by Love Belvin
“Trenton isn’t that unusual from Waterbury.”
“It’s more than an urban city. It’s his breeding, dear. His ties to the street…decisions he’s made.” He lifted his hand, gesturing to me. “You’re probably well aware of attention he attracts and the energy he keeps around him. You, yourself have been a victim of privacy invasion.”
“Eli, is this about the pictures on the blogs?” I knew it! “Rut didn’t ask people at his cousin’s funeral and mother’s home to secretly take pictures and record videos of him during a private and peaceful event.”
“That pandemonium at his mother’s home was anything but peaceful, sweetheart.”
“I understand the security you guys hired to babysit him reported back, but no one was hurt. Rut left right away. What could he do? Sit home from his cousin and best friend’s funeral in case his truck got shot up leaving Connecticut, or a meteor fell from the sky as he walked into the church, or his high school friend showed up uninvited at his mother’s house having a meltdown? It was his cousin. He had to go pay his final respects and grieve with his family.”
Eli shot me a long look. He didn’t like my sarcasm.
“Did he also have to go to a concert right after? Because he didn’t have to do his ‘grieving’ there.”
My head swung to the side at that shot, but I could see it from an outsider’s perspective. As luck would have it, my former favorite blog, Spilling That Hot Tea, was able to get their hands on grainy but distinct enough pictures of Rut and me rendezvousing in the shadows of Townhouse Hall’s balcony.
Why was Rut a hot item for a popular blog like Spilling That Hot Tea? Two words: Emily Erceg. That family was no longer made of human beings; they were simply cash grab fodder for the media. And Emily was purportedly dating new Connecticut Kings’ recruit, Rut Amare. Rut had gotten the call just as he plodded out the door yesterday morning for his first day at minicamp. His PR person FaceTime’d him—a gorgeous woman with smooth pecan skin and blonde curly hair—animated about pictures on a blog.
I had no idea what pictures or what blog and didn’t have time to ask as Rut walked out to a waiting Fats. But less than thirty minutes later, my phone exploded with calls and texts. The first came from Jade Bailey, who was more frantic than Rut’s PR person. I had a script for each person who reached out, a calming one. Even to Rut, I had to assure I was fine when he snuck off the field to call late that morning making sure I was okay. I explained I was powerless to those pictures getting out. There was no reason for me to be up in arms about them. I’d leave that to his public relations team.
And there was enough work for them to do. The images from Townhouse Hall were damning. The embrace Rut held me in virtually the entire time we were there read “couple” big time. There were several with me twerking and his eyes fixed on my hips below him. And the two images of us leaving were shady. Rut liked to drape his body around my body like a chinchilla coat to protect me, but it could be debated if he was hiding me. Hiding as in him not wanting it to get back to Emily.
So Eli’s jibe about Rut not looking as though he’d been mourning at all that night was certainly plausible.
I took a deep breath, too exhausted for this battle, and honestly pissed I had to take it on.
“Look, Parker. I just wanted to be sure you’re okay. This is nothing personal against Rut.”
“Are you sure?” One eye narrowed as I gaped at him with suspicion. “Because you’ve named several negative ‘attributes’”—I used his term—“yet you failed to balance them. You didn’t mention how hard he’s working off-season, how he’s adhering to the team’s contingency in his contract of therapy. You didn’t mention his business acumen and how he’s had an impressive run of success before he became a King.”
Eli shrugged with his head. “I didn’t mention how he has incredible charitable ties to his community either. I can tell you about the book bag giveaway he’s been doing since his last year of high school.” The walls of my heart quaked. “We can even discuss the food truck program he does in the poorest areas of the city.” Then Eli’s expression fell. “So, I guess you didn’t know? He has small food trucks deliver healthy foods to kids in the neighborhood. Fruits, vegetables, and all natural snacks.” He nodded. “Yeah, Parker, I know in detail because I just read his file on my way here to provide that balance you mentioned.
