by Vanessa Fox
"Thanks."
She leans against the door frame and smirks. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
"What?! No."
"Liar!"
"Shut up, Katie."
—
My first day at work goes better than I could've predicted. It's a small non-profit organization that provides services to veterans in need. After majoring in English Literature at Harvard, I had planned to go straight to grad school, but Katie convinced me to take a year or two off in between. I never intended on leaving Massachusetts, but Katie got a job opportunity here in Atlanta and urged me come with her. Thank God I managed to snag this job, otherwise I'd probably be working at Pizza Hut and deeply regretting my life choices right about now.
As I take the elevator up to our apartment, I cross my fingers and pray that Katie's forgotten about her newfound obsession with Kade Hughes and his role in my past.
I get it. I dated a guy who's now a famous athlete in the national league. It's a fun, interesting factoid sure to interest anyone who hears about it.
But I have zero interest in talking about Kade.
It was so long ago. And it really wasn't that big of a deal. I mean, I barely remember him at all.
Really.
I put my key in the knob and open the door to the apartment.
Katie immediately hops off the couch and rushes to my side.
"So, I've got it all ready for us!" she squeals. She waves her arm, showcasing the array of sushi trays laid out on the kitchen table. The television is tuned to a sports news channel. "Let me go crack open a beer!"
I groan. "Don't you want to ask about my first day at work?"
She waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, we've got our whole lives to talk about work. But this is more pertinent right now."
I sigh as I let my purse fall to the floor with a thud. I take off my heels and slump down on the couch. Katie returns from the kitchen with two cold beers freshly cracked.
I immediately take a big chug of mine.
"Woah, slow down there, girlfriend," Katie laughs as she takes her seat next to me.
A moment of silence passes between us. There's an elephant in the room, and it's one I don't want to talk about.
"So," she says. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."
I sigh. "I hate to disappoint you, Katie, but it's not very interesting."
"I find that hard to believe. Just tell me. Give me the gist of it."
"Don't you already know the gist? Kade and I dated for about six months in our senior year. We broke up because we were headed to different schools."
"That's it? What was he like?"
"He was… cocky. Flirty. We had two totally different personalities and absolutely nothing in common. Looking back, I'm not sure what we saw in each other."
Katie laughs and shakes her head as she takes a sip of beer. "Well, he's gorgeous and you're gorgeous. What more do you need?"
"Me? Yeah, right," I chuckle. "If you think I'm frumpy now, you should've seen me in high school. I was a total dweeb. Kade was good-looking back then, though. I was shocked he was into me."
"Don't sell yourself short," Katie says. "You're not frumpy. You're a natural beauty."
"Thanks."
I take another sip of beer and then hold it in my hand, fingering the label.
"I don't mean to go all Dr. Phil on you, but I can sense there's something you're not telling me about Kade." Katie leans back and crosses her arms, looking like a bona-fide therapist.
I scoff. "No, it's just not something I really think about. Unlike some people, I don't obsess over my high school ex-boyfriends."
Katie rolls her eyes.
Ever since I met her the first day I arrived at Harvard, the name Damien has come up again and again. Damien this, Damien that. Damien broke my heart. Damien, that lying cheating bastard! They dated for two years in high school and she hasn't stopped talking about him since. And on more than one occasion, I've caught her snooping his social media accounts.
Talk about an obsession.
"Hey, don't try to change the subject. This isn't about me and Damien. This is about you and that gorgeous quarterback of yours. Tell me more."
I huff out an annoyed breath. "Okay, well… I dunno. I liked him, I guess. But it wasn't meant to be. That much is obvious. He was obsessed with sports. He liked to party. I liked to read and study. I went to some of his games and tried to get into them, but I never could understand all those damn rules."
"Was he really good?"
"Yeah, he seemed to be. He was very skilled out there on the field. Still is, obviously. I'm happy for him."
"I sense bitterness in your tone."
"Bitterness? What?! I'm not bitter!"
"Yes, you are. What happened? Did he cheat?" Katie sits up straight and appears to be getting herself riled up. "Oh God, I bet he cheated. What a bastard! Athletes always cheat, I swear."
I shrug. "Well, I did catch him making out with a girl at a party. But I guess we were already technically broken up. He found out about Harvard and flipped out. A few hours later I went to talk to him, and I found him with his tongue down this girl's throat. I never talked to him again after that."
"Ugh," Katie recoils. "What a dick."
"Yeah. Now that I think about it, I wouldn't be surprised if he cheated all throughout the relationship. I swear every girl in school wanted him. Does an eighteen year old kid have enough impulse control to keep it in his pants when every single girl in a twenty mile radius wants a piece of him? I doubt it."
"Yeah, it's doubtful." Katie places her hand on my arm. "I'm really sorry you had to go through that."
I laugh. "So what? It was high school. We were all stupid back in high school. I'm so glad those days are over."
Katie nods. She stares off into space, looking wistful and sad.
"Katie," I say firmly. "Don't worry. I promise you I'm not losing any sleep over it. Believe me."
