by Sierra Hill
Becca rounds the corner of the master bath, tipping her head and rolling her eyes.
“My mom was right,” she muses, opening up a cabinet and pulling it from the top shelf to hand it to me. “Men really are blind to anything in plain sight.”
I smack her ass, a ‘yipe’ exhaling from her parted lips.
“Hey, it’s not my fault. I just didn’t know where to look.”
I extract the razor from her hand but grab hold of her wrist to pull her into me. She is soft and warm, and I’ve missed her so much while I was gone. She is my home and my rock, and I was a mess while we were apart.
We’d just gotten back together two months earlier, after a little over a month-long separation, which Becca insisted we take.
“Not because I don’t love you, Garrett,” she’d confirmed the night she broke it off with me three months earlier. “But I don’t want you to live with regret or be tempted to cheat on me. It’d break my heart. I’d rather you figure it out on your own terms without me tying you down.”
I tried reasoning with her, explaining and pleading my case that she was the love of my life and I didn’t want anyone else. But she stood firm and gave me no choice. For some reason, she had this idea in her head after hearing all the stories about other male pro-athletes who weren’t faithful to their wives and girlfriends, that I would become like them.
A dirty statistic and scandal of infidelity.
Becca was a small-town girl with small-town ideals, pragmatic to the core. I couldn’t convince her otherwise.
I’d tried to get her back by making an ass of myself by groveling and leaving her drunken fool-hearted voice messages for the better part of two weeks. But she wouldn’t respond. So, I finally said ‘fuck it’ and stopped protesting over my freedom.
My teammates were all on board to help me out, introducing me to tons of ‘hoops honeys’ along the way. Like a kid in a candy store, I ate it up. The attention of all these hot women flocking to me. My head got big and I turned into a jackass.
And then one night on a road trip to Pittsburgh, after I played like shit, only scoring three points and one measly rebound, I went out to a club and got wasted with my friends. I’d drawn the attention of a tall, confident cocktail waitress named Penelope, who told me to wait for her at the end of her shift. Which I did, because why not? We went back to her place and fucked.
And then I passed out.
I couldn’t even recall if it was good or not. Or if she had fun because I was a serious headcase. All I know is when I woke the next morning, there was a used condom, thank God for that. I called an Uber and left without saying goodbye.
She wasn’t the only one I slept with during that period of time, but the only one that had life-long consequences.
“Hey Bec, maybe I won’t shave, and I’ll let my beard grow out. What do you think?” I ask her, scrubbing a hand over my neck and jaw, staring in the mirror at the dark five o’clock shadow worn by a content man.
I tilted my head to check her expression.
“Hmm,” she says, thoughtfully considering the change.
I’d always been clean shaven. In fact, it got me a lot of magazine covers and exposure with journalists comparing me to a “tall, strapping Calvin Klein model.” Which, come on, did wonders for my ego.
“I guess we could try it out. I’ve never kissed a bearded face. Unless you count Santa Claus when I was five.”
I drop my mouth open in an expression of horror.
“You little hussy!” I tease, stalking toward her as she backs up against the glass of the shower door. I playfully rub my stubbled cheek over her face and then down to the top of her cleavage.
She latches onto the top of my hair, pulling tightly, her breasts heaving with every panted breath.
My phone gave a shrill ring from the bedside table, stopping any further exploration of Becca’s body.
I stood tall and looked down at the smiling and loving face of my fiancée, not knowing then that it would take a long time after for that smile to return again.
“That could be my agent with the specifics on my new contract.”
She waves me off. “Go. Take it. I’ll jump in the shower and meet you in bed.”
I give her a loud kiss on her cheek and sprint to grab the phone. But when I answer it, the caller is indeed not my sports agent, Cristopher, but instead an Unknown Caller.
“Yo, this is G. What’s your business?”
There’s a slight pause of silence before a female voice responds. A voice I don’t recognize but would soon hear a whole lot more of.
“Is this Garrett Parker?”
Something in her tone spells out doom. It’s hesitant. Clear. But crisp. It sounds like a knife slicing across a knife sharpener. I glance over my shoulder into the bathroom, where Becca stands under a stream of warm water, her head tipped back and arms raised to her soapy hair.
Protect her, my heart screams.
My own voice sounds weak and inept. “Yes.”
“Garrett, this is Penelope Slattery. We, uh, met in Pittsburgh a few months ago. Do you remember? At Storie’s Nightclub?”
Tension already bombards my temples, as I drop my head, my free hand massaging my forehead.
“Yes. How’d you get this number?”
She doesn’t answer right away. And something about that pause ignites a rage inside me for no reason other than that someone sold me out.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is the reason I’m calling. Garrett, this is really hard for me to say, so please just hold your judgment for a second before responding, okay? Do you promise?”
“No, I don’t promise. Now, what do you have to say? I’m busy.”
I’ve channeled my inner-asshole because I’ve been stuck in these situations before, where someone wants money from me. They give me a sob story and request help. Normally it’s family or distant relatives, not strangers, though.
“Please.” Her tone is so desperate, as the line is flooded with the sound of muffled sniffles from her tears.