“And even with all those good mentions, Rut still has a convoluted past. No. I will not sit here and lie about the faith I have of him turning over a new leaf. I’ve been in this business long enough to have seen countless examples of kids who couldn’t shake the block. And my name Eli Richardson. I can write books on how disposable young, lonely, heavy burden women are to successful athletes.”
My lips were parted and eyes danced on the floor. This was news to me. Rut shared a lot with me over the past two and a half weeks, but he rarely spoke of the good other than his skills on the field. He had something to prove to the Kings, his mentor, and father. Shoot, he rarely spoke of his sneaker business to me. Maybe he wasn’t the pompous asshole even he thought himself to be.
“Look, Parker,” Eli’s voice had my head snapping north. “This isn’t about Wright. It’s certainly not about Amare. My concern is for you. You’re a good young woman, Parker. What are you? Thirty years old?” No. “I’m sorry to intrude, but you’re old enough to be my daughter. You know I have a daughter your age?”
“But we know I’m not your daughter or nowhere near it. Because if I were, you would have never allowed Jimmy to approach me. You would’ve protected me against his charm and lies. If you cared about me so, you would’ve told me the first time he brought me to your home for dinner that he was bringing different women even after I’d moved in. You were there the night I met him. If I were your daughter, would you have told me he’d been showing signs of CTE and even had fears of having it? Because you knew, Eli. He told me.”
For the first time, I’d seen a look of reproof and conviction on his face. “Parker—”
“You’ve been generous, Eli. But how much of it has been from guilt? I don’t know. I don’t even focus on it. You saw my bloodied face. You saw what he did to me. You knew the risk I signed on to when he begged me to stay here with him although we were broken up. If his children don’t know the ugly facts, you do.” I stood. “So, if you want to start questioning my judgement as far as the men I choose, I’d say now is too late considering the shitload of facts you withheld when your friend was concerned. You should have done that six years ago to the twenty-two-year-old fool.”
He hung swung his head in the opposite direction. My body trembled with nervous energy. Never did I think I’d take this tone with Eli Richardson. He was not only my boss, but a billionaire—an astoundingly powerful man. But that’s all he was. Just as I was human and had to figure out my own way, even in the valley of my circumstances, so did he. Rut had been a distraction from the shadows of loneliness and regret. No. He wasn’t a sure thing, but he damn sure was my now thing.
Eli stood, width returning to the wings of his back. “A man of my tenure isn’t used to doing this, but I’m going to step back. However, Parker, if Amare is as reckless with you as we’ve seen him with other facets of his world, I’ll be as relentless as I should have been years ago when I first laid eyes on your innocence.”
A tear slipped.
~Fourteen
“You killed it this week, Amare!” Coach Brooks, of all people, shouted over to me as I jogged off the field.
It was the closing of the last day of minicamp and my body was beat the hell up, but I didn’t mind. I performed way better than I did in rookie camp. I could tell the coaches were impressed when they didn’t say shit after plays, just grunted and nodded. Tuesday, which was day one, was a little rough because of all the shit hitting the blog. Having that happen just before I needed to focus was just bad timing, but I got through it.
“Sorry to hear that, man,” Jordan Johnson softly replied to Jameson as I made it to the water
table.
I wanted to roll my eyes as I stopped in front to get a bottle of Gatorade. After untwisting the bottle, I turned my back to them and gulped down as much as I could take. Jameson was still bitching about his finances. Dude was going broke and wanted every damn body to feel sorry for him. He overdid it with his spending, got in over his head, and was now going down like a damn sucker.
He was from Albany and had a house there his family stayed most of the time. Foolishly, he had a crib built out here in Connecticut for “options” for his family. Jameson had sixteen cars at the top of the year. Now he was down four and needed to chuck more. Instead of flying through our drills this week, we were distracted by his constant talk of losing money.
“Yeah. My wife’s fucking flipping on me, bro. Jess thinks I’ve been blowing money on a mistress.” Jameson spit out a hard laugh. “Man, I’m too focused for that cheating shit. I’m a family many. I guess I just moved too slow.”
