Second Chance: A Military Football Romance

by Claire Adams

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I took it down. It was only up for like a day. Maybe two. I didn’t put your name or anything, and you could barely even see your face anyway. So you don’t have to feel too violated or anything. But, I am sorry.”

  I shrugged. “It’s fine. I actually do have a Facebook page. Well, it’s for the shop, but I log on there sometimes. Customers like to post pictures of their tattoos, and Helena says it would look bad if we didn’t at least ‘like’ the post. I’m not one of those people who’s completely paranoid about social media.”

  “Oh.” She brightened. “So would you care if I reposted those pictures?”

  “Why do you want to post a picture of me?”

  “Because you’re hot. And because I’m trying to make someone else jealous.”

  “I see. You think that’s a smart idea?”

  “Seeing as he left me for someone else, hell yeah, I do. Especially because I was actually considering spending the rest of my life with this person. Not to mention that we’d talked about this, like, had many conversations. All the while he’s planning on leaving me. I mean, who would do something like that?”

  “You’re a little young to be settling down with someone, aren’t you?”

  “People settle down all the time. I know some girls my age are having babies and shit.”

  “Yeah, but not you. You don’t seem the type. At least not for a long time, anyway. And let me tell you this: I might not know a lot about being in a relationship with someone, but I have seen what jealousy can do to a person, and it ain’t pretty. If your ex is out there having a good time, I’d let it go if I were you.”

  She gave me a patient smile, as though I had no clue what I was talking about. “Right, but Michael always comes out on top, you see. He thinks he can get away with anything.”

  “Then maybe you should just let him keep on thinking that.”

  “If I was a nice girl, maybe I would—but I’m not. Or if he had actually been up front with how he felt, I’d probably be a little more gracious about the whole thing, but I really can’t stand that shit. Especially considering we were together for almost two and a half years. That’s a long time to spend with someone just to have them decide one day that they’re completely over you, despite having just told you recently that you were going to spend the rest of your lives together.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Anyway, enough about that whole situation. Take a day or two to think about it if you want, but talk to Chloe. Okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chloe

  I tried not to think about him. I tried to keep myself preoccupied. Down at the art center, I worked on my sculpture, but now, everything seemed all wrong. I sat on the stool and remembered him there, next to me. I remembered the day after we’d had sex, how emboldened I’d felt when he’d shown up here, how I’d just decided to give him a blow job, even though I’d never done something like that before. And yes, a part of me had been nervous, had been afraid that it would be obvious I had no clue what I was doing, or he’d tell me to stop or that I wasn’t doing it right. But then I started doing it and it hadn’t seemed that difficult, and I could tell he liked it—a lot. And I wanted to keep doing those sorts of things with him, but now it seemed like that might’ve been the last time, and I didn’t even really know what had happened.

  I rested my forearms on the work table and then put my head down on my arms. There was a tightness in my chest and an ache in my throat and I felt like I needed to do something but I didn’t know what. It was an awful feeling, actually, wanting to go back in time and do something differently to make the current situation somehow different. But I’d gone down there and tried to talk to him, and he hadn’t wanted anything to do with me. And then that woman had walked in, who was about a thousand times hotter than I could ever hope to be. Neither of them had to say anything—it was pretty obvious what was going to happen. Was this what dating people was all about? All this fucking drama and turmoil and shitty feelings?

  I thought about Tara and all the shit she was going through with Michael, whom she wasn’t with anymore. Maybe I hadn’t really missed anything, not going out with anyone when I was in high school. Because I sure as hell didn’t like feeling like this.

  I picked my head up. The first part of the mermaid tail was on the table in front of me; I’d been adding detail to the fin and liked how it was coming out, but I reached out and grabbed it and squeezed, feeling the damp clay give beneath my hands. I kept squeezing, squashing it back into a formless lump.

  *****

  I went home not long after that because I was just getting frustrated. That’s how it worked with art—sometimes you could channel all your frustrations and anger and anxiety and whatever other negative feelings you were experiencing into productive energy; other times it just crippled you. Nothing productive was happening for me today and I could overhear other people laughing and talking about their works-in-progress and everyone sounded like they were having such a good time that I decided I should just go home.

  But I couldn’t even find any respite there. I went upstairs to my room and lay down on my bed. A nap might be good. No sooner had I shut my eyes, though, when there was a soft knock on the door. Before I could even respond, the door opened and my mother breezed in.

  “Are you not feeling well?” she asked, perching at the edge of my bed.

  “I’m not sick.”

  “You don’t usually lie down during the day, though. Just catching up on a little beauty rest?”

  “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

  “Is that really all that’s going on?” she asked. “You look so glum. Is everything all right? Are you having a hard time with your art project?”

  “I’m fine,” I snapped. I knew she was just trying to help, but I hated how trite she made it sound by saying “art project.”

  She gave me a surprised look. “Well, you don’t sound fine. Is there something you want to talk about? Talking about it helps sometimes, you know.”

