Sell Out

by Tammy L. Gray

  Cody had been relentless with the calls, texts, and songs about heartbreak. He knew music was my weakness, and the last YouTube link he sent thirty minutes ago, along with his plea that I come watch the finals, had me caving.

  Heavy, sweaty air assaulted my nose when I pushed open the gym door. The bleachers were full, whistles blew from every direction and the echoing noise was enough to cause my eardrums to ache. Greensboro had nothing on the sizzling tension that pulsed throughout the gym.

  I only made it three more feet before Cody appeared.

  “You came!” He immediately pulled me in for a tight hug. “You have no idea how happy I am you’re here. My bracket is done. I’m just waiting to see who I wrestle in the finals.”

  I hugged him briefly, refusing to get lost in the feel of his arms around me. They were too strong. They made me feel safe when he wasn’t. Secure when I knew I had to let go.

  Cody’s hands gently touched my cheeks. “I know things are rocky, but you being here…” For a split second I saw a flash of hope, one that made me want to forget my hurt.

  “It means everything,” he said.

  I was back in his arms, overwhelmed by the scent of him and the feeling that maybe we could make it.

  He pulled me to the corner, kissed me like we hadn’t kissed since before his suspension because, for the first time in days, I returned his affection.

  “This week has killed me,” he admitted, pushing my hair from my face, watching me with eyes that seemed more vulnerable than those of a fierce champion defending his title.

  “I know. Me, too.” I looked around, searching for my friends among the mass of students. “Have you seen Zoe?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. “Just for today, will you sit with people cheering for me?”

  I couldn’t say no, not after he’d made me feel like my being here was the difference between him winning and losing. “Okay, sure.”

  He took my hand and pulled me along until we were in the middle bleachers about six rows up. Stopping at the end of a row, Cody waved at a guy with short, dark hair and tattoos. He’d be handsome if he weren’t so scary. The guy waved back and started his trek through multiple sets of legs to reach us.

  When I squeezed his hand, Cody laughed and wrapped an arm around me. “That’s Matt, my trainer. He’s here with his wife.”

  The pride on Cody’s face said it all. Matt’s opinion mattered to him. Which meant Matt’s opinion of me mattered to him. Suddenly, I was nervous, feeling a little of Cody’s pain when he met my dad.

  Matt finally made it to the end of the row and stood next to Cody, slapping him on the back. I didn’t know if it was his height or his size or the hardness of his face, but I immediately took a step back, completely overwhelmed.

  Cody’s arm tightened, pulling me forward. “Matt, this is my girlfriend, Skylar.”

  Matt stuck out his hand and grinned, his expression softening a little. “Nice to meet you. Cody’s told me a lot about you.”

  I shook his hand lightly and tucked closer into Cody’s side.

  “You ready?” he asked Cody. “Got your head where it needs to be?”

  A silent conversation happened between them and Cody stiffened, his face getting the same ready-to-fight expression that seemed to be permanent on Matt. “I’m winning this thing.”

  Matt squeezed Cody’s shoulder. “No holding back.”

  “No holding back,” Cody repeated.

  I felt like I was in the middle of a Rocky movie, and any minute “The Eye of the Tiger” would start playing.

  Cody finally remembered my presence and kissed the top of my head. “Wait for me after the match, okay?”

  I nodded, and he took off down the stairs leaving me with a man who made my palms sweat.

  Matt stretched out his arm, indicating I should start my journey to our seats. “After you.”

  *

  My stomach was an array of flips and tingles and just a slight bit of nausea. Blake had swept the other bracket, which meant he’d be Cody’s opponent. The guys stood opposite each other, their faces a mix of hatred and competitiveness.

  I peeked over at Matt. His face looked exactly the same, and it sent a shiver through my spine.

  “You’ll have to excuse my husband,” Grace said with a dimpled smile. “He gets emotionally involved.” Affection hung off every word while she gently stroked his flexed arm.

