Their First Fall_Trucker and Keeka's story

by Mj Fields

  I scroll through my inbox and see even that little shit sent me a message.

  Good season. You’re finally on a team I can root for. Go Giants!

  The next is from a high school kid, JC Jones, who’s been messaging me all year, and I have replied “Thanks, man” to all of them. I haven’t a fucking clue what half the shit he said was; partially because I can’t focus that fucking long on text messages. Another reason is because I have been too caught up in the season.

  I hit his name now and look at his clips. Fucker’s got talent. So, I message him.

  @JJJONES You have raw talent brother.

  I get a reply immediately.

  @TCQB Coming from my favorite player, that means the world, man.

  @JJJONES It’s the truth.

  @TCQB What the hell does truth get you? lol. Appreciated but frustrated.

  @JJJONES In the words of Journey: Don’t Stop Believin’.

  @TCQB Not gonna stop till all the rejection letters come in and I’m asking folks if they’d like fries with that.

  @JJJONES I hear that.

  We message back and forth for an hour until I hear a knock on my door.

  I sit up, thinking it’s got to be her. “Come in.”

  When the door is opened, Coach Brown walks in, shaking his head at me. “Man has the world by the balls and is raising hell on South Campus. Whatever it is, this too shall pass.”

  “Got a lot going on, Coach.”

  “I know you do, son. What will it take for you to just leave the shit behind and look forward to the future?”

  My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look down at the notification from JJ.

  I toss my phone to him. “Look at this kid’s videos and get him in here. I’ll keep it cool and come back after my first season. Hell, I’ll clean the locker room’s toilets if I have to.”

  “Seen this one. Raw talent, cocky as hell. Reminds me of someone.”

  “Me?”

  He laughs. “No, Logan’s dad, Lucas. Arrogant fuck.”

  I nod. “He did well.”

  “He left me after one season and went pro.” He tosses my phone at me.

  “He supports this program to this day.”

  He nods. “That he does.”

  “Give this kid a shot, Coach. I have a feeling about him.”

  “Keep peace in my home, and I’ll think about it.”

  “Deal.”

  He nods then turns around, opens the door, and looks back. “You made me proud, Trucker, from day one. Don’t stop now.”

  “Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll do my best.”

  “You better, or I’m gonna feed my team chili and shit up those toilets before you come back to clean ’em.”

  The day before graduation, I wake up and walk out of the bedroom to see Downs looking at me from over his cup of coffee.

  “You slept in Logan’s room last night?”

  “My bed was full, and I didn’t feel it, so yeah. Why?”

  “The girl stopped over. She’s in my bed.”

  I clench my fists and feel my blood boil.

  “In her defense, she walked into your room, ready to give you hell, saw it was full, and lost her shit. Something about keys and a lot of fuck yous.” He nods to the wall where I see a hole. “I told her to get her shit together and wait in my room for you. I slept on the couch. She’s still waiting.”

  I walk to Down’s room and find her sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her wrist. Her hand is swollen.

  “I want my keys,” she hisses.

  I walk in and shut the door behind me. “I gave you your keys.”

  “Not my keys!”

  “Ray, shhh …”

  “Fuck you!”

  Shouldn’t like it one bit, but I do. I like that she’s pissed.

  “You should have called. It could have been arranged.”

  She lets go of her wrist and picks something up off the bed, throwing it at my head.

  I catch it and look down to see the keys I gave her yesterday and laugh. I was so fucking messed up that I gave her my old truck keys.

  “None of this is funny. None of it! I almost believed you yesterday. I almost thought maybe …” She pauses and stands. “Less than twenty-four hours and you have a full bed.”

  “Which is why I slept in Logan’s room, Ray.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Straight-up truth.”

  She squeezes her eyes shut tightly and lets out a quivering breath.

  “I’m so fucking sorry about all this. This whole shitshow. I fell, too, okay? Then you lied—”

  “You never asked!”

  Damn, I have never heard her scream so much … Not true. Just not in the same way.

  “I get it, okay? I fucked up, but you did, too. You fucked up, too.”

  “I trusted you!” she snaps.

  “And I fell in love with you,” I admit.

  Her eyes snap to mine, and I shrug.

  “Is all that gone now? Lost. Not even a friendship to salvage?”

  She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me.

  “Okay.” I chuckle nervously and reach behind me, still looking into her beautiful fucking eyes. “Come on, Ray. We need to do some shit today.”

  I walk out, and she follows as I walk into Logan’s room and make it a point to let her see my clothes, my phone, and an empty, unmade bed.

  Walking out the door and past her, I whisper, “Slept in here last night.”

  Then I open my door and flip on the lights to grumbling, complaining females and Schooler.

  “Next time, take it to your own room, man, and make sure you clean my sheets.”

  I grab my keys—well, her keys— my wallet, a clean shirt, boxers, and a pair of shorts before shutting the door behind me. Then I walk back into Logan’s room and hold the door open.

  “Come on in, Ray.”

  Still saying nothing, she walks in, and I close the door behind her.