“Oh, damn,” Jordan’s tone was less than excited.
I guess dude didn’t know what to say.
“And you know that second house here in Connecticut? I bought it for one-point-nine, and that was when it was a buyer’s market a few years ago. Now the property is underwater. The fucker’s valued at nine hundred thousand!”
“Shit!” Jordan whistled more convincingly.
I wondered if he knew he was being finessed.
“Yeah. And check this out: I only owe four seventy-five on it, but my accountant said I should consider selling it for a little more. I don’t know. My wife and her mother are fucking distraught over it now, bro.”
“That’s fucked up,” Jordan went back to muttering.
He was a good dude. I, on the other hand, tossed my bottle in the trash and took off for the locker room.
“Yo, Rut?” Jordan called behind me. I turned and saw him excusing himself from the whack ass conversation with Jameson’s broke ass.
He jogged a little to catch up.
“Peace, god.” I snickered. “You finally sick of that whining shit, I see.”
Jordan laughed quietly. “Nah. The homey Jameson’s a good guy. Just made some bad calls recently.”
“Yeah. Don’t we all.” It wasn’t an introspective response, just a response.
“I heard about your dilemma.”
“Who hasn’t?”
“You got a point there.” Jordan found that amusing. “You got good people at Love is Action, some of the best in the business. Just follow the script.”
“Bruh, I’m so sick of fuckin’ scripts. I just wanna do me. I’m fuckin’ Rutledge Amare; I don’t follow shit to the T.”
He laughed again. “Well, now that you’re in the big league, young homie, you gotta learn how walk the line. I’m sure there’s a pot of gold at the end of the tunnel for you. You got the skills out here, my G. Just walk the line.”
That pot of gold he referred to was endorsement deals. They were on the table as we spoke. The shit Elle Hunter and her team had cooking up for me made my contract with the Kings look like a fucking eleven year old’s weekly allowance.
It actually is…
We were walking into the locker room when I muttered, “I’m trying, king. I swear on everything, I’m trying.”
We past Trent Bailey, going through his duffle bag when Jordan joked, “And if you need help walking that line, we’ll have the Reverend, Bishop, Elder, Apostle Shoot ‘Em Up! lay hands on you in prayer.”
We busted out laughing.
Bailey stood straight, cracked up himself. “That boy’s a fool.”
I knew he had to be fucking burned out. Bailey flew in from Europe just for these mandatory minicamp days.
“How’s Europe?” I asked, going for my bag to get to my phone.
“Expensive, bruh!” he groaned.
“Word?”
“Word!” He shook his head.
“But you got it!” I sang, teasing him.
“I know, right?” Jordan laughed. “Cheap ass.”
“What’s ya lady saying?” I genuinely wanted to know, prolonging the shit storm waiting for me when I powered up my phone.
“Oh, Jade?” Trent asked. “She’s in heaven. Her and the kids are having a ball. We all are. They’re leaving France now, on their way to Italy. I’m hopping back on a plane at five in the morning to meet them out there to finish up the vacation.”
“Nice!” Jordan commented.
And my mind went black, rewinding back to a time I never had but could see vivid as fuck.
I was holding a small and hella soft hand as I walked on a glossy cobblestone road. I couldn’t focus on our destination because I was too concerned about her five-inch heels.
“Stop.”
I dropped to one knee before she caught my command. Then I pulled her back to me, eyes locked on her feet.
I heard her breathy giggle over my head. “What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer, just went about the job of fixing the buckle of one of her high heeled boots. And by fixing, I mean making sure they were tight enough. Maybe that would make sure she didn’t fall.
Then I stood, took her hand, and continued down the road.
“This is beautiful, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer, but she knew what I’d felt. This was more than beautiful, and it wasn’t because of where we were for me. It was because of the peace I felt having her with me. For real.
“First London, now St. Tropez. I can’t believe we’re in France—”
“Aye, Rut!”