  For a moment, the vicious fighter was gone. Matt turned and kissed her temple, glancing at her like she was his sun and moon and stars. It’s what I wanted. What I thought we had.

  Pushing down the envy, I turned my attention back to the two boys in the center. Nothing good could come from this match. Cody and Blake were already at war, and I had a bad feeling the winner today would secure a whole lot more than a trophy.

  The whistle blew and the boys grabbed at each other like animals vying for dominance. You’d think the Super 32 taught me something, but I still had no idea what was happening, only that Matt seemed excited about the moves Cody used. The whistles blew again, and Matt clapped and cheered.

  A point was given to Cody.

  Time continued, but I was in a daze. To me, there wasn’t much going on, just both boys gripping and thrashing and moving, but neither ended up on his back. Grace tried to explain what moves got points—takedowns, reversals, escapes, near falls, and the list went on.

  I stopped listening after the first four points, knowing I’d never remember what she said anyway. My mind didn’t process numbers. They floated in my head, jumbled around and then disappeared, quickly replaced with a new design for my sketchbook.

  “This is it. Third and final round.”

  The excitement in Matt’s voice had my pulse jumping. Was Cody winning? The points showed Blake having six. Cody with five.

  Matt must have seen my confusion. “Blake’s tired. Look at the way his arms are shaking. Cody’s going to pin him in the first minute.”

  My throat tightened. I wanted him to be right. I wanted Cody to have that moment. That victory. Everything in me wanted us to make it. I wanted prom and graduation. I wanted late nights picking out our college together. I wanted Cody to be my future.

  The round started with Blake on all fours and Cody leaning over him. The whistle blew, and the boys began their locked and strained position again.

  Suddenly, there was chaos. Blake had Cody flipped around, struggling to keep his upper back from touching the mat. Matt was screaming about dirty moves and that the ref was blind.

  The crowd roared.

  Then it was over.

  Matt sat down and shook his head ferociously. “So, the punk wants a street fight.” He turned a determined stare to Cody who had his head in his hands, but Matt didn’t say another word. Grace rubbed her husband’s back in a gesture that was obviously meant to calm him. It seemed to work.

  I glanced around the gym. Faces everywhere glowed with victory, Blake’s being the brightest of all. But my heart hurt for the man bent over as if second place branded him a loser. I kept my eyes locked on his face hoping he would look up and see that I was there to support him. That I believed in him. That I was strong enough to share in his pain.

  He said my being here meant everything, and I wanted him to know he was right. This loss wasn’t the end. We had everything to look forward to.

  But his eyes didn’t find me in the seat he had picked out. They flashed toward the front of the gym instead. I turned to follow his gaze and caught a view of Lindsay’s shiny blond hair right before she slipped through the wide gym doors.

  CODY

  The medal hung around my neck like a weighted chain. The metallic silver was one I would have been proud of just a year ago. But today, it only meant failure.

  Matt and Grace stood next to Skylar, waiting, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I needed a shower. Needed to wash away the sweat and pain of yet another loss.

  I approached them, trying to hide the explosion going on inside. Matt wou
ld expect me to be in control. To push through the desire to find Blake in a dark alley and beat him until the word “illegal move” was wiped away from my memory.

  “We’ll resume after Thanksgiving,” was all Matt said, but his eyes showed so much more. “Take a break until then.”

  I felt myself crack. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. But Blake will be.” Matt gripped my shoulder in a gesture normally meant to encourage and empower. It did neither. He and Grace said their goodbyes to Skylar and left the gym.

  I didn’t want to look at Skylar. She’d already seen me fall short, and I couldn’t take seeing disappointment in her eyes.

  “Congrats on second place.” Her voice was light, but I could sense an edge to it. A fakeness that was rare with her.

  I finally looked up and saw all I needed to in a glance. Her tight-lipped smile was paired with an unnatural stiffness in her shoulders.

  “Thanks.” The word came out as bitter as it felt on my tongue.

