The Firsts Series Box Set

by M. J. Fields

  “I’m so sorry.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Maybe you should look for your dad now?”

  “He was married. Died in a car accident a few years back.”

  She sits up straight and stares at me. “Does he have other kids?”

  “Daughter about my age. My mom happened to be ‘the other women,’ so there is no sense in trying to find him.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “It’s in a notebook somewhere.” I shrug. “No sense in upsetting his family. Mom cut ties with him.”

  She immediately asks, “Do you know where the accident happened?”

  When I don’t reply, she apologizes, appearing uncomfortable.

  I think I like her. I know Logan does, so I smile and look over at him.

  “Journalism student?”

  “I apologize.”

  I shrug, shake my head, and then give her a smile. “No need to apologize, girl. It’s all good.”

  “You have a place for you and the baby yet?” Logan asks then takes a drink.

  “I’m good in my studio. Babies don’t take up much room.”

  “You know he’d make sure—”

  “You know that’s not happening,” I cut him off.

  He’s been pushing quite a bit lately, and now I think I understand why.

  His girl pushes back in her stool. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  When she’s out of earshot, he leans in. “I’m not letting you raise my best friend’s kid in a studio apartment in a shit part of town.”

  I scowl and put my hands on my hips.

  “I’m serious. By January, I’ll have something.”

  I laugh. “We gonna live together? Now, how will that help Trucker?”

  “No, we’re not. And I’m telling you, Trucker will do the right thing.”

  “The Trucker you know might. The Trucker I manipulated doesn’t like me all that much.”

  “You didn’t manipulate him, Keeks. You fucked up by not telling him how old you were. Clearly, when he found out, he was still into you, literally.” He points to my belly. “That’s on him.”

  “When he fucked the others, that was on him, too. I’m not fucking up his life, and I’m not gonna fuck up this kid’s either.” I rub my belly. “I didn’t know my dad, and I’m just fine.”

  “Then, what’s your plan?”

  My plan? To be happy!

  When I hear Gary say, “Hey, sweetheart. How are my girls feeling today?” I lean over and kiss his cheek.

  “Hey, Gary, we’re good. Really good.”

  I glance at Logan as he kisses my cheek and wag my eyebrows.

  Logan looks upset. I don’t like it, but I don’t like the idea of Trucker’s best friend, estranged or otherwise, thinking me and my child are his responsibility.

  His girl walks out and looks at him. “Did something happen?”

  He shakes his head while I turn my back to grab Gary a draft.

  “Nope. Let’s jet.”

  “See you two later.” I smile as they walk out. Then I turn around and hand Gary his drink.

  “Thanks, Keeka.”

  “No problem, Gary. How was work?”

  I listen to him like I do every day, talking about selling cars he doesn’t like and dealing with people who are rude. Meanwhile, I pick up the empty glasses from Logan and his date and see a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. I sigh.

  Damn him.

  Although it annoys me, the moment I just witnessed was amazing.

  I get to watch Logan falling in love.

  He will never admit it, but I could tell by the way he has acted around other females lately.

  Uninterested.

  With football season over, cuddle season is in full-swing. Logan is still coming in once a week, and his friend Elle is with him most every time.

  He’s a true friend, and her, she’s the first female I have become close to, outside of coworkers. She’s full of life, full of hope, and she is so head-over-heels in love with Logan Links. And I can understand why.

  At first, I tried to keep my distance, but Logan continues to be there, be present, and I believe the promise he made me not to tell Trucker. And from what he has said, Trucker’s too wrapped up in himself to give a damn about what’s going on here.

  I know someday I may have to face him. I also know he can easily look the other way. He’s proven that with his friends.

  Every day I realize there is life happening beyond people’s pasts. Places they can go where the pain doesn’t follow if they choose to look toward the future. I have witnessed it myself through the people I have met.

  In my past, that person was Shakeeka, the woman who loves amongst chaos but still seems to keep order within. Also in my past, Trucker who didn’t have it easy growing up, yet his focus, his hard work, and his drive was far stronger than the invisible ties that could have bound him to it.

  Presently, I’m blessed to be able to watch Lou, who has built a place where people can go to celebrate, where friendships form because of common interests. I recently found out that he was married before and lost the love of his life to another man. Despite that, he chose to keep going.

  There are a million struggles, and a million happy endings, that happen through a million paths we could choose—yes, choose—to take away from pain and continue on a journey where experiences broaden what we know, and happiness is possible.

  I chose life, and I chose this baby to be a blessing, not a burden. I chose that for me and for Trucker.

  I know he didn’t ask for this. I know it wasn’t planned, and it wasn’t part of his journey. I want to keep him as far away as possible.

  There are times, when I see him with another woman, I want to protect my heart from the possibility of feeling like I did the first time. When I see his lifestyle, I want to protect my child from the pain of being unwanted by his or her father. When I see him on the field, I want just as much to protect him from the pain I could cause him by the path I chose.

  Sitting in my apartment, I look around and smile as I rub my now huge belly. “We have everything we need, more than I ever had, and I promise you, baby, you’ll never ever feel like there’s more, because you’ll always have … enough.