She considers my words and shrugs. "If you say so. I just can't help but wonder. Because you know, you never talk about him. I've shared every detail of my relationship with Damien to you. And when you were with Randall, you shared so much with me, right? But Kade… I dunno. It's like he's a subject you purposely avoid."
I take a big gulp of beer. Her words are hitting a little too close to home.
She's right. I have avoided talking about Kade.
In fact, I've avoided even thinking about him, to the best of my ability.
After we broke up, the pain was so raw and so real. The only way I could manage to stay sane was to force myself not to think about him, ever. As soon as my thoughts traveled to him, I deliberately and violently steered the course away to something else.
After years of that, Kade is barely a blip on the radar of my consciousness.
But now, all of a sudden, he's made an abrupt and unwelcome reappearance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of those brilliant green eyes again.
The channel is playing a clip of him on the field, presumably during one of his college games. He is lean and agile even with all that thick padding on. He backs up carefully, turns his head back and forth, adeptly scanning the field before stretching his arm back and throwing a bullet of a pass over the heads of countless other players. A receiver jumps a good two feet in the air to make a perfect catch.
"Wow," Katie says. "I think we have another Tom Brady on our hands."
"Yeah, he's… he's good," I mumble. I lean forward and snatch the remote off the counter. "But isn't The Bachelor about to come on? Let me try to find it…"
Katie shakes her head and laughs. "You are so flustered. It's hilarious."
"Flustered? I'm not flustered!"
"Your cheeks are bright red, Willow."
I pretend she didn't say that, and pretend that I don't acutely feel the growing heat in my cheeks. I put the TV guide on and scan through the channels. "Yeah, right."
"I bet you're regretting going to Harvard now
. Imagine if you had stayed with him. He'd have you as his girlfriend instead of that redheaded chick. And you'd probably be rich living in a mansion right now, having dinner with celebrities."
I laugh and roll my eyes. "Yeah, right. You must not know me very well. You think I want to be some douchebag athlete's trophy wife instead of doing something meaningful with my life?"
"Of course not," Katie grins. "There's too many things you want to do. Help the veterans, save the rainforest, feed the children. All that crap. But imagine how much easier it would be if your husband made millions—"
"All right, this conversation is over."
I flip the TV off, chug the rest of my beer, and start heading to my room. "Let me know when you're ready to talk about something other than Kade, and I'll be happy to oblige you."
I see Katie roll her eyes as I walk away.
I don't understand why she's so obsessed with Kade. What's the big deal? Is she really so obsessed with celebrity and fame that she's trying to live vicariously through my experiences? "My best friend's ex is Kade Hughes! Can you believe it? Everybody, look at me! Look how cool I am!"
I scowl to myself as I undress from my tight pencil skirt and pantyhose, and replace them with comfy gray yoga pants.
I have much more important things to think about than Kade Hughes, of all people.
Like my new job. My career trajectory. My retirement savings. The new literary novel by my favorite author that I'm slowly making my way through.
Kade is nobody to me, even if his face and those alluring green eyes of his are all over the news.
Doesn't matter to me.
I plop down on my bed, open the novel, and try to get myself into the story.
But the words aren't registering in my mind. All I can see are his green eyes. The masculine cut of his jaw, speckled with expertly manicured five 'o clock shadow. The way he looked in that suit. The way the muscles of his forearm flexed when he threw that pass.
The way he smiled and his eyes sparkled when he said "I love you, baby" to that red-head in the audience. Who the hell is she, anyway?
Oh, God.
This is just like back in high school, when my voracious reading habit took a major hit because my brain was entirely consumed by thoughts of Kade.
Stupid Kade.
Get out of my head!
Chapter 6
Kade
My dad raises his beer. "Here's to Kade!"
The four of us raise our drinks and clink them together. My step-mom Rose smiles at me warmly, a rare sight to behold. Samantha is sitting next to me, her gigantic cleavage popping out of a tight cream-colored blouse. She squeezes my hand and gives me a proud look.
"Thanks, guys," I nod my head. "I really appreciate the support. It means a lot to me."
"You mean a lot to us," Rose smiles. "We're so lucky to have you as our son."
Our son?
She didn't feel lucky to have me back in high school. She never went to a single one of my games. She always looked at me like a reckless, wild caveman who she grudgingly had to accept in order to stay with my dad.
Of course, now that I've signed a multi-million dollar contract, now she's proud of me. What interesting timing.
"Just make sure you protect yourself out there," my dad warns. "Don't be going and getting yourself injured now."
I nod. "No need to worry about that, Pops. We're working on a killer offensive line. I'll be protected, believe me."
"I certainly hope so. The Alphas have had a pretty poor track record lately."
I grin. "I know. But that's all about to change. Bet on it."
My dad looks at Rose with a playful smile. "Can I, dear?"
"What?"
"Bet on it?"
Rose laughs and pats his shoulder. "Let's see how he does first, dear. If he does as good as everyone's saying he will, hell, I'll put some money down myself!"
I cock my beer bottle towards Rose. "That's the spirit."
Samantha leans her side into mine. Her long wavy red hair falls over my shoulder as she wraps her arm into the crook of mine. "I'm confident Kade is gonna blow everyone away."
She glances up at me, her smokey eyeshadow making her light green eyes pop. I give her a clipped smile.