  One, two, three beats of silence followed and began choking what was left of my airway.

  Her eyes misted and blinked, her face turning toward the gym doors as if they held a much-needed escape. “I should probably go. My dad wanted me back.”

  A fist beat on my heart. “Wait,” I whispered, taking her hand and pulling her toward me. Maybe she wished she’d chosen differently. Maybe she wanted to be standing next to Blake as the team high-fived and cheered. But I didn’t care. I had to hold her. Had to believe for one moment that my life wasn’t unraveling.

  I buried my face in her mass of red curls. Even her scent soothed me, made me believe in happy endings.

  “I could stay. If you need me.” Her voice was a whisper in my ear. A promise to be there for me.

  “Cody,” Coach hollered from inside the circle of my teammates. His face beamed. He couldn’t care less who took first place as long as it was a Madison student. “Get over here.”

  “I’m coming,” I yelled back but kept a hand on my girlfriend. “It’ll only be a few minutes. Then we can go out and forget everything that happened today.”

  Her face fell. “Actually, I forgot I told Zoe I would come over. I’ll just see you after the holidays.”

  “Wait. What about Thanksgiving? My parents want to meet you.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. I’m going to be swamped with company.” She spun around and practically jogged to the exit.

  “Cody! Now.” Coach’s voice was a warning I couldn’t ignore.

  I made the defeated trek back to the team trying my best not to look disappointed in winning a medal some of these guys would kill for. I passed Blake, refusing to look at the smug, arrogant expression I knew would be there and found a place on the opposite side of Coach Taylor.

  We whooped and hollered and shouted victory chants that dated back to the days when Madison dominated the prep leagues. But, in my soul, I felt no power. No victory.

  Only one word echoed in my brain—Defeat.

  SKYLAR

  I’d never been so excited for the Thanksgiving holidays. Raif and Striker were already at my house, and in minutes Ricky would be walking through the door.

  My father ruffled my hair. “You know Ricky is never on time.”

  The clock showed he had exactly two minutes to prove Daddy wrong. And I knew because I hadn’t stopped inspecting the second hand.

  Raif walked in from the kitchen holding a steaming cup of coffee. He’d resemble a preppy Englishman about to sit for a spot of tea except for the white-blond spikes of hair so gelled and stiff, they shimmered in the light. “I don’t recall getting a Skylar welcome party.” His face scrunched, a fake pout directed at me.

  “Skylar’s always loved Ricky more than us. I accepted her poor taste a long time ago,” Striker said, joining us in the fancy parlor no one used.

  Striker and Raif stood together like a yin yang symbol. Striker was as black as Raif was white. Only Striker’s hair hung down his back in long dreadlocks. He also had three earrings in each ear and more fashion sense than Vera Wang.

  Truth was, I loved them all. They were my family and, more than anything, I just wanted Ricky to get here so we could all be together.

  “Speak for yourself, mate,” Raif said. I scooted over, giving him a place to sit. He delicately set down his coffee mug and pulled out a small box from his pocket. The baby blue color had my heart fluttering. “Some of us know the way to a woman’s heart.” He handed me the Tiffany’s box and winked. “Happy Birthday, Kiddo.”

  My birthday. Eighteen. It was only a couple of weeks away, but I’d hardly thought about it.

  “Thank you.” I pulled the delicate white ribbon and opened the box. My throat thickened. It was my name, Skylar Wyld, in platinum with small stones lining both y’s. The first was lined with my father’s, mother’s and my birthstones. The second was lined with the birthstones from the rest of the band. I knew because I’d been obsessed with birthstones at fifteen and made them all suffer through my phase with gaudy Christmas presents.

  His voice caught. “It’s a one of a kind, like you.”

  I hugged him tight. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much”

  “What’s this? We’re apart four months, and now I don’t even get a hug?”

  I sprang off the couch and into Ricky’s arms. “You’re here!”