  The semester has ended. Logan is gone in search of what it is he will do with his life. He checks in with me periodically, which isn’t necessary at all.

  Do I miss him? Yes. He was a catalyst to the changes in my life. And in a weird way, he filled the void left by Trucker, my very first friend? Internally, I debate if a lover could be a friend, and decide, yes, Trucker was a friend.

  Now Elle has filled the void that Logan left, in a way. Honestly, I look forward to seeing her more than I probably did Logan. I suppose it’s because, after the semester ended, after the holidays, when I saw her walk into the bar on a Tuesday night, the night Logan and she would come in, I knew she had gone out of her way to see me.

  I asked her if she had heard from Logan, and she smiled, albeit a little sad, and said, “Life after higher education. I’m sure I’ll be in search of my purpose in a little over three years, just like he is.”

  “And football?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “He never wanted to play professionally.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “He loves it, but he wants something different now.” She smiled a smile that was faint but still authentic. “I want him to be happy; have whatever it is that makes him that way.” She looked up at me and smiled a little bigger now. “You know what I mean, right?”

  I nodded. “I sure do.”

  Sitting in my apartment, looking over my drawings, I hear a faint knock. It’s not uncommon, so I push my big butt up off the floor and head to the front window, the window where the easel Trucker made for me still sits. The one I left when I went back to Brooklyn.

  Lou never tried to rent the place. He never even moved a thing in it.

  I look down and see Elle. I tap on the window, and she looks up. I hold up a fin
ger. “Give me a second.”

  Looking around my place, I shake my head and decide it doesn’t matter. I’m happy here.

  I walk down the steps and unlock the door.

  “Hi!” She grins, leans forward, and hugs me, causing me to laugh. Then she steps back. “Sorry, I’m a hugger. Did you know that about me?”

  I start to answer when she moves past me and up the stairs.

  “I’m moving back in next week,” she calls from over her shoulder as I follow her up the stairs. “Thought I’d stop by because I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see you next Tuesday. It’s going to be crazy busy.” She stops when she’s inside the apartment. “Wow.”

  I walk in and look around, then at her.

  She laughs, which makes me a little self-conscious.

  “The way Logan made it sound, I expected a rundown pad with broken windows and no running water.”

  “He what?” I ask.

  “ ‘It’s not safe’,” she says in a deep, male voice. “She needs something bigger, safer.”

  “I told him we would be fine.”

  “That baby won’t take up much space.” She nods. “I think it’s perfect.”

  She turns to me and smiles. “When my sister was born, if she wasn’t in someone’s arms, or on my mom’s boob, she was asleep in a cradle, or in a bouncy chair, sucking on a pacifier and looking out a window. You have great windows … and boobs.” She laughs, and so do I. My barely B’s are now most definitely Ds. “Just need a cradle, a bouncy chair, and a pacifier.”

  “I’m not sure I want to use those. I’ve done some reading on creating a self-soothing, quiet environment—”

  “When that baby starts crying for no reason, you’ll wanna shove something in its mouth; trust me.” She laughs.

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine. I just want her to be happy.”

  “Her? Did you do an ultrasound? Do you know the due date?”

  “Just a feeling. And no, I still haven’t gone to the doctor.”

  She cringes slightly.

  “I’m eating everything I’m supposed to. Taking all the prenatal vitamins, and even extra vitamins. Like I told Logan, I was raised without having immunizations or going to checkups, and I’m fine.” I rub my belly. “So is she, or he.”

  “So, no shots ever? No dentist? No—”

  “After my mom died, my … foster mother agreed to enroll me in school—”

  “What? You didn’t attend school? How freaking lucky are you to have avoided all that crap.” She sits on my bed. “I’m jealous.”

  I walk over to the little fridge and grab two waters. “I went to kindergarten here. Then we moved and—”

  “You went to kindergarten, here, in Syracuse?”

  I hand her the water and nod. “Best childhood memories. Then we moved to Jersey, and then New York. No school because Mom refused to subject me to …” I scratch my head then laugh. “The craziness of the outside world.”

  “Laugh all you want, but it sounds like she was smarter than most. I hated school from the time I entered middle school, all the way through graduation.”

  “And you chose to go to college?” I laugh as I sit at the head of the bed.

  “So much different. I love my roommates, the people I’ve met”—she reaches out and grips my hand—“you. I also like not being lorded over by my parents, my siblings.”

  “Parents? I though your dad died.”

  She nods. “My mom remarried. My stepfather is a great man, father, protector.”

  “Protector?”

  “He thinks by being overbearing that he’s keeping me from getting hurt. Sweet, but annoying as hell. I’m telling you, Keeks, I had never been kissed until college. If he knew about Logan, he’d probably castrate him before I even had the chance to lose my V card.”

  “Wait. You’re a virgin?”

  She blushes and nods.

  Now I reach out and squeeze her hand. “So was I.”

  “So, Trucker—”

  “Let’s stick with, just some guy in my past.”

  She nods. “Let’s.”

  Home

  Trucker

  Walking into my house, I drop my duffle bag on the floor and look around. It’s fucking beautiful, and every time I walk in here, I feel like it’s new to me. For a good fucking reason, too. I haven’t spent more than a couple days in the damn thing since I bought it.

