In Tandem

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In Tandem Page 18

by Christina C Jones


  Wil nodded. “Absolutely. The rest will come. And… I think that is a perfect note to end this interview on. Thank you so much for coming to talk to me, and for being so transparent. I appreciate it, and I think you’ll find the viewers and listeners do as well.”

  Raf smiled. “I just appreciate the opportunity to speak my truth. I can accept whatever comes with it.”

  I wanted to be relieved.

  I wanted to be happy, so happy for Raf. Happy and relieved that he’d told his story, that he'd gotten the opportunity to let it all out. While he was speaking during the interview, and after, when Wil came out to introduce herself to me, and everybody talked and laughed, and everything was just good… I wanted to be in the moment and feel that too.

  But I couldn't, because I was stuck.

  I was stuck on the fact that he’d lied to me.

  Well, maybe not a lie, not exactly, but after finding out this morning that my mother hadn't been honest with me about the status of her health, his words during that interview certainly felt like one.

  Sure, he told me about the steroids. And when I thought back on our conversations about it, he’d never explicitly mentioned seeking them out, or doing it on purpose. I always thought he was just ashamed about it, and didn't want to go into detail. I didn't need details, so I hadn't pressed it. But now, I realized the truth.

  He was purposely vague.

  “Hey, what time is Anika and Jules’ thing tonight?” he asked, once we'd finally made it back to my place. We’d ended up having a late lunch with Wil, Vaughn, and Leah, and then gone by Raf’s townhouse to do a few things that took us into dinner. All while the anger I'd been trying to suppress was steadily brewing.

  I unclenched my teeth to turn to him. “You still wanted to do that?” I asked.

  More of my true feelings than I intended must have come out in my words, because Raf looked up at me from his seat on my couch with a frown. “I… just thought that was part of the plans for the day. But if you're not feeling it, we don't have to.”

  “It's whatever,” I said, and then stomped off towards my bedroom. Never before had I felt the absence of doorways around this place more than in that moment, when I would have loved to slam a door behind me. I wasn't sure if I would have had the chance to anyway though, because I was barely past the divider before Raf was on me, grabbing my arm to turn me to face him.

  “What's going on?”

  “Nothing,” I snapped, pulling away.

  He just followed me deeper into the room though. “Don't lie to me, B.”

  Oh!

  Oh!

  “Don't lie to you?!” I growled, turning on him. “Oh, that is so rich from you.”

  His face curled in confusion. “We are you talking about?”

  “I'm talking about me having to find out with the rest of the world that you were fucking drugged without your consent! Yeah, you told me about the steroids Raf, but you didn't tell me that.”

  He groaned, propping his hands on top of his head. “I… I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?!” I snapped. “I don't give a shit how sorry you are, I want to know why. You had all this going on, for over a year. You suffered in silence until just weeks ago. In that interview, you called me your lifeline, but the truth is - you didn’t want me there when you were in the hospital. You were going through all this and you didn't tell me. And when you did tell me, you let me believe it was the whole story, but come to find out… it wasn't. What else haven't you said?!”

  “I've said it all, I swear,” he insisted. “You're right - I didn't want you there after that accident, because I didn't want anybody to see me like that. But especially not you. It was bad, and I didn't want to stress you like that. It's the same reason I kept all of this to myself, because it wasn't your burden to bear. It was mine. And as far as whether or not I sought the steroids out on my own… does it matter? It was my responsibility, when it comes down to it. It was my responsibility and I dropped the ball. I'm not trying to make any excuses for that. If I could have told the story without saying it was my trainer, I would have done that. I don't want to give any names; I don't want to put this on anybody else. I know his actions weren't okay, by any stretch of the imagination. Not Lucia’s either, and my parents were wrong too. But I've got to take responsibility for myself. I've got to fucking be a man.”

  “Suffering in silence is not being a man,” I snapped. “Taking all the responsibility for other people’s mistakes is not being a man. Telling me you love me, that you trust me, and then leaving out these important ass details isn't being a man. It's fucking toxic. It's not okay!”

  “So what do you suggest, then huh?” Raf asked. “Should I be sitting around somewhere whining and crying like a bitch? Complaining? Nobody wants to hear it!”

  “I want to hear it!” I corrected him. “Because I'm your friend. I've been your friend. You should have come to me.”

  “It was too much. It was more than I knew how to cope with, or handle. You'd already lost your mother, B, and you were still struggling with that. I couldn't put more on you, when I didn’t know how to verbalize it.”

  I swallowed, hard. “Okay. I can accept that you felt like that back then. What about now, Raf? When you told me about the steroids, you made it seem like a choice. I got mad at you, I judged you because I believed you made a choice. That's not what happened.”

  “But it's still my fault. I'm a grown-ass man.”

  “A grown ass man who was taken advantage of. And there's no shame in that, not for you. You trusted Marco, and he betrayed that.”