  I stand in front of her and take off my shirt, making sure I let her see the fucking tattoo on my arm, the one she drew.

  Her chin quivers, and tears fill her eyes.

  I take her hand and place it over my heart. “Feel this?”

  She nods and swallows hard.

  “It’s fucked up, Ray, but it’s there.”

  She squeezes her eyes shut and a tear falls.

  I take her face in my hands and kiss her forehead, her cheek, her nose, her lips, and then whisper in her ear, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you … us.” I let go and step back.

  She opens her eyes.

  “I want you so fucking bad right now, but if I can only have you as a friend, that’s good, too.”

  As I drop my pants, her eyes never leave mine.

  I turn and step out of my boxers before putting the fresh ones on, trying to will her to at least, at very least, want me physically.

  She whispers my name.

  I turn around and look at her. I see a cocktail of need, pain, desire, hurt, and fucking love brewing in her beautiful eyes.

  “One last time, Ray?”

  “One last time.”

  I want to go slow, but I can’t; she won’t let me. And as soon as her lips are on mine, everything, every fucking thing, is lost.

  Words are lost, restraint is lost and, for just a few moments, even the pain is lost.

  Hovering over her, her legs wrapped around me tightly, all I can do is stare into her eyes and fuck her deeply, so fucking deep that I hope it’s felt for the rest of her life.

  When she comes, I can’t even hold back enough to give her a second.

  I lay on her, panting, and when I look at her, she looks away.

  I push myself up and push her hair away from her face.

  “I gotta go,” she whispers.

  “Give me a minute, okay? Gotta use the bathroom.”

  She nods.

  When I come out, I grab my shorts, step into them, turn around, and look at her face that is flooded with
tears. Leaning forward, I kiss them away, holding back my own. Then I throw my shirt over my head and walk into Logan’s bathroom to brush my teeth and to try to get my shit together or I’m going to be just like her—a fucking mess.

  When I come back out, his door is open and she is gone.

  I grab the keys she came here for off the bed, hurry down the hall, and watch as she leaves out the front door. No doubt my heart would be broken if I didn’t know for sure she would have to face me again to get her keys.

  I shove my feet into my slides and walk out the door.

  “Ray, stop!”

  She shakes her head and keeps on walking.

  “Ray, I still have your keys.”

  She stops and turns around.

  I hold them up. Come and get them, I think to myself.

  She hurries toward me, and as soon as she’s within arm’s reach, I scoop her up, hit the key fob to my new ride, open the door, and set her inside. She doesn’t say a word.

  I get in, reach over, and buckle her in. Then I buckle myself in and start my truck.

  Pulling out of my spot, I ask, “Do you like it?”

  She nods and wipes away her tears.

  “She’s black like my soul, and I named her Tales.” Tales is my new Ford F-150 Raptor.

  She scowls but doesn’t look over.

  “Thought I would hate her for replacing Boom. Come to find out, I like her even more.”

  She sniffs.

  “Gonna take her with me, Ray. Take her to New Jersey when summer training camp starts.”

  She nods.

  “Five hours away,” I tell her, hoping she gets the damn point.

  She doesn’t say shit, and fuck if I can bring myself to say a damn thing either.

  When I pull up to University Hospital, she finally looks at me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I think your hand’s broken. You need x-rays.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Ray, seriously, you need to—”

  “No. Take me home, or I’ll walk from here.”

  “Ray …”

  She starts to open the door.

  I grab her and pull her back. “Fine. Jesus, Ray—”

  “Keeka, or better yet, Tales. Or better yet, Brooklyn.” Her hands fly to her face, and she starts to sob.

  “I like Ray just fine.” I pull out onto the street, determined to give her some time to realize she needs to get some attention.

  “Not gonna call you Tales, okay? And what the hell is Brooklyn?” I laugh.

  She looks over at me and tells me, “It’s the bridge my mother jumped off of and killed herself. The Brooklyn Bridge. That’s what it is.”

  Fuck, I think as I pull into a McDonalds’ parking spot, turn the truck off, and turn my body toward her.

  She looks at me. “All I want is to be happy, Trucker. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s misery. That includes you, so please, please just take me home.”

  “Baby, I’m so sorry.” I reach for her.

  “And Trucker, I am teetering on the edge of something here. Something—”

  “Okay. Shh … Okay.” I unbuckle her and get out of the truck.

  I walk over and open her door before hugging her. This time, she hugs me back.

  “I need you to be happy. I need you to go and live your dreams, Trucker. But, most of all, I need you to promise me that you’ll walk away and leave me with a smile so that I can stop worrying that I’m going to be the one who made your life difficult. Okay?”

  “Best season ever, Ray. Sorry, I … Fuck. Sorry I hurt you. I know damn well you didn’t try to hurt me. Fuck, I wish I could take so much back.”

  “Can you take me home, Trucker? I’m tired. I didn’t sleep last night.”

  I lean back and look at her. “You promise me you’ll see a doctor about that hand?”

  She smiles and shakes her head, tears still falling. “Yep.”

