by M. J. Fields
He holds out his hand. “Mitch, right?”
The next thing I notice is his accent. I think it’s British.
Mitch nods like a fool, and I can’t help smirking.
I hold my hand out. “I’m Keeka, a friend of Logan and Elle’s.”
He smiles at me and nods.
I correct myself, “I mean, London.”
He shakes my hand. It’s a firm handshake but not harsh.
“They’ve had a horrific time. Haven’t slept much, but I know they’ll be glad to see you. Follow me.”
We follow him in through the back door, take off our shoes that are covered in snow, and then follow him down the hall.
“He’s in here.”
When Logan turns around, I breathe out a sigh of relief.
Mitch points at him and starts to say something, but words start flying out of my mouth.
“You didn’t answer your phone. I saw your truck on the news, and you didn’t answer your phone.”
Logan starts to talk, too, but I can’t stop the massive, emotional—whatever the hell this is—from cutting him off as I run toward him and hug him.
“Is Elle—I mean, London okay? Is everyone—”
“We’re good, Keeks. We’re fine.” He hugs me tightly and rubs my back.
“Thank God.” I step back and look at Mitch apologetically.
Mitch shakes his head at Logan.
Logan seems to know what he’s thinking.
“Wasn’t for me to divulge, man.”
“I get that. Just feel like an idiot that I never put two and two together.” He gives Logan a hug, then steps back and laughs. “Totally blown away.”
When whatever song Logan has as a ringtone goes off, I reach in my bag. “We snatched this from Black Betty.”
“Thanks, Keeka.”
Looking at the phone, he sighs, “Fuck.”
When Mitch’s phone rings, he answers it. “Hey, Coach.” A pause. “I’m here with him now.” He pauses. “He looks good, but you know, he’s Logan.” He looks up at Logan, who is shaking his head. “I’ll give him the message.” He pauses again then chuckles. “It’s true. She’s London.”
“She’s to be left the fuck alone,” Logan demands.
Mitch scowls, turns his back to him, and starts walking away. “Sure was him.”
I watch a man come into view whose pure presence commands attention. He’s tall, broad, and his face is unreadable. He stops in front of me and says, “I’m just a concerned father today.”
I nod then looks at Logan.
“It’s all chill, Keeks. I promise.”
“It may not seem like it right now, but it is.” An Asian girl stands up and holds out her hand. “I’m Lisa.”
“Elle’s—I mean, London’s roommate, right?”
“Yeah.” Lisa nods and looks down. “For now.”
“What do you mean, for now?” I ask.
“Lisa may be taking the rest of the semester off,” an older Asian woman, who I assume is her mother, says.
“Why?”
“To begin healing,” I assume this is from Lisa’s father.
“Did she get hurt?” I ask.
“As a matter of fact, she did. She has seventeen stitches in her arm,” her mother answers.
“But it’s emotionally we’re concerned with,” her father adds.
“Celebrate that you’re alive, girl,” I tell Lisa. “Twenty-seven others wish they could right now.”
“But we mourn their deaths,” Lisa’s mother seems to scold me.
“I bet they’d be celebrating that they were still alive if given the chance.” I give her the reality in how one should cope with death.
“How can you be so sure?” Lisa’s dad scolds me.
Logan puts himself between me and Lisa’s father. “I don’t know your name, sir, but she’s not being disrespectful, so I’m gonna ask you not to treat her disrespectfully.”
“Let’s all take a moment to realize we’re all on the same team here,” Maddox interjects.
“Let’s.” I nod. “Let’s think about what Jones and Downs would be doing right this moment.”
“Are they …?” I hear Elle—I mean, London—say and turn as she finishes, “dead?”
“Jones is. Downs is in critical condition at University.”
The sadness on her face makes me feel awful for being the one to tell her, but when she reaches out and hugs me, I know, even if her name isn’t the same as it was in Syracuse, she’s the same girl. Her emotions bring out mine, and we stand there crying together.
“We mourn, we give them respect, then we live like they’d want us to, London. You live because you can. They would want that,” I whisper.
“Did you know them?” The stepfather, Brody, asks.
We both tell him, “Yes.”
Still hugging London, I hear Mitch snap at someone, “You’re fucking lucky you’re okay.”
I look over to see the girl he’s pointing at.
“Jamie?” I whisper to London.
She sniffs. “Yeah.”
I hear Mitch again, “Jesus Christ, Jamie.”
Then I hear her say, “I’m fine.”
“Wasn’t gonna believe it till I saw it.” He wraps his arms around her. “No more shit. None.”
Her, “Okay,” is but a whisper.
What now?
Trucker
I haven’t slept since Coach Brown called me. I can’t sleep, can’t even really breathe. All I can do is wait to wake up from this fucking nightmare. I know there were others, I do, but I couldn’t hear a fucking word past, a club shooting; Logan driving his truck into the place; London Fields was in there, going under the name of Elle, that she and he are okay, but JJ is gone.
JJ Jones can’t be fucking gone. He can’t. He had everything he ever dreamed of waiting for him.
