by Tracey Ward
“You guys are just in time for kickoff,” he tells us excitedly.
“Who’s playing?” Michael asks.
“Kodiaks and Panthers. Should be a good one.”
Michael casts me a playful look, one full of knowledge I should never have equipped him with. “That’ll be fun for Lilly to watch.”
“I doubt that,” Dad chuckles at Michael. He thinks he’s making a joke. Dad knows I don’t care about football.
“Lilly met one of the players,” Michael explains to him.
Dad’s face lights up as he looks at me. “Really? Was it at that party? You did a thing for one of them, right? It was, uh…It was…” he twirls his spatula, his eyes going unfocused as he tries to remember. “Dammit, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“It was a coach’s gender reveal,” I help out.
He frowns. “Is that some kind of sexual thing? Like he was a guy and now he’s a girl?”
“No,” I chuckle. “That’s transgender. This was a baby shower kind of thing. They’re having a girl.”
“Oh, congrats to them.” He turns back to the grill, flipping a burger expertly. “Who’d you meet?”
“Colt Avery,” I tell him, the name sounding strange to me. Distant in this context, this situation, like I barely know it. Like I didn’t moan it in a shower filled with steam and man and muscle last night. “A couple others too. Trey, the quarterback.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Michael accuses.
I shrug. “I just met him last night.”
“Where?”
“Rona and I were invited to a party. They were there. She met a guy named Matthews too.”
“Kurtis Matthews?” Dad asks, his eyes bright with interest. Fully engaged and heartbreakingly beautiful.
“I think that’s right, yeah.”
“Kurtis Matthews, man,” Dad muses to himself. “That guy was a powerhouse coming out of college. I think it was three… no maybe four or five years ago. Anyway, he comes out of the Draft onto the Kodiaks, blows the roof off the place, and gets traded away after one year. He went to the Miners up in Montana.”
“Why’d they trade him away if he was doing so well?”
“No clue. There’s a lot of rumors and speculation but no one knows the real answer. Coach Allen always talked about it like he lost a son. It was sad in a way. And then when Matthews gets to Montana they use him for a year and bench him. He wasn’t gelling with their program so they took this incredible talent and parked him on the pine.” Dad shakes his head in disgust. “Idiots. They should have traded him back right away. He wasted years up there.”
“Why’d they trade him back now?”
“For Trey. Remember when we watched his Draft? He was the upset. He had that messed up hand and everyone was writing him off, then all of the sudden the Kodiaks get Montana’s first round pick to snatch him up, they get Kurtis Matthews back, and all they had to give up was that diva running back Duncan Walker. And now that he’s out of the way Colt Avery is shining like a star. No one knew the kid had that kind of talent.” Dad turns back to his BBQ, the smoke rising around him in a fragrant fog. “What kind of guy is he?”
“He’s really nice. Funny.”
Dad nods. “That’s good to hear. You see these guys on TV and you wonder what they’re really like. If the fame has gone to their head or if they’re good people.”
I look sideways at Michael, gaging his reaction to this topic that touches so close to Cassie.
He has none. He’s parked himself in a lawn chair, his legs stretched out, his face turned to the sun. He’s barely listening.
“He’s got an appearance at the children’s hospital tomorrow,” I tell Dad proudly. “Him and the other guys from the DQ commercials.”
“Tyus Anthony and Trey,” he immediately fills in, the names so easily accessed from his extensive Kodiak database. “Did you meet Tyus?”
“No. Not yet.”
He pauses, looking at me over his shoulder. “Not yet, huh? So you’re going to see Avery again?”
I flush, realizing my mistake. “I don’t know. Probably.”
“When did you say you met him?”
“Last Monday.”
“He showed up to the filming at the bakery the next day,” Michael adds, his eyes still closed.
He’s listening closer than I thought.
