couldn’t let her go without at least trying to earn her forgiveness.

  He found his phone and dialed his mom’s number.

  “Marcus. Speak of the devil. I was just telling one of my colleagues that you’re finally finishing your degree so you’re prepared to put this football thing behind you.”

  Fresh irritation flared in Marcus’ chest. She had to lead with that, didn’t she? “I’ve still got two years left on my multimillion-dollar ‘football thing’ contract,” he bit out. “I’m not going anywhere for a while.” Didn’t they just have this fucking conversation a few weeks ago?

  Even over the phone line, Marcus felt the weight of his mother’s sigh. How did moms do that?

  “I assume you saw my email? Aunt Bernice is bringing her mac and cheese. Your favorite. And Granny is making a cake for you. They’re all very proud of you.”

  Might as well just get it over with and tell her right away. “I’m not graduating.” He pulled in a breath, bracing himself for her reaction.

  There was a pause; he could picture the befuddled look on her face that she always got when she was trying to process information she didn’t want to accept. Her lips would be pulled into a tight O, thick brows drawn.

  “Yes, I realize you’re not going out to California and walking in the ceremony, but that’s not really necessary. You’ll have your degree, and that’s what’s important.”

  “Except it’s not.” The words came out before he knew he was going to say them, which was probably good because most likely he would’ve stopped himself. But maybe it needed to be said. He’d never actually told his parents that getting his degree wasn’t that important to him. At least not right now. But they kept pushing, and sometimes it was just easier to stay silent.

  “What are you talking about?” Mom’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Of course your degree is important.”

  Marcus scrubbed his hand over his stubbled cheek. He really needed to shave. He’d gotten lazy, feeling like he had no one to shave for. Suddenly more tired than he’d ever felt in his life, Marcus sank down on one of the barstools.

  “Mom, I’m gonna say something that I probably should’ve said a long time ago. And I need you to listen. And really hear what I’m saying, because I’m done having the same conversation over and over.”

  He paused, and when she didn’t say anything, continued. “I’m a football player. That’s my job. That’s my career. I know you think we’re just a bunch of giant boys playing a game, but I work my ass off. Just because it’s not the same as working in a lab or a courtroom doesn’t mean it doesn’t have value.” He laughed humorlessly. “If we went by salary alone, we could say I actually have more value than you.”

  Another pause to see if she had anything to say. But she held her silence, so Marcus continued what felt a little too much like a soliloquy. “I sti
ll have plenty of years left before I’m done playing football. You don’t have to like it, but you’re gonna have to find a way to accept it. I’m done with you belittling what I do. Someday I will retire from football, and I’m making smart choices to set myself up so that, if I want, I’ll never have to work again. But I will because I don’t know what the hell I would do with myself if I weren’t working. And when that day comes, I will probably use the knowledge I gained almost earning a business degree.”

  Restless, Marcus got up and walked to his window. “One geology class, that I took but didn’t transfer and count for my degree, will not be the difference between me being successful or not in business. And if at some point I decide—I decide, on my own—that I need my degree, I will get it. And I will make damn sure the class transfers. But right now, this degree is simply a piece of paper. That you want. That you’ve told me all my life I had to have. I get it. I don’t hold it against you and Dad that you pushed this on me. But I’m telling you now, it needs to stop. It should mean something to you that your son found something he loves and is good at and gets to make a damn good living doing. But regardless, you have to stop trying to direct my life.”

  He stared out at the gray afternoon, at the blue-gray waves pounding on the dull, faded sand. He waited for his mother’s response. He couldn’t think of a time in his life when she let him say that much without interjecting her own thoughts.

  Progress.

  “Your father and I have never tried to direct your life, Marcus.”

  Bullshit. They’d directed all three of their children’s lives. His sisters had just been more compliant. But to be fair, they seemed to love the fields they were in.

  “All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. That’s all any parent ever wants.” There was another long pause, then, “But I just don’t understand how you can be happy beating up your body that way. Your father and I work so hard to—”

  “This isn’t about you. You don’t have to understand why I like it. Just understand that I do. And stop trying to make me do something else. Can’t you just be happy for me that I’ve accomplished almost all the things I set out to do?”

  “Oh, Marcus. We are proud of you. We just want…”

  Yeah, he knew what they wanted. And they sure had funny ways of showing they were proud of him. But he didn’t have much choice other than to take what she said at face value. They’d never been the type of parents to heap praise on their children as they were too busy directing them to the next milestone.

  When the realization came, it was like taking a hit from a linebacker, a jolt to his solar plexus. It was so sudden, yet so obvious, he felt stupid.

  By going to Celia without talking to Bree first, he’d done exactly the same thing to her as his parents did to him. Not on the same scale, but the same idea. The vet bill too. He wanted something for her, for at least partly selfish reasons, and instead of talking to her about it, he just tried to make it happen. She was wrong that he’d been just like other men in her life. But she was right that what he did was wrong.

  Shit. How was he going to fix this?

  At least maybe he understood a little bit more where his parents were coming from. And also a little more why Bree was as upset as she was. “Look, Mom. I know you do all this out of love. I get that. But you gotta let me be me, instead of trying to shape me into the person you wish I was. In the end, I think we want me to go the same direction. We just disagree on whether I play football first.”

  There was another long, heavy silence. Marcus counted the waves as they crashed against the beach. One, two, three…

  A woman ran through his field of vision, distracting him. From so far away, she looked maybe an inch tall. But her hair was the same color as Bree’s, and it made his chest squeeze.

  “Unless I tank the final, I should get a B in physics. You always said that was your favorite class.”