I pick up the bottle of whiskey he and I drank from and throw it at the picture on the fireplace mantel, the one of him and me at his high school graduation.
“Fuck You!” I point up. “Why the fuck would You do this! Why!”
I grab a bottle of Jack, shit whiskey, old-school shit whiskey that I haven’t drank since being in ‘Cuse. And I grab my phone.
Even through blurry, tired, dyslexic fucking eyes, I can read JJ’s last text.
JJ Jones
I know you don’t want it, man, but I got some digits for you tonight. Could answer some questions you seemed to have but were unable to speak. Love you, brother. Want nothing but the best for you, which includes peace of mind.
Then there is a number I don’t recognize but have a sick feeling about.
I look at the time. It’s four in the afternoon.
I think, maybe if I send a message, I will get an answer. I don’t give a fuck who’s giving it. I just want to know how he was under an hour before he died.
I block my number and send a text.
Unknown
Got this number from my friend JJ an hour before he was killed. Just wanna know how he was. What he was wearing. If you knew him.
I hit send.
Keeka
I’m so sorry for your loss. Our community shares in your grief. Yes, I saw JJ before he left the establishment I work at to go to Chaos. He was wearing a smile, as per his norm. He had on genes and a white button-up shirt. I only know him from the phew interactions I’ve had with him. I’m sorry I won’t be able to watch him next season. My thoughts are with you.
Reading over the text, I laugh. “You spelled jeans wrong, Keeka. And phew. When the fuck did you stop trying to better yourself?”
I throw my phone across the room, grab the bottle, and try to drink my way into a state of unconscious.
When I wake up later that night, I shower and try to get my shit together.
When I step out, I see a familiar number and a picture message.
It’s a picture of Logan holding a baby, a fucking baby.
“Fuck you! Fuck you!”
I take in a few, not p
hew, breaths and try my best not to tell him to suck shit.
Get it together. Get it together.
I can play the fucking game, too.
Trucker
Ava’s kid?
Logan
Fucking joke. Ava’s kids are eight fucking months old.
Trucker
Been busy. I saw some shit on the news. You good?
Logan
Fuck you.
Fuck me? Wrong fucking day to play fucking hero with me, asshole, but I’m in no fucking mood for a pissing match with a man I used to consider a friend.
Trucker
What the hell’s that supposed to mean, man? Lol.
Logan
L. O. Fucking L.? Means you’re a little bitch. That’s what it fucking means.
When I get a Facetime request, I freeze all emotions and answer with a laugh.
“Hey, bro.”
“Hey nothing, Trucker. Twenty-seven people from a community you grew up near and went to school at died, and not even a call, man? Not one fucking message?” he fucking screams at me. Pisses me off, but I’m not sharing shit with someone who comes at me like that. “You’re a fucking waste of my goddamned time, Trucker.”
Now he can go fuck himself!
“You’re jealous of what I got, man. Jealous that I made it here first!”
“No, motherfucker, I turned it down. That’s why you got it. Turned it down twice actually. The Giants drafted Jones because I told them no. Guess where he is now? He’s fucking dead.”
“You didn’t turn shit down! I’m a fucking quarterback. Offense, Links.”
“So was I in high school, bitch. Gave that up for you, too, because you were too little, a bitch, and sucked at D!”
“Oh, here we go.” I can’t help laughing at his shit. “Been waiting for this my entire life. The day Logan Links comes a-calling, telling me I wouldn’t have been shit if not for him and his old man.”
I know damn well I’m being an ass, but fuck him, and fuck if my talent didn’t get me here, just like Jones’s did. I just gave it a fucking nudge.
“You wanna send pictures of a baby to me like you’re some fucking saint? That kid could be mine or anyone’s on the team, for that matter. Your new bro, Mitch, he fucked her, too. So did Downs. So take your picture and shove it up your ass!”
“So full of shit,” he growls. “But don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” His lips seal in a tight line, and I wait for whatever shit he needs to sling. “Just like my old man took care of you when your mom booked and your dad was never home.”
And there it is.
“Fuck you, Links!”
“Fuck me? Fuck me! Who the fuck are you now?”
“Not your bitch anymore! I’m living the life we dreamed of.”
“You may have dreamed of becoming a fucking shitbag, but I sure as fuck didn’t. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of your kid, fucker,” he snaps.
“Not mine, man.” I fucking laugh at his ass. “Like I said, Downs and Mitch had her in their fucking beds, too.”
“I don’t believe a fucking thing coming out of your mouth right now, brother,” he hisses.
“I don’t give a damn what you believe.” I fucking start laughing and can’t stop. “Get Springer to bring her on. Have those fuckers tested.”
“Those fuckers?” he yells. “Downs was your fucking friend! He’s in ICU right now, fighting for his fucking life!”
“Tell him I’ll add him to my prayer list, Links. And leave my name the fuck out of it. I don’t need the damn drama that little bitch is drumming up.”
“Never fucking speak to me again, you hear me? You’re nothing to me. Nothing!”
Haven’t been for months, dick, is what I want to say, but fuck if I will let him know that shit hurts. Instead, I tell him the fucking truth.