Of course she's putting on a good show for my parents. But behind the scenes, she's been a pain in my ass for weeks. We didn't even speak a single word to each other the entire drive here.
She's hot as fuck, but everything about her grates on my nerves these days.
I didn't even want to bring her here, to be honest. But I have to play the role of the Good Son. I don't want to recount the amount of shit I've taken from the press and from my own parents for being a "Playboy" heartbreaker. My agent told me I have to maintain an image now. I'm supposed to be a good, sweet 'ole Southern boy. Faithful. Calm. American as apple pie. Not some reckless club-goer with a new girl on my arm every week. Having a steady girlfriend for the last six months has helped. But damn if I don't feel like crawling out of my skin every second of it.
Rose stands up and begins to clear the table as my dad and I chat about the university of Georgia's upcoming season. I notice Samantha has pulled out her phone, texting God-knows-who. I gently nudge her and cock my head towards the kitchen, hoping she'll get the message. She rolls her eyes before putting her phone away and grudgingly rising to help my step-mom with the dishes.
"Pa, you still got those Cubans?" I ask.
He glances warily towards the kitchen. "All right, but let's make it quick. You know Rose hates it."
I grin as we stand and take ourselves and our drinks to the front porch. Dad goes back inside to get his smokes as I sit down on the wicker rocking couch.
The night is hot and humid, but calm. Lightning bugs pulse a gentle green glow across the front yard, and the high-pitch croon of cicadas fill my ears. It's somehow both relaxing and grating at the same time.
I take a swig of my beer as I look to the house across the street.
I can't avoid it. It's right there, right in front of my face.
Willow Greene's old house.
She's most likely up still up in the Northeast. I wouldn't be surprised if she's still in school. Going for her Master's in ancient Mayan archeology or some shit like that. I bet she's dating some French foreign exchange student with a soft voice who writes poetry. Hell, maybe she's even married by now.
I don't know why I still think about her.
I've tried so hard to forget about her, but I never really could. I've always had her in the back of my mind. Like a song playing over and over again that I just can't get out of my head no matter how hard I try. It's annoying, and it makes me feel like a chump. It's been over five years. It was a short-lived, stupid little teenage romance.
I've been with countless women since Willow, and none of them have even come close to having the same effect on me.
Talk about lame.
Every time I come back to my hometown, all these thoughts and memories resurface, and come bubbling back to the forefront of my mind. Fresh and all too crisply real, as if we broke up yesterday instead of half a decade ago.
It's why I don't like to come here too often.
I figure once I get my millions, I'll buy both sets of parents fancy mansions far from here so I won't ever have to bother returning.
My dad reappears with a long, thick Cuban cigar in his hand. He plops down next to me and starts to light it. Once it's lit he hands it over.
I take a big puff of the cigar— too big. I hack and cough and my eyes fill with tears.
Dad laughs as he takes it from me. "You're not supposed to inhale, Kade."
"I know that," I huff. "I guess I got a little too excited."
"You're not used to it," he says as he takes a puff of his own. "That's a good thing. Don't wanna ruin your lungs with this stuff."
I can't recall when this tradition started. I hate smoking and I don't even like cigars. But I like bonding with my dad.
"So," he
says in his signature fatherly tone. "Everything in your life going okay?"
"Going okay?" I repeat with an incredulous laugh. "Well, obviously. I've just been drafted, dad."
"I know that. But I mean everything else."
I shrug. "Yeah, everything's fine."
"You happy with Samantha?"
He gives me that knowing look he always does when he can tell I'm hiding something. He's always had a knack for that.
"Yeah, she's fantastic," I lie. "I mean, look at her. She's something else."
Dad cocks his eyebrow. "If you say so. I dunno. If you ask me, I don't really see it."
"See what?"
"A genuine connection between the two of you."
I take a deep breath. "Well, Pops, I mean… we get along just fine. I dunno if she's 'The One' just yet, but we're headed in a good direction."
"That's good," he says. He doesn't look convinced in the slightest.
Lying to my dad doesn't sit well with me, but now's not the time to open up this can of worms. I want to tell him about every way Samantha drives me crazy. About the way she steals my phone and looks through it while I'm in the shower. About the way she openly flirts with other guys in front of my face just to get me jealous. The grating screech of her voice when she demands I buy her something expensive. I want to tell him about her history of hopping from one athlete and celebrity to the next, in the hopes of gaining fame and fortune. I want to tell him I feel trapped with her because she's the Coach's daughter and I fear my career might be affected if I dump her.
But I can't really get into all of that. Not right now. Not with Samantha in the kitchen sweet talking my step mom.
Across the street I see an old Asian man walking a small dog. He turns on the cement path towards Willow's old house. When he gets to the door, he opens it up and steps inside.
I feel a hollow, gnawing sadness in the pit of my stomach.
"Mr. Greene doesn't live there anymore?" I ask my dad.
"Mr. Greene? Oh no. He moved away last fall. I think he went to Alabama or somewhere like that."
"Oh."
I take a puff of the cigar and remember not to inhale this time. It tastes spicy, citrusy, and gross but kind of good all at the same time.