  Rumson, New Jersey is where I call home now. The house is seven thousand square foot, has six bedrooms, six and a half baths, a glass sunroom, basement fitness center, custom kitchen, and is the nicest fucking house I have even been in. Outside, there’s a heated pool with a slide, waterfalls, and a spa. The outdoor kitchen is nicer than the one I had growing up, times about two million, which is what I paid for the place. Even has a pool house and a guest house. Hell, there’s space above the four-car garage to put two guest quarters the size of—

  I stop when she pops into my mind. There is no place for that. It was a moment, one in which I enjoyed. The rest, I seldom allow myself to revisit. When I do, I shelve that shit away, like I did my childhood. I learned from my old man that I never want to be that guy, the one who allows some bitch to walk in and out of his life. And I am steps from doing just that.

  It’s in the past now.

  This house, it’s my present and my future, my reward for not fucking up, even though I came damn close to doing so. It was a foreclosure and, having just gotten paid for a commercial that would start running soon, I paid cash for the place.

  It is mine and nothing will ever take it away.

  I turn around and see a yellow taxi cab coming up the driveway. When JJ jumps out of it, he’s smiling from ear to ear.

  “This what I have to look forward to?”

  I walk down the steps and meet him with a hug. “Sure as hell is. The off-season anyway.”

  I walk over and throw a hundred at the cab driver. “Thanks, man.”

  I turn back to JJ. “Come on in, man. My place is your place.”

  After I show him his room for the weekend and give him a tour, I call up a local Italian restaurant and place a dinner order.

  “So, what’s up with your contract? Your agent get you something good? You deserve something good, man.” He laughs and looks around. “You have something good.”

  “Have a seat, Jones. I wanna hear about your season. I feel like a shitbag for not making any of your games.”

  “No way! You got me in. You’re Trucker fucking Cohen, NFL rookie of the year. I’m blessed to have you as a mentor—”

  “A friend, JJ. A brother.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, so you keep telling me. Just almost too good to be true, you know?”

  “Been there, felt that. Then I allowed myself to realize it was great getting a leg up, but to succeed, you do the work. And you, JJ, you’re doing the work.”

  I walk behind the oak bar and look around before grabbing two glasses out of the cupboard and inspecting them for spots. There are none. I open the built-in icemaker and smile when I see ice inside.

  “It’s good to have money, JJ. You can make calls and say, get my place ready for me; I’m coming home, and boom, it’s done.”

  I pour the glass of whiskey then slide it across the bar to him. Then I pour mine and hold it up. “To ass-busters and playmakers.”

  “To you, man, to you.”

  After throwing back my drink and feeling the burn, I can’t help looking around and smiling. I fucking earned this. Me.

  “I brought the tapes, man. You wanna check it out and give me some tips?”

  I laugh and nod. “Of course. Let’s go down to the theatre room and see if I can figure that shit out.”

  Knowing I’m opening a door to shit I left behind, and to friends who have been too damn busy, who left me behind, I open the door anyway.

  “So, how’s Coach Brown?”

  “Swear that man hates me, man.”

  “How so?”

  “Calls me an arrogant, cocky fu
cker.”

  I can’t help laughing. “He calls his favorites that, JJ.”

  “Favorites? Logan Links, hands down, was his favorite. You two were best friends, right?”

  I nod and try not to let my bitterness about the fact we fell apart consume me. I know he’s dealing with his shit, and even though he didn’t make one fucking game, hasn’t returned a call or a text since August, I get it.

  “Well, he fucking hated me, too. Can’t decide if he still does.”

  “Logan can be a dick, but he loves the game.”

  “Not sure about that. He gave me more than one of his chances to outshine him this season. Unreal, man.”

  Makes no sense. Why would he do that when he wants to go pro?

  “So, clearly, he likes you.”

  JJ laughs. “He also digs this Elle chick. Punched me in the face for coming on to her.”

  “He what?” I can’t help laughing.

  “Yeah, I wanted to tear his ass up.”

  “Did you?” Please say yes. Fucker deserted me.

  “Fuck no. The bartender at that place on Marshall broke it up right quick.”

  The mention of the word bartender brings back the memories, but she’s not there anymore. Hell, she’s not anywhere. It’s like she disappeared. But that’s in the past. There’s no space in my damn head for her either. Still, I can’t help asking, “Lou’s?”

  “Lou, the guy with red hair and a grumpy as hell look on his face all the damn time?”

  I smile and nod. “That’s him. He loves the Orangemen, though. Good guy.”

  “Same guy then. Loves the team.”

  I try not to ask, but it can’t be helped. “How are the bartenders looking these days?”

  “There’s an older chick; she’d be hot if I were into the cougar scene. A couple of blondes and a little firecracker, Latino chick with cool eyes. Blue around the iris, brown around the blue.”

  What the fuck? I think as my heart beats a little faster.

  “Sounds like the same crew.”

  “Yeah, the little Latino is hot as fuck. All the guys used to try to pick her up. They got shot down right quick. The game stopped, too, when her belly grew.” He laughs.