  “It’s ...” I hesitated, part of me insisting that I not elaborate any further, but a larger part of me wanting to just talk to someone about it. My mother waited, looking at me expectantly. “I just like someone, is all. Or liked someone, and I don’t think he feels the same way. And, as you’re so fond of reminding me, I don’t have much experience when it comes to dating, so I’m not used to feeling like this. I don’t think I actually like it much, to be honest.”

  My mother patted my leg. “Oh, Chloe, I’m sorry to hear that you’re feeling like this. I remember all too well what it was like to be interested in someone and not have the feeling reciprocated. It’s not a great feeling; you’re right.”

  It was the first time in quite a while that I could recall saying something about how I truly felt and having my mother just agree with me. I turned my head and looked at her. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “But that’s just the way it goes. You’ve got to risk feeling bad because if you don’t, you’ll miss out on all the opportunities that you have to feel great. And sometimes things don’t always work out how we want them to. But that’s okay—it’s a learning experience.”

  “I know. I’m not trying to be dramatic. I just thought ... I don’t know what I thought. I guess I realize that I have no clue about any of this.”

  “That’s no reason to give up or get discouraged. Sweetheart, you’re young. You’re beautiful. But more importantly, you’re a good person and you’ve got a kind heart. There is no doubt in my mind that you will meet someone—the right person for you. You will. This guy that you’re talking about—how well did you really know him? He just doesn’t sound like your type. And you may not want to hear this, but I know you better than anyone else. I’m your mom, after all. And I know that the right person is out there for you. Like Parker. How is everything going with him?”

  “Nothing is going on between us.
”

  “Well, you went to that ... what was it? A bike thing?”

  “A bike race.”

  She smiled. “Right. The bike race. You went to that with him, and it sounded like you guys had a fun time. When are you going to see him again?”

  “I really don’t know, Mom. He’s been bugging me to hang out this week and I told him that I was busy. Because I am.”

  She waved a hand. “Oh, I’m sure you could find some time to see him. Even to just grab a quick bite to eat?”

  “Why are you so intent on me seeing him?”

  “Because he’s a good kid! From a good family! Just like you. I can tell that you want to be dating, and I’m trying to encourage that. I want that for you. You don’t think that I want to see you unhappy like this, do you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Well good, because I don’t! In fact, I’ve got a great idea. Let’s go do something fun. Just the two of us. We’ve hardly spent any time together and the summer is halfway over. It’s a gorgeous day; there’s no reason for you to spend it moping in your bedroom.”

  She sounded so enthusiastic about it that I couldn’t help but feel a little bit better. Maybe I did just need a change of scenery, something to get my mind off of Graham, and the fact that when it came to dating, I had absolutely no clue what I was doing.

  *****

  We drove up to Provincetown, which someone in college had once told me was the “gayest city in the U.S.,” even though it wasn’t actually a city. It was a funky little seaside town, the very tip of Cape Cod, an artist’s enclave, as well as a mecca for all things gay. Just a fun spot, overall, though for my mother, certainly a bit out of her comfort zone.

  “Oh, my,” she said under her breath. Two, well-muscled men, wearing little more than leather thongs and flip-flops, walked by us, holding hands. We passed by another man dressed as a woman, in a long sequined evening gown and impossibly high heels. My mother’s eyes widened even further. “Let’s go in here,” she said, tugging me into a restaurant we were walking by. “I heard this place is supposed to be pretty good, actually.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  The restaurant had a distinctly European feel: minimalist décor, everything very modern. We were seated on high stools at a round table for two. “Abigail will be right over to take your drink order,” the hostess—who may have actually been a man—told us.

  “Great,” my mother said, and we both began looking at the menus.

  Abigail turned out to be a pretty girl with a pierced nose and very short, spiky hair, dyed bright pink. Except in the front, she had left her hair long and had side-swept bangs. Both her arms were covered in colorful tattoos, from her shoulders all the way down to the backs of her hands. I tried not to think about Graham.

  “Now that’s quite the look,” my mother whispered to me after she’d taken our order.

  “I kind of like it,” I said. “She doesn’t have to worry about brushing her hair every morning.”

  “Now,” my mother said. “Let’s talk about something nice, shall we? How is your sculpture project coming along?”

  “Uh ... it’s okay,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her that it actually wasn’t coming along at all.

  “Your father and I will come to the opening. I want you to know that. It’s important to us that we be there and see what you’ve been working on.”

  “Great,” I said, feeling even worse about the whole thing. I just had to not think about that right now, either. There didn’t seem to be anything safe to think about. I started ripping my napkin into little bits, wishing that I had just stayed at home in bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Graham

  I decided to do what Tara said—I’d give it a few days before I got in touch with Chloe. Maybe I’d even decide that I didn’t feel like talking to her after those few days had passed, which was nothing more than wishful thinking. I couldn’t, in fact, seem to get her out of my mind.