“It was really nice of him,” I tell them quickly. “He agreed to be filmed for the episode and he took cookies with him to his practice to share. It was a cool thing to do for the bakery. We’ve had lines waiting outside every morning since.”
I’m downplaying this and I don’t know why. I think it’s because to the world he isn’t Colt, the guy who texts me every day and calls me every night. He’s Colt Avery, the panty-dropping star who’s giving Snicker’s ‘it’ll satisfy you’ slogan a whole new meaning every day. I don’t want to hear a lecture about keeping my head on straight. About how I should be careful because I know all of that. I tell myself that every day when I find myself thinking about him, smiling, rereading his texts and counting the hours until I’ll see him again.
Dad looks at my curiously. “Are you dating this boy?”
“I’ve known him for a week.” And seen him almost every single day of that week. “We’re just hanging out.” A lot. And texting/calling the rest of the time. “I don’t think either of us has a lot time to date. We’re both pretty busy.” Busy making out every chance we get.
“You said he’s a nice guy?”
“Really nice.”
“Well, good.” He grins. “You could do worse, I guess. And he’s not too hard on the eyes, right?”
I shake my head, looking away. “I don’t know. He’s alright.”
“Alright? Your mom told me he’s on the shortlist for People Magazine’s Hottest Ass list or whatever they call it.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”
“It’s close. Is it something about tapping? Tapping ass? Is that a thing?”
“Yes, but no.”
“Twerking? Does he twerk? Have you twerked with him, Lilly?”
“No,” I laugh.
“Is that a dance or a drug? What is that?”
“Stop. Oh my God, just stop.”
He laughs. “Stop what?”
“Trying to be current,” Michael tells him. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m current. I’m hip!”
“You’re not though.”
“I am. I’m thinking about getting a sports car.”
“No!” I shout in shock.
“A Miata.”
Michael chuckles. “You mean a mid-life crisis mobile?”
“Is he talking about the Miata?” Mom asks from the door. She’s standing in the opening, her arms crossed over her chest against the cold, a small, hesitant smile on her lips.
I look to her pleadingly. “You won’t let him, right?”
“I think it would be cute.”
“Did you hear that, Dad?” I ask him. “’Cute’. You’d be ‘cute’.”
He grins at my mom. “I’d be sexy. Right, bae?”
“No!” I shout in outrage. “Stop the madness.”
Dad laughs. “I gotta get the buns. We’re almost ready here.” He passes by me, leaning in to press a quick kiss on my temple. “I’m glad you’re here, Lil. I miss you.”
I smile, turning to watch him disappear into the house. “I miss you too, Dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
COLT
November 16th
Children’s Hospital
Los Angeles, CA
I’ll never get used to this. I’ll never stop doing it, but I’ll never get used to it.
My stomach is tight, sick with the heavy hospital scent filling the lobby. I can’t ignore it. Not like they probably can. They live it because this is their home. Tied to machines by wires and tubes that beep and whir all night long, lulling them to sleep.
The kids aren’t the
hardest part though. Kids are resilient. They’re hopeful. They’re stronger than any adult will ever dream to be. It’s the parents that kill me. That tired look in their eyes. The creases in the corner of their mouths. Frown lines. Worry etched in every feature, even when they’re smiling. Gray hairs. Trembling fingers. To give a kid life only to watch it be stripped from them breath by breath, I can’t imagine what it must be like to watch. It gives me a better understanding of my mom and how she must feel every time I take a hit.
I remind myself to call her when I’m done here.
“You’re Colt Avery, aren’t you?”
I look to my left to find a girl with white, blond hair, big green eyes, and some kind of blue uniform on. I think it’s the kind they wear in the gift shop. She’s looking up at me timidly.
“Yeah. Hey.” I offer her my hand.
Her cheeks flush red as cherries as she takes it delicately in hers. “It’s so cool to meet you.”
“Thanks. You too…”
Her blush deepens. “Garnet.”
“Garnet. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re here to visit the kids?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Oh my God, that’s so sweet. You’re really sweet.”