“Fine, I promise. But you’ve got thirty seconds before I hang up.”
I sit down on the edge of the new Cali-king Becca and I had just purchased, the firmness underneath holding me up and keeping me from hitting the floor when she drops the bomb in my lap.
“Garrett, I’m really sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mean for it to happen, please believe me.”
A worm wiggles inside my stomach, like the bottom of a Tequila bottle, inducing fear and nausea.
“What. Is. It?” I practically shout, the simmering boil ready to explode under the lid that contains it.
“I’m pregnant, Garrett, and you’re the father. We used protection that night, but it’s not 100% effective, obviously. And the baby is yours. I just hit twelve weeks.”
“Jesus fuck.”
The bed didn’t hold me. I slipped off the edge and landed on the floor.
Just like my life, it hit with a thud and I couldn’t seem to get myself back up.
34
Brooklyn
I’ve packed an overnight bag and have decided to go back to my apartment to stay with Peyton and Kyler for the short-term, to give Garrett some space. It’s pretty obvious that Garrett needs some time to sift through all the legal matters that will ensue related to Caleb and he doesn’t need me - in his house or in his way - clouding his focus on the bigger picture related to his son.
Plus, this nanny gig was only supposed to be a full-time summer job, anyway. It’s now August, I’m back in school and Caleb is adjusting extremely well to all the plethora of changes to his schedule and life. Garrett will only need me here part-time after school and some evenings.
This decision to leave weighed heavily on my mind as I lay awake in my room last night, leading up to the conclusion I finally landed on.
I will move out and back home for at least the foreseeable future. I just need to run all this by Garrett this morning.
In fact, he seems to
be running late this morning. I glance over at the stove clock to find it’s after eight-thirty, the time Garrett is normally out the door. Caleb needs to be at school in thirty minutes.
“You all done with your breakfast, buddy?” I ask him, where he’s playing with a toy truck on the kitchen table. He grins and goes “zoom zoom” – or at least, his version of it, anyhow.
“Okay, then. I’m going to go check on your dad. I’ll be right back, okay?”
I ruffle his hair as I walk by and head down the hallway toward Garrett’s bedroom. The door is closed, and I can hear him on the phone, sounding agitated.
“I’m not sure, mom. It’s all uncertain. I just heard from them this morning and I have to think about the offer and get back to them by the end of the week.”
I know I’m eavesdropping and it’s an inconsiderately rude thing to do, but I can’t help but overhear what he’s saying. I wonder if the offer he’s referring to is a deal between Penelope and his lawyers. Maybe they’ve reached an agreement or decision already.
There’s a pause and then he responds again, a little more gruffly and to the point. “Yes, I know you’d love having him closer. Yes, family is absolutely important. But this is happening so fast. I hadn’t expected it.”
Another pause and my brows form a crease, as I’m trying to decipher what it is he’s talking about. Why would Corinne be closer to Caleb? Is the family he’s referring to the three of them? Is Corinne moving down here to be closer to Caleb?
My head spins with possibilities, and then it’s as if the floor drops out from underneath me when I hear him say the last thing before I run back into the kitchen, covering my sobs in a towel at the sink.
“Yes, I realize that means I’ll need to let Brooklyn go.”
In the end, I couldn’t face talking to Garrett this morning. Instead, I finished getting Caleb ready for school and left a note on the table that I was dropping him off and that I’d talk to him later.
That was three hours ago, and I’ve been crying uncontrollably since then. Poor Kyler skipped out the minute I walked in, claiming he had an early class to get to. And Peyton, thank God for best friends. She held me in her arms on the couch and let me sob and sniffle all over her cute jumper, while I babbled endlessly about the truth behind love and the merits of remaining single.
“I let my guard down, Peyton. I fell for him and look at where it got me. I’m such a fool. He just wanted the convenience of a live-in summer lover. God, I was played so well. I might as well been a Steinway. And he was my Elton John. Played, dammit.”
Peyton tries to stifle her chuckle but fails miserably. I give her a bitchy side-eyed glance.
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m sorry, I was just picturing Garrett in those funky get-ups and glasses that Elton wore in the seventies. He’d look ridiculous.”
She strokes a warm hand down my back, rubbing it reassuringly and coo’ing softly.
“Honey, you’ll be fine. Whatever happens, you were a strong, independent woman before meeting Garrett, and you’ll be even stronger after whatever” – she flutters her hand in the air – “happens, happens.”
“But he told me he loved me, and I love him. And I love Caleb. I didn’t go looking for this to happen, it just did. And now I feel like I can’t breathe. Like this boulder-sized rock is lodged in my chest, squeezing off my airways.” I heave a dramatic sigh.
Peyton scoots on her butt around on the couch, facing me with crisscross legs, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands.
“Brooklyn, I can’t imagine what you’re going through or what you’re feeling right now because honestly, I’ve never been in love like that. But I know what it feels like to have the bottom drop out in your life and be unable to control anything. To feel like somebody up there,” she points a finger toward the ceiling, “has you on puppet strings and is dancing and flinging you around haphazardly, laughing at your misfortune.”