  I had her address; I’d go over to her house and talk to her. I’d tell her I was sorry and that I hadn’t really felt like this toward someone before and I didn’t quite know how to handle that. Maybe that sounded lame, but it was the truth. If she wanted to know what happened between me and Francesca, I’d tell her that too: absolutely nothing.

  My phone rang as I was pouring my first cup of coffee of the day. I looked at the screen. My mother.

  “Something is up with my car again,” my mother said. “Are you at work?”

  “No, I’ve got the day off.”

  “Oh, good! So you can come down there. Can you come down here now?”

  “Just because I’m not going into work doesn’t mean I’m just sitting around on my ass—I’ve got things I need to do.”

  “It will just be a few minutes, sweetie, please?”

  “There’s no one there who can help you? I find that hard to believe.”

  “If you left your house now, you’d be here in under five minutes. I think it just needs a jump again.”

  “It sounds like you need to invest in a new battery if it’s going to keep dying.”

  “Yes, I know. And I will. But for now, will you just come down here?”

  I should’ve known better, but I agreed.

  *****

  My mother was sitting on the hood of her car, smoking a cigarette. Another woman that I didn’t recognize stood next to her.

  “See, that hardly took you any time at all,” my mother said. “Now, come over here; I want you to meet Charlotte.”

  She grabbed me by my forearm and pulled me over.

  “Charlotte, this is my son Graham. Isn’t he as handsome as I told you? Graham, this is Charlotte.”

  “Hey,” I said. Charlotte smiled. She was one of those women that might have been pretty, but it was hard to tell because she put so much makeup on.

  “Your mom’s told me a lot about you.”

  “I can just imagine,” I said. “I don’t really have time to chat, though; I’m just here to jump start that piece of shit car. Again.”

  “I have to go get something inside, I’ll be right back!” my mother exclaimed. She turned and hurried off before I could say anything.

  “So,” Charlotte said. “I guess this is where I’m supposed to ask what you out.”

  I looked at her. “Huh?”

  “Your mom said you were single, and she thought ... she thought we might hit it off. But we won’t know that if we don’t go out, right? I just got out of a relationship myself, actually. Well, we broke up a while ago, but this is the first time I’ve really felt like getting back out there on the dating scene. It’s because—”

  “Hold up,” I said. “I think you might have the wrong idea here. I came down because my mother said her car needed a jump.”

  Charlotte smiled and shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Right. I get it. Listen, I’m sure you’re a very nice person, but you can’t listen to my mother, okay? I shouldn’t have listened to her—if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now, on my day off.”

  “I think she was just trying to be helpful.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she was. Just like I’m sure there’s nothing she actually needed to go get inside, but just wanted to give us a little alone time to arrange our date tonight.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Janice has good intentions.”

  “Well, I think I’m going to take off before she comes back out here. You can tell her I appreciate her efforts at playing matchmaker, but I’d prefer to let these things happen a little more naturally.”

  “I completely understand.”

  “Great.” I started to get into my truck. “Good luck, though,” I said. “And do yourself a favor—don’t listen to what my mother says anymore.”

  Since I was already out, I decided I’d just drive over to Chloe’s. That would keep me from thinking about the fact that my mother was batshit crazy and that I’d never in a million years go out with someone from The Finery.

&n
bsp; I put Chloe’s address into the GPS and found it pretty easily. They stayed in a place that was right by the ocean, of course.

  I knew Chloe came from a wealthy family, but I hadn’t been expecting this. The house was fucking huge. She lived here? My place must’ve seemed like a shoebox to her. I parked my truck at the end of the long driveway, which wasn’t paved but covered in crushed, white seashells. The lawn was a brilliant green and perfectly manicured, like it should’ve been a putting green. There were elegant flower beds and a brick walkway that led up to a Cape-style house. Except it was more like five or six houses that were combined all into one. Three people lived here? Insane.

  I went up to the front door and knocked.

  “Just a minute!” a woman’s voice called out from somewhere back in the house. She appeared a moment later, a tall woman with similar features to Chloe. The expression on her changed when she saw me though, from open friendliness to guarded skepticism.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “This is a private residence.” She stood behind the door, as though using it for a shield.

  Was she serious? Did she think I was about to pull out a knife or something and demand that she give me all of her money? I had to stifle a laugh.

  “Does Chloe live here?” I asked.

  The woman hesitated. “Why are you asking?”

  “I just wanted to talk to her. I mean, I know she lives here because I see her car right over there.” I gestured behind me and the woman looked as though she didn’t believe me.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Graham. Graham Walker.”

  “Chloe isn’t available to speak to you right now. Or ever, really. I don’t know who you are, Mr. Walker, or what exactly you might want with my daughter, but I think it’s best you just forget about it. I’m not sure how else to phrase this, but ... you’re not the type of person my husband or I would like our daughter to be fraternizing with. I apologize for putting it so bluntly, but I just want us to be clear here.”

  She had stepped out from behind the door and was looking at me boldly, as if challenging me to contradict her.