“It’s an act,” Tyus tells her bluntly. “He’s a jerk.”
I shake my head. “I’m not a jerk.”
“You are.” He addresses Garnet in a conspiratorial whisper. “He uses stray dogs for target practice on his property.”
“What property?” I demand.
“Wouldn’t the cops like to know?”
“You’re an asshole.”
Tyus shrugs, looking away, already bored with the conversation. “You’re the dog hunter, man. I don’t know why you’re mad at me.”
“Gentleman,” Beverly, our hospital liaison calls to us. “We’re ready if you are.”
I nod to Garnet. “Have a good one. Please don’t tell people I’m a puppy killer, okay, kid?”
“I’m nineteen,” she blurts out after me. “I’m legal.”
I pause, looking back at her passively. “For what?”
She hesitates, her mouth hanging open. She’s more shocked than anyone that she said it, but there’s no going back now.
I cast her a wry smile to soften her embarrassment. “It was just an expression. But happy nineteenth birthday. Kid.”
Beverly, a middle aged woman with a big ass and a bigger smile, quickly leads us out of the lobby, but not before giving Garnet a disapproving, motherly look.
Other people recognize us as we cruise down the long, wide corridors. They smile and wave, but no one else engages us. Tyus, Trey, and I are wearing our home jerseys over regular street clothes, making it easy for everyone to tell who we are. In addition to our agents, we’re followed by an intern from the team pulling a small cart full of Kodiak swag. Jerseys, shirts, blankets, pillows, photos, posters. He has a digital camera dangling from his neck and a wad of Sharpies sticking out of his pocket. I reach over and snag one as we walk down the long hall.
“Is this your first time at one of these?” I ask him.
He looks up at me gratefully. I don’t think anyone but Berny Shaw, Trey’s agent, has talked to the guy since we got here, and that was to tell him he was standing too close to the automatic doors. He was obliviously triggering it over and over again. “Yeah. They told me to make sure I had enough pens.”
“How many do you have?”
“Twenty.”
“For three of us?”
“Yeah. Is that not enough?”
I smile. “We’ll make it work.”
He nods, his face relieved.
Beverly stops at the end of a hall before it branches to the right and left. She turns to face us, a black clipboard hugged tightly to her chest. “This is where we have you scheduled today. I’ve warned everyone that you’ll meet as many of them as you can, but we know you’re very busy so we didn’t make any promises that you’ll get to everyone down this hall.”
“I’m here all day,” I tell her. “I’ll get to everyone.”
Her smile tightens slightly. “That would be… we would love it if you could. I don’t know if you gentleman have been here to do this before, but I want to thank you for… just, thank you for all of this. Your time and your talent. They’re very excited. You have no idea.”
“We’re happy to be here,” Trey assures her smoothly.
Tyus claps his hands together, swaying slightly from his left foot to his right the way he does when he’s getting ready to come off the sidelines. “Let’s get this started.”
Beverly casts us one last smile before leading us to the first door. It’s open, but she stops to knock lightly on the frame.
“Hi,” she calls sweetly. “Bentley, I have some visitors for you.”
She waves us in behind her.
The room is hot, probably to keep Little Dude’s temperature up. He can’t be older than seven and he’s thin as a rail. Not a hair on his head. There’s an IV in his arm, a yellowing bruise surrounding the insertion point. A heart monitor on his left, beeping incessant and even.
I’m immediately thinking leukemia.
It’s not my goal to guess their illness the second I walk into their room. It seems like a pretty messed up game to play. I can’t help it, though. I make these visits at least twice a year, something I started doing in my college days at North Carolina State, and after a while you start to notice the patterns. The symptoms and the signs. The skinny kids who can’t stand to eat thanks to the nausea inducing radiation treatments that send their hair falling from their scalp. The easy bruising. Chills.
It’s a rough truth, but your body tells your story like a book to anyone paying attention, whether you want it to or not.