  “Oh yeah?” Marcus could hear the smile in her voice. It was a start. “Maybe there’s some scientist in you yet.”

  He laughed, picturing the fall of Bree’s hair, streaked with red or purple or Dragon blue as she leaned over a notebook, showing him how to work through a problem. “Don’t count on it. I had help.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, because he needed to talk to someone, he said, “There’s this woman. Mom, you’d love her. She just finished her PhD, and I don’t know what she’s doing next, but whatever it is, she’s going to be amazing. She is amazing. I mean hell, she dragged me through physics so I got a B. She’s a damn miracle worker.”

  “Marcus.” He never heard that tone from his mom before. That soft, gentle, almost-but-not-quite teasing tone. “You love her, don’t you?”

  How did she get that from just a few sentences? “Yeah, I do.” He didn’t even hesitate answering. He foolishly didn’t see it before, but now it was as obvious to him as the lake spread out before him.

  “When do we get to meet this miracle worker? You can bring her at Christmas.”

  He had no clue what she was doing at Christmas. They never talked about it. But suddenly, it seemed like the most important thing in the world that he spend it with her. Probably not at his parents’ house in Minnesota. She’d grown up nearby, and he thought her parents still lived in Wisconsin. He’d go there if he was welcome. But if he had his way, he’d spend Christmas Eve right here in his condo, holding her all night long.

  A new urgency filled him, a self-imposed deadline. He had less than two weeks to figure out how to make Christmas with Bree happen.

  Chapter 19

  “You guys should be proud of yourselves. You played a hell of a game, and more important, a hell of a season. First-round bye is nothing to slouch at. And we’ll see what happens in tonight’s game. Could secure home field for the duration.” Head coach Tom Kelsey cast his gaze around the locker room, taking in as many players as he could.

  He leaned in, raising his arm above his head. The rest of the team followed suit.

  “To the motherfucking Dragons!” Coach yelled.

  The men responded with shouts of “Dragons!” or “Motherfucking Dragons!” Someone even yelled, “Fuck yeah, motherfuckers!” but Marcus couldn’t tell who.

  “Now hit the showers and let’s get the fuck out of here.” Coach shoved his shoulder into the nearest player, linebacker Seth Chamberlain. Seth clapped Coach on the back and headed for his locker.

  The mood in the room was celebratory as guys wrestled out of their equipment. Because he didn’t need a shower, Marcus sat in front of his locker and pulled out his phone. He tried not to think too much about other teams’ games, but things were different at the end of the season. He wanted his team to have that home-field advantage secured. That meant they needed Houston to beat the Jaguars on Sunday Night Football. He might as well check a few game predictions while he waited.

  And he wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, but he wanted to see if Bree had gotten in touch. He and Dorito, the sassy little orange tabby he picked up at the Humane Society this week, had spent much time discussing how Marcus might get across to Bree how sorry he was. And more important, show her that he understood why she was upset. And prove that he thought she was beyond capable of handling things herself. He just wanted to tag along for the ride.

  Unfortunately, Dorito wasn’t much of a brainstormer. She was usually more interested in playing with his shoelace. Or his collar. His feet. Or his ears. Or anything else she could attack.

  There was nothing from Bree, no voicemail, no text message, not even an email, though he wouldn’t expect that. So he resigned himself to reading about tonight’s game. Things looked pretty good for the Dragons, if the line in Vegas was to be believed.

  A few minutes later, Jaron sauntered back to his locker, scrubbing his head with a towel. He jerked his chin toward Marcus’ phone. “You hear from Bree yet?”

  Marcus sighed and looked away from the screen. “No. I need to get in touch, but other than telling her I’m sorry and beg
ging forgiveness, I don’t know what the fuck to say.”

  Jaron tossed down his towel and pulled a T-shirt out of his locker. “I don’t know, man. Flowers and chocolates never worked on Tanni. She stays mad till she’s done being mad.”

  Marcus propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. “She’s your wife. She’s eventually going to get over it when you do something boneheaded.” Shit, he did not just say boneheaded. When did he start channeling his father? “Bree and I are barely a couple.”

  Jaron sat down next to him to pull on his socks. “Then ask yourself something. You want to fix this because of pride? Or you really care about this girl and want to be with her? Because if this just pride, you gotta let that shit—”

  “I’m in love with her.” It felt good to say it out loud to a human, not just a cat. And in doing so, he was more certain of its truth. Jaron was his best friend, so he probably deserved to know at least as much as Dorito.

  Jaron grinned. He clapped Marcus on the back. “All right man, then we hafta figure out how you gonna win this woman. During the flight home, we’ll put our heads together, you tell me what you did wrong. And we’ll fix it.”

  Marcus laughed at the determined look on his friend’s face. “When did you become the love doctor?”

  “You don’t marry the ultimate matchmaker without learning a thing or two.”

  Tanni did spend an awful lot of time trying to think of women to set Marcus up with. Her reasoning was always the same. She was ridiculously happy with her husband, and she wanted that happiness for everyone else.

  The conversation was interrupted by both men’s phones buzzing simultaneously, Marcus’ in his hand and Jaron’s on the shelf in his locker. Weird that they would both get a message at the exact same time.

  Marcus looked at his screen to see he had a text from Tanni. “Speak of the devil.” He unlocked his screen to check the message as Jaron stood to retrieve his phone. It was a group text to Marcus, Jaron, Matt, Trask, Seth, and seven other players, plus three coaches. Shit, Tanni wasn’t messing around. And the message was in all caps.