  “Okay then.” I pull her in and kiss her forehead. “All right.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Trucker and Keeka

  I left her sleeping with one request: come watch me graduate …

  … I watched him graduate as he watched me smile.

  I went to the bar afterward to tell her I love her, to take her with me …

  … I left for home, hoping the hurt and pain I found there would make this easier.

  When Lou gave me her letter, I knew I had lost her. When I read it and she said I gave her some fucking disease, I knew it wasn’t from me. I was fucking clean. I hated her and Downs and Mitch …

  … The pain of being home was nothing compared to the fight inside of me now.

  I kept busy, watching JJ Jones graduate and witnessing Coach giving him his acceptance letter …

  … As my belly grew, I knew I couldn’t stay in Brooklyn, couldn’t hide the secret.

  I posted everything on the fucking internet, hoping she’d see me, find me. Love. Me. I could forgive her. She forgave me …

  … I made Logan, promise not to tell him, because I never wanted to ruin his dreams.

  When my best friend stopped replying to my calls and texts, betraying our bond, I promised myself to never look back . Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck everyone who doubted me …

  … I watched him winning and couldn’t have been happier, had it been me.

  Part II

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Broken hearts and bumps

  Keeka

  When I found a bump on my skin after we had sex, I went to the doctors. They asked if I had unprotected sex, and I told them the truth. They ran labs before they even did the exam.

  When the nurse practitioner returned, she said, “I know you’re here for a lump, but we found something else.”

  I was terrified until she smiled. Then … Then I was numb.

  When the exam was complete, I still felt numb. So numb I didn’t hear a word she said the entire time. All I knew was that I was pregnant and had no idea what to do about it. I thought about telling him, but I couldn’t be the one who ruined his dreams.

  Later that week, I fulfilled a promise. And even though I didn’t have the results to the STI screening yet, I watched my child’s father graduate as we both smiled at one another, stealing one more moment of pure happiness to keep in my memories forever.

  Watching all the families at the ceremony, on Mother’s Day, sharing in the joy, something inside of me changed. I no longer felt that this child, our child, would be a burden. It would be love and hope and truth. A truth that would be mine and mine alone.

  A child who wouldn’t see its mother struggle with sanity but bask in all that is good in life and love. A child who was born of two people who once loved each other. A child who may or may not someday meet their father, but regardless, would be loved more than either parent ever was.

  After two months in Brooklyn, I feared I made the wrong choice.

  Shakeeka told me to go back. She told me she had never heard me sound more alive, happier than when I was there … And she was right.

  When I came back to Syracuse, I did so because of what Shakeeka had pointed out. I did so because I had gone from job to job in Brooklyn, finding no joy in any one of them. I did so because Lou had called my cell and begged me to. I did so because I was not ready to tell Shakeeka that I was pregnant, and at that point, I wasn’t ready to face it myself.

  Then, then I felt the baby move, and I couldn’t imagine one minute more of being unhappy. If I felt it, my baby surely did, and I wasn’t going to allow that.

  Fear still creeps in from time to time. Fear that I won’t be good enough. Then I feel him or her move, and I make a moment for him, her … for us. I lie in bed, reading to my baby. I draw pictures of walks we have taken, things we have seen. I capture our moments together to someday share. To someday show the baby, my baby, how loved it is.

  When I saw Logan come into the bar for the first time after being away, I was extremely nervous, but I had been able
to keep it hidden for this long. I never in a million years thought he would notice.

  When he asked if Trucker was the father, I told him no. Yes, I lied, but it was to protect this child, and I would do so fiercely.

  He didn’t push, but he did give me a look.

  For two months, he came in pretty regularly just to check in on me, which was appreciated, but not necessary.

  What’s funny is poor Mitch will ask me how I am, and he does it while staring at my belly. Every time, I lean forward and whisper, “It’s not yours.”

  “Is it his?”

  I lied to him, too.

  The best part about being pregnant and behind a bar is the idiots from last semester still hit on me, and I still toss crap back at them.

  As my belly grows, I’m able to hide it behind the bar, and somehow, I convince Gary to start playing along with them, watching as he rakes in the pot in the middle of the table.

  When I’m not at work, with the people I know who love me and the friends I finally have there, I’m doing yoga in the park and reading a lot.

  Lou gave me a raise, and Mom’s burial plot is finally paid off.

  Football season is so much better than before. I’m not worried about Trucker getting hurt on the field, or how he would feel if they lost, and then have to feel his pain, off the field.

  Trucker Cohen is now the bad boy of the NFL. He is cocky and forever getting himself in trouble. He is also the best rookie quarterback in the NFL.

  I always told him he was going to be great, and I would never want anything less for him.

  I still love the Trucker I met last year, but to me, he’s not the same man anymore. He dates models, Hollywood types, and even a country singer. None of his relationships last long, and that brings me neither joy nor sorrow. It’s still amazing to be part of his life, even if it’s only what I see on the screen.

  It’s November when I watch Logan walk into the bar without his boys. Instead, he’s with a girl I have seen him glaring at a few times when they have been in. I suspected it then, but today as they walk in together, I know I am witnessing Logan Links fall.