  “I don't think it matters. What's done is done, and I fully expect to hear from the UCI and whoever else first thing Monday morning, because they don’t care where it started – they care that the doping happened, that’s all. The details don’t matter to them.”

  “They matter to me. They matter to who you are.”

  Raf took a few steps back, pressing his back to the wall as he shook his head, and looked at me. “I can't consider myself a victim. Not with everything else. All the other shit is enough. I told my story, I told the truth, and I know there are going to be some things that I have to answer for with that. But I can't see it the way you want me to see it.”

  “You mean as it is. You can't see it as the truth?”

  “Right now, with everything else I'm trying to manage… guilt is an easier thing to cope with.”

  Damn.

  It hit me right then, how selfish I was being, in making this demand of him.

  He was right.

  This was his burden to bear, and if accepting responsibility for it was what made it possible for him to move forward and deal with it… it really wasn't for me to take that away from him.

  I didn't have to like it.

  Just like I didn't have to like the fact that my mother pretended to me that she wasn't dying.

  Hell… this was probably why she’d lied to me about it. So she wouldn't have to hear my mouth when all she wanted, all she needed, was peace.

  That was my place when it came to the people I loved.

  “Raf…,” I started, walking up to him and wrapping my arms around his waist. Without hesitation he returned the gesture, enveloping me in his arms. “If we're going to do this,” I said, “If we're going to be friends, if we're going to be lovers… I need you to know there's nothing you can't tell me. I can't promise you I'm always going to have the best immediate reaction, or that I might not need a little time to understand where you’re coming from. But I love you, in a way I wouldn’t have considered possible before you came back. We were friends first, before anything else, and as easy and seamless as that makes it for us to be in a relationship now… we can't ever let that foundation get away from us.”

  “Of course,” Raf agreed, bending to whisper his words against my lips. “Best friends forever, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I'm sorry, really, for not being open and upfront with you about all
of this. I just didn't want to put any more on your shoulders.”

  “These are strong shoulders,” I assured him. “I can handle it.”

  “Noted. Are we good?” he asked, and I nodded.

  “So good.”

  “Okay. So… I ask again, what time is this party?”

  I smirked as I unhooked my arms from his waist so I could access the front of his jeans instead. “Doesn’t matter,” I said, as I unbuttoned and unzipped him, so I could slip my hands in to grab his dick through his boxers. “You and I have other plans.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The I love yous hit different now.

  Those words had been in play between Britt and I, long before they had any romantic meaning attached. Even through the years where I suppressed the possibility of being more than her friend, and surviving our first - albeit short - disagreement.

  They felt different now.

  Less like abstract words, and more like a solid declaration that cemented us together as something much more than either of us had thought possible. The connective glue that made it a hell of a lot more feasible for me to get up and go out into the world to face the day.

  I’d kept myself tucked away in Britt’s apartment all weekend, enjoying the benefits of her feeling bad for going in on me like she had after that interview. I wasn't tripping on it, because when it really came down to it - whether she had a right to be mad or not - I had mishandled it. No, of course not with the intention of hurting her. But what the fuck would it look like for me to be stubborn about something like that with where our relationship was, and considering the way she had been front and center through all this, eager and excited to be there for me?

  I likely would have been pretty pissed too, finding out something like that about my best friend along with the rest of the world. I hadn’t intended to be quite that open. But once I was talking, it all just came out - things I never had any intention to express to anyone but myself and Jesus.

  The only people I really had to analyze it with.

  While I was accepting my own responsibility, I was glad she’d accepted hers too. It hadn't exactly felt good to argue with her about something like that after the day I’d already had, so I was relieved it didn't take much for her to realize she was going too hard.

  Which… was really another thing to Britt’s credit.

  She’d told me about the conversation with her father, and the subsequent running into Lucia, neither of which had to be good for her mental state. But instead of processing it like she needed to, she was more concerned with making sure I was good. Of course, I had to point out that in a roundabout way, I'd done the same thing in not telling her the full details of what Marco did.

  Ending up at odds with your partner because you were trying to – truly - protect your loved one, and accept your own choices?

  If that was the foundation we were laying, I felt like we’d be okay.

  “What?” B asked, looking up from her cell phone. It was early as hell Monday morning, but neither of us could sleep.

  Too much going on.

  I’d finally answered a phone call from my agent - not to be confused with my parents, who were my managers. She'd confirmed that I could expect to hear something from the UCI today, and I was anxious to hear what would happen. Besides that, I had my meeting to close on the house. And, maybe what I was most apprehensive about…. I needed a haircut.

  That shit didn't feel like stepping into lion's den.

  It felt like walking straight into the lion’s jaws.

  “Do you want me to come with you today?” B asked, when I never did answer her first question.

  I forced myself to snap out of my thoughts, putting a smile on my face to shake my head. “Nah, Top Flight Security,” I teased her. “I think I've got it.”

  “Okay… but if you change your mind, I'm just a phone call away.”

  I grabbed her chin as I leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I appreciate you babe. But I've got this one on my own.”