She reaches a hand out and pats my thigh. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t move forward. It just might mean cutting the strings to do it.”
Her mouth turns down in a pout, her bottom lip tipped in an empathetic frown.
“This is exactly why they always say it’s never a good idea to get involved with an employer. God, I’m so stupid!” I jump to my feet, pacing back and forth, muttering incoherently and whining about how unfair life can be.
And then realization dawns as if a bolt of lightning from heaven above comes crashing through our third-floor apartment. My voice shakes in a panic-stricken timbre.
“Oh my God, Peyton. What if…what if Garrett is going back to Penelope? Holy shit. That’s why he was talking about family on the phone. He wants Caleb to live as a family with both his real parents.”
I fall flat on my stomach onto the couch, my head squishing into the pillow, my hands punching into the feathers, as I scream out a long, tortured cry. Had anyone been recording me at the moment, they’d have thought I was a sick cow dying a painful death.
Peyton kneels down on the floor beside me, shifting the hair out of my face, smoothing back the wet mess stuck against my cheek.
“I’m sure that’s not the case at all. He despises that woman. But listen, girl. If that’s the worst possible thing to happen and he does get back with Penelope, you still have a life ahead of you. You’re going to finish school, study hard and get your Masters degree. And you have great friends and family who love you and will be by your side the entire way. Your life does not need to revolve around some man to make this happen and you know it.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. And if the tables were turned, I’d give her the same exact Girl Power! pep talk.
But it sure as hell doesn’t help much when you’re heartbroken and heartsick over the man you love who might be going back to the mother of his child.
Regardless of what we may have shared or become to one another this summer, that’s the one thing I can never be to Garrett or Caleb.
35
Garrett
I’m going through the motions to get through this day and hoping it’ll end soon so I can go back to bed and forget everything.
I wish I had a magic wand to wipe away everything that happened in the past and start fresh. Start new.
Which is what’s so appealing about the offer I received this morning.
The day began with a call from the Athletic Director at a small university in Franklin, Indiana, just outside of Indianapolis. Their former Head Coach passed away unexpectedly over the summer and they were in a search for a replacement for the upcoming season. The Athletic Director quickly confirmed I was on top of their short list and he wanted to see if I’d consider the position.
My head was spinning, stomach roiling and my mouth felt like someone stuffed cotton in it after the amount of booze I drank the night before. But it blurred and dulled the recollection of the way I handled myself with Brooklyn, just a little. What didn’t help was the reminder that there was still a chance that I could lose Caleb if Penelope gets what she wants.
The minute I was served the petition yesterday from Penelope’s lawyer, it was like the walls started caving in on me and the earth gave way under my feet. I was in a free fall and being boxed in at the same time if that’s even possible.
What is possible, my lawyer said, is the likelihood that I could be in for a long battle with Penelope over Caleb. He told me to schedule a meeting this morning, and that’s where I was heading first.
Needing someone to vent to, I called my mom to let her know of the petition and then told her about the job offer to get her opinion on things. Of course, she had mixed feelings about Penelope, believing that she should have a right to see her child, and wears rose-colored glasses when it comes to the belief that Penelope has changed her ways.
I vehemently disagreed that point and said I’d fight it ‘til the bitter end with everything I had.
Regardless, my mother was thrilled to hear there was a small chance I might b
e moving back home to Indiana. I told her not to get her hopes up, but I was strongly considering it. This role would be great for my career.
Although the school is a Division-Three and as far from the Pac 12 as I could get, securing a Head Coaching job could be a big stepping stone for my career. The first step would be to fly up to Indiana and meet with the AD, see if the program would be a good fit for my coaching style, and then figure things out with Caleb.
He obviously factors a great deal in me accepting any offer to move. The idea of uprooting him, especially since he’s doing so well and just started school, weighs heavily on this decision. Caleb is my number one priority, and nothing or no one else, comes close.
Except my feelings toward Brooklyn – which are right now all over the fucking board.
After hanging up with my mother, I took a shower, reviewing what I would say to Brooklyn when I saw her this morning and how I would apologize for my behavior last night. But by the time I made my way into the kitchen to speak with her, she and Caleb were already gone. She’d left a note on the table indicating she was dropping him off at school and she would see me later.
The ground beneath me seemed to shift and tilt even more. Is this what vertigo feels like?
How could I possibly choose between a job and the woman I loved?
Wasn’t this exactly how it happened with me and Becca? But in that situation, Becca gave me no choice. She took the decision out of my hands.
This time, I need to stand up for what I want. If I end up taking this job and moving, I want Brooklyn with me. Not just for Caleb and consistency in his life, but for me.
I’ve fallen for her and can’t see my life without her in it.
Resolving to take one step at a time, I pick up my keys and head out to my car.
First things first, head to my lawyer’s office and deal with this absurd petition.
“Listen, Garrett. Technically, Penelope has a legal right to petition to reinstate her parental rights, but that doesn’t mean the court will grant it. She has the burden of proof here and will have to prove that when she willingly and voluntarily terminated her parental rights to Caleb that she did so under duress.”