My neck snapped from my black faced phone to Trent.
“You heard what I said?”
“Nah.” I blinked. “I must’ve missed that.”
“Jade wanted me to ask you how Parker doing with the Spilling That Hot Tea mess. She don’t believe she’s okay, even though Parker said she’s good.”
I took a deep breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders at the mention of that. Parker had been a damn trooper these last few days. I hadn’t seen her since Tuesday morning when I left her crib. Even though I sacrificed sleep, I’d been staying at my place to catch a call with my pops, spend some time with Sharkie, and get my damn laundry situated. Parker didn’t complain and I’d taken that as a sign of her needing a break after my temper tantrum over her commitment to Wright, going down to the funeral, that fucking Kim Hawkins drama, and then the pictures posted by the blog.
And I hoped she’d enjoyed it because her break was over. I would be falling asleep with Parker on my chest tonight. Fuck that. I needed some sleep after the work I put in here this week.
“She seems good.” I powered on my phone. “I’ll be over there tonight.”
I heard someone clear their throat and looked up. Trent’s eyes were on me and Jordan’s had just rolled over.
“What?” I asked rougher than I meant.
For a while, Trent said nothing. Jordan went back to pulling shit out of his bag to shower, and I was looking stupid as fuck.
My phone began ringing in my hand, but my attention was too locked on him to address it. I low key wanted to know what he had to say. The other side—the more familiar side—didn’t give a shit. I knew I had to get to the phone before I could shower but couldn’t move my eyes yet though.
Trent shrugged. “Parker just seems like cool peoples. The kind you want good things to happen for.” He closed the locker and walked off for the showers.
A heap of air left my lungs. I had no idea why I’d been feeling uneasy about these pictures with Parker—shit, everything about her. I knew her situation with Wright made shit sticky, but that was her life to live. It was her decision to make day after day. I knew I had this league shit and it somehow roped this Emily chick into my world, but I could handle that. No matter how I rationalized it in my mind, thinking about my situation with Parker made my belly feel like it was floating. It was nervous excitement, and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
I tapped the green circle on the phone, not even looking at it.
<
br /> “Yo.”
“Are you done?”
“I ain’t shower yet, but…”
“Okay. So you’re done.” She wasn’t letting off me. “We’ve spoken to Emily and her people. This one’s going to cost us a little bit, but it can be salvaged.”
“Cost?”
“Yeah. An apology gift that will be posted—”
“Elle! I don’t owe that broad shit! I did nothing wrong!”
“Rut, this may have been proposed to you, but you agreed! You said you’d publicly date her for a short period to help spread your name. Technically, you need Emily more than she needs you. We can end this today and she’ll be—quote, unquote—dating the next unheard of NBA rookie.”
I scoffed. “And ‘I’m supposed to give a fuck’ is written where?”
She groaned, frustrated into the phone. “Rut,” was delivered in a way I knew would be followed by a sharp tongue. “The last line on the unprecedented endorsement deal with Ase Garb is almost typed. They’re giving you your own line without a non-compete clause that would interfere with your Rubber Soles brand. A major line of their premium status never does deals with rookies like you. And that’s not to mention the other ones we’re working on like EA’s Madden and Opti-Free. Now is not the time to trip over a short term acting gig, dawg.”
As much as I wanted to scream, “I don’t want shit to do with this girl!” I knew it would be a waste of time. It was nothing I hadn’t said before, and I had agreed to it. There were two reasons I was obedient in football. The first was to make my pops happy. It was his dream. The second was to secure my family. And even though Rubber Soles was doing well and currently my top earner, it didn’t have the trajectory signing to the league had. This was one of those moments I was teaching myself to swallow my pride and eat shit because it was actually good for me.
“Whatchu want me to do, Elle?”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “First we’re going to start with an indirect apology gift. Maybe jewelry—”
“Try flowers!”
“Flowers die.”
“And so does this bullshit. Real soon!” I pulled out fresh clothes from my locker.