  With that in mind, we both got up, having a quick breakfast before we showered and got ready to head out for our respective busy days.

  It felt like all eyes on me.

  Not that long ago, that was something I would have wanted - something I would have craved. Now, I knew the likelihood that those eyes were watching me so close because they were awestruck by my athleticism was painfully low.

  They were judging me.

  Or at least, that was an easy thing to think.

  I kept my own eyes ahead of me as I headed to the shop, only diverting my attention to speak to the familiar faces I saw along the way. Nobody stopped me to talk, probably too scandalized by the truth I’d revealed to simply hold a normal conversation with me.

  That was fine.

  I didn't have it in me to either.

  As confident as I may have sounded on the playback of Wil’s show, I was pretty damn terrified.

  That feeling only intensified when I walked into Fresh Cuts and the whole damn shop went quiet.

  Completely quiet, not even the usual buzz of clippers.

  I stopped where I was, looking around trying to pinpoint who the bullshit was going to come from. This was yet another moment where I had to establish a particular order, or it would get established for me.

  I wasn't surprised when the guy who had grilled me last time was the first one to lean forward, making himself known.

  “Hey man,” he spoke up, and all the attention went to him, to hear what he was going to say. To set the tone.

  “What's up?” I asked.

  “Where exactly is this Mario Fettuccine located?” he asked. “I just need to see him, put me in a room alone with him for about five minutes,” he said. “I just wanna talk.”

  The whole barbershop, including me, burst into laughter.

  And there it was again, that acceptance I hadn't quite expected… and maybe didn't deserve. But I certainly appreciated it.

  Carter caught my gaze from across the shop, and lifted his chin in greeting. “Aye man… you good?” he asked, a question that was asking a hell of a lot more than if I was having an okay day.

  A question I fully understood he wasn't just asking for himself, but on behalf of everybody.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “I'm good.”

  He returned my nod. “Good. Come on and let’s get you cut.”

  As far as I was concerned, the positive start to the morning boded well for the rest of the day, and I was hella pleased to be right.

  Closing went off without a hitch, which meant that all the preliminary fixing I was doing on the house - which I technically wasn't supposed to, but had been given special unwritten permission for - wasn't going to go to waste.

  The house was officially mine.

  Then, I heard from the UCI.

  Kinda.

  They didn't contact me directly at all, simply released a statement online. They made it abundantly clear that their drug testing standards were too rigorous for me to have been aided by steroids during any of my notable wins. The only reason I avoided getting caught with the contraband substance in my system was that I wasn’t actually racing at the time I’d been exposed. If you hadn’t declared intentions to race, there was no reason for them to care what you did.

  Marco was being investigated though.

  I felt bad for any other racers who might get caught up in his bullshit – specifically ones who, like me, had been duped. I wasn’t the one who’d done it though – if anybody was responsible, it would be Marco, and he’d be the one who had to answer for it.

  So my integrity – or attempts at it, at least – had paid off.

  This was a great day.

  I personally felt light as a feather by the time the end of the day came around, and I strolled back into Britt’s place. She had music playing, her usual mix of R&B and female rap. Something in the kitchen smelled good.

  All good signs, usually.

  I was picking up on something else though… the vi
be wasn't right. Something was off.

  I looked around the open space, but didn't see her. That led me to the bathroom, where I found her pacing back and forth in the limited area.

  “What's up with you?” I asked, struck by the worried look on her face.

  “I… realized something. As I was walking back from grabbing dinner for us. I’m late.”

  At first thought, my dumb ass looked at my watch, confused by what she could possibly be late for at this time of the evening on a Monday.

  “No,” she groaned, pointing at the top of the toilet.

  My eyes landed on the pregnancy test.

  Oh, shit.

  We certainly had been screwing like rabbits, with no thought to contraception, but I didn't think it had been quite long enough yet for something like this. I started counting backward in my head, and it must have shown on my face, because B shook her head.

  “I already did the math, babe. And I’ve been all over google. It’s possible. It's not like we've been using any type of protection, and I'm not on birth control. We got excited, and… we've been rolling the dice.”

  “Okay,” I nodded. “Okay. How soon before we know?”

  The question was barely out of my mouth when a timer went off, somewhere in the bathroom. Britt pulled her cell phone from her pocket, revealing it as the source of the chiming, and shutting it off.

  “Right now.” She picked up the test and pulled it out of the protective cap, her eyes laser-focused and searching for the result. “Oh thank God,” she yelled a second later, shoving it in my direction. “Not pregnant,” she gushed, relieved, before I could get my eyes focused right.

  “Damn, you don't have to be that excited about it, do you?”

  She laughed. “Raf, we’re only in our mid-twenties, you don't have a job, and I am finally embracing this body for all the glory it is. Fuck them kids,” she said, making me laugh.

  For all the reasons she'd mentioned, and more, a baby really was nowhere on my list of things I was interested - right now, at least – in doing.

  “That doesn't mean we can't practice though, right?” I asked, grabbing her hand to pull her into me.

 

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