  He smelled like home. Stiff leather, Boss cologne and spearmint. Ricky was the heartthrob of the band. Tall, tan, shaggy brown hair and a chiseled jaw that still turned heads, even at forty-eight years old. He’d been my first, second and third crush until I was finally mature enough to realize he was an old man. A fact I liked reminding him of often.

  “That’s more like it.” He pushed me back, keeping a grip on my upper arms and studied my face. “My goodness, Skylar, you’re the spitting image of your mother.” His eyes flicked to my father’s. “Better get your shotgun ready.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you.” My dad pulled Ricky in for a man hug, and I didn’t miss the way Ricky’s face flinched when he squeezed my father’s disappearing frame.

  The harsh reality of the situation poured off Ricky like steam from a latte. I could ignore it with the others. Ignore that Raif and Striker had left their families at home to fly halfway across the world and spend this time with my father. But with Ricky, I knew there would be no pretending. They all were coming to say good-bye.

  The others hugged and greeted while I stayed rooted in place, my chest burning as I tried again and again to push away the sudden weight of sadness.

  “Once again, you stole my moment,” Raif complained. “I give a woman jewelry, even get a hug out of her, and with one word she’s flying across the room. Shameful.”

  “Skylar’s my girl, what can I say?” Ricky slung an arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head.

  I nestled in, reveled in the reassuring security of my dad’s best friend. Reaching out, I took my father’s hand and focused on the faces of the men I’d known my whole life. A sea of tears streaked down my face.

  My father did a double take at my sudden emotional shift. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

  Three pairs of eyes followed his, and the room became eerily still, like the tiniest movement would send me over the cliff. But the silence only pushed me forward. Laughter bubbled in my chest and then came out in a hysterical laugh/cry where snot mixed with tears and words became a slur of sobs.

  Ricky snapped his head toward my father. “What the heck, Donnie! What’d you do to our stable, happy girl?”

  My father threw up his hands. “Don’t blame me. She’s the one who up and got a boyfriend.”

  They all gasped, and I doubled over. Maybe from the laughter or the pain or from how unbelievably tired I felt trying to stay hopeful. Hands rubbed at my back, soothed my hair and held mine as the four men who raised me tried their hardest to make all my sorrow go away.

  *

  Tucked in a chair with a blanket up to my chin, I fought off the autumn chill in our backyard.
It had taken numerous jokes, a box of tissues, and a hot bath to finally calm me down, the flood of repressed emotion so overwhelming that hiccups followed my burst of tears.

  My hair, still wet, left splotches of water on my t-shirt, but I was past caring. I just felt empty.

  Wood from our new fire pit crackled and offered a tiny bit of extra heat, but mostly it was there for ambiance. Dad had turned our backyard into an outside oasis, yet I was the only one seated on the wicker sectional. Proof that my hysterics had scared them all away.

  Four unlit Tiki torches with citronella marked the corners of the patio. We’d planted a rose bush near the back door, and I stared at it wondering if my dad would ever see it bloom.

  “Finally calm?” Ricky hesitated, waving a steaming cup of tea like a peace offering. “I’ve been kicked out of the kitchen, and I need a place to land.”

  I patted the space next to me and tucked my bare feet further under the blanket.

  “So, where’s this so called boyfriend? Aren’t y’all supposed to be meeting parents, stuffing your faces with too much turkey and trying to sneak away for stolen kisses?”

  I pushed his arm. “It’s not like that. We’ve only been dating a little while.” And we’re heading right into breakup territory. Cody had left me four messages. None of which I returned.

  “That’s not how your father explains it. ‘Gooey eyes’ he said.”

  “My father exaggerates.”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Donnie saying Cody is our ‘biggest fan’?” The air quotes were as annoying as the tilt of his lips.

  “No.”

  “Then why isn’t he here?”

  “Because I don’t want him here. I-I just want it to be us, like it used to be.” The answer flew through my mouth without a filter.

  Ricky gave me his you-can’t-live-in-a-bubble scowl. And I gave him my just-watch-me one right back.