I put on my game face and stride confidently into the room. I offer my knuckles to Bentley. “What’s up, little man?”
He beams up at me, bumping my big fist with his small, bone white knuckles. “You’re Colt Avery.”
“That’s right. You a Kodiaks fan?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Like, a hundred percent sure? ‘Cause I got some gear here that I wanna sign for you, but if you’re really a Raiders fan or something, then I don’t know…”
Bentley sits up excitedly, straining to look around agents. His eyes light up when he spots the swag cart. “I’m a hundred percent sure! A hundred and fifty percent sure!”
I turn to the guys standing at the end of the bed. “What do you think, Tyus?”
“Trey Domata!” Bentley shouts, suddenly aware of who else is standing in his room. “Your pass against the Seahawks was sick.”
“You’re talking about the one to me, right?” Tyus asks cockily, smiling with the right side of his mouth and putting up his hands like he’s taking the pass all over again. “Seconds to go on the clock, in the red zone, he hits me in the corner, and bam! Touchdown, baby. Game over.”
Bentley’s face is confused. “You guys beat the Seahawks thirty-one to twenty-one. You were ahead the entire second half.”
Tyus’ hands lower slowly, his smile strained. “Nah, man, the Seahawks game was…”
“You’re thinking of the Chargers game,” Trey tells him. “You made the game winning catch. Sixteen to fifteen.”
Tyus looks at him blankly for a half a second before he chuckles awkwardly. “Right, yeah. That’s stupid. I can’t believe I mixed those up.”
“All these wins, it’s hard to keep track. Right, Bentley?”
Bentley shakes his head adamantly. “No way. I remember all of them. I’ve watched the entire season. You beat the Saints twenty to three. You lost to the Ravens twenty-three to seventeen. You won against the Browns thirty to thirteen. You beat the Dolphins twenty-four to twenty-one. You lost to the Steelers twenty-seven to twenty-four.”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh. “You’ve proved it, dude. You’re a fan, two hundred percent. I don’t think even o
ur agents could quote our record that well.”
“After the Steelers you lost to the Broncos,” Sloane pipes up with a smile. She winks at Bentley, making him blush. “Twenty-two to twenty, right, B?”
“Yeah,” he replies quietly, a smile on his pale lips.
“It was the Giants next,” Berny adds, looking to Bentley. “What was the score on that one, kiddo? I’m old. I forget.”
“Thirty-nine to thirty.”
We all look to Tyus’ agent, Darren.
He grins. “I’m up? Oh man, after the Chargers it was the Seahawks for the win.”
“Quit tryin’ to steal the man’s thunder,” I scold the room. I nod to the intern. “Pass me a football and a blanket.”
We go around the room, the three of us signing the gear and chatting with Bentley and his mom. She’s a redhead with pale skin barely darker than her son’s and tears in her eyes. She laughs and smiles, but she’s barely holding it together. The excitement on Bentley’s face is killing her softly. When Kevin, the intern, lifts the camera to take a picture with us surrounding Bentley’s small body inside that huge bed, I pull her in under my arm. I bring her into the picture because she needs to have it. She needs to be able to remember how she feels right now; relieved and light, even just for a minute.
And we did that. We brought that to her and her kid, and that’s a better payoff than all of the endorsement deals in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LILLY
November 22nd
Canter Apartments
Los Angeles, CA
“It’s looking like another beautiful day for football at Charlie Windt Stadium here in Los Angeles, California.”
“You’re right there, Allen. It’s perfect every time. They must special order it.”
“Either that or it’s some of that Hollywood magic they’ve got out here.”
“Are they supposed to be funny?” Rona asks curiously.
I snort. “They certainly seem to think they are.”
She plops down on the couch next to me. She’s dressed for work. Khakis and a green cardigan. Her dark hair is held back by a white bandana tied off center on the top of her head. She looks friggin’ adorable.