“One last thing, Links. I don’t owe you shit.”
“Bitch, I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”
“Same, motherfucker, same.”
The call is disconnected. He hung up on me
Fuck him, fuck her, and fuck everyone out there who isn’t me.
I walk over and grab another bottle, this time the good shit. Fuck the old. Fuck them all.
I typed a million messages to her over the past couple of days then deleted them all.
I planned every part of JJ’s funeral. I talked to Coach Brown about it. He’s going to make sure the team knows, and then they will fly his body down here where he can be buried near the place his dreams would have come true.
I was avoiding social media until Coach told me about a fundraiser and asked that I be part of it. I said no, that I can’t handle it. He understood. He also promised me again to keep everything about me and Jones confidential. And even though I am pissed at Downs, I’m more pissed at myself for taking my anger at Logan and turning it into disrespect toward him. I told Coach that Downs is in my prayers, and he is.
I’m in the house of my dreams, living the life I didn’t just dream of but created, and I am literally crawling out of my own skin.
I grab a bottle of whiskey in one hand, my phone in the other, and send her a text.
Unknown
Thought maybe I’d text and see how you and the community were doing.
This time, I hit send instead of delete.
Keeka
I apologize for not asking the same. The community is mourning. I know a fundraiser for the families is being put together. Are you family?
Unknown
Not by blood, but I loved JJ like a brother.
Keeka
I’m sew sorry.
So, Ray. It’s fucking so.
Keeka
I mean so. Sorry, my hands were full.
I can’t help sighing and imagining her blush.
Unknown
No problem.
Keeka
Do you know Logan Links? I could give him your information if you’d like more information.
Unknown
You too busy to text?
Keeka
Not really.
Unknown
If you don’t mind, I’d rather get the information from you. I know JJ thought you were pretty cool.
When she doesn’t reply, I get impatient.
Unknown
Too busy?
Keeka
I hope this doesn’t upset you, having lost someone, but I just had a baby, and being a new mom is something I’m trying very hard to get used to.
Unknown
Boy of girl? What’s its name? Are you and the father together?
When she doesn’t reply, I reread what I wrote. I can imagine it set off some fucking warning signs.
Unknown
Sorry. That’s a lot of questions, huh?
Keeka
Since I don’t know you, yeah. But I have no problem talking to you about Jones or the fundraiser.
Unknown
Just thought maybe, being a new mom, you’d want to gush about the kid. My bad. I get it.
Keeka
Thanks. BTW, what’s your name?
Unknown
Marshall.
Keeka
Hi, Marshall.
Unknown
Hey.
Keeka:
Feel free to keep messaging whenever. I’ll try to comment, but I have a very large family here to meet my baby. I hope you can find peace, Marshall.
Unknown
Large family, huh?
Keeka
Yeah. One I didn’t even know I had.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Keeka
Please excuse the last text.
Unknown
Will do, but you confused me. One you didn’t know you had?
Keeka
I never knew my father. Just found out who he was. He comes from a large family.
Unknown
New baby, new family, sounds like a dream come true.
Keeka
Yeah, I suppose
.
Unknown
They live around the Syracuse area?
Keeka
I have to go, Marshall. Take care.
“Fuck that,” I say then take another drink. “Fuck that.”
I hit her contact info and push call.
“Hello?”
Fuck, that voice.
“Marshall?”
Keep talking.
I sigh.
“This is making me uncomfortable. I’ll give Logan your number—”
“No, don’t fucking do that.”
She doesn’t reply.
“Don’t tell him I called, don’t tell him I know Jones, and for fuck’s sake, put me out of my misery.”
“Why …? Why …? Why are you calling me?”
I sigh and lie back on my bed. “You had a baby.”
“Not yours to worry about, Trucker.”
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“I don’t fucking know! Because … Are you safe? Is the father helping you out? Or is Logan?”
“I know he called you,” she whispers. “I was very upset at him. Very.”
“Yeah, well, I’m pissed at him, too.”
“I think …” She pauses, and I hear a little coo. Then she continues, “I think he just needed to know you were okay.”
I can’t help laughing at that. “Is that what you think?”
“Yeah, actually, I do.”
“And how about you, Ray—I mean, Keeka. Have you worried about me?”
“Not one bit. I see you on TV, and I know you’re living your dream. I’m not worried about you at all. You’re doing great things.”
It’s a compliment, yet it feels like a knife to the heart.
“Who’s your father, Keeka?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“I can keep a secret. Can you?”
“Yeah, I can.” No hesitation at all.
I start to tell her about JJ, but she cuts me off.
“I just don’t think I need you to keep mine, or for me to keep yours. I see you, Trucker. I’m proud of you, but I don’t want to be your friend.”
“Why’s that, huh?”
“I had a really few hard days, worse days of my life, in fact. But now, now I can see things better, clearer, and I can imagine that’s exactly what you’ve been doing, so why mess that up now, Trucker? Why look back?”
“Because, Keeka, I want to know if that’s my fucking kid.”
“My child is not your fucking kid. My child is my greatest gift.”
