Cocky Quarterback: Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 12)

by Faleena Hopkins

  “Too busy or…couldn’t.” At my silence, she nods. “Must be hard.”

  “It kills me.” Exhaling I force a smile. “That’s why it was good being there for Peter. No pressure for me, but still around music, what I love, you know?”

  “Yeah,” she gently smiles like she doesn’t want to pour salt on my wound. She knows all about my stage fright and my broken dream. “You still play your guitar?”

  Flinging the leaf I watch it spin on the breeze and float away. “To help me write the songs, yeah. I work out the melodies on it. Not as much lately. Haven’t had a lot of energy.”

  “How was Peter after?”

  “After what?”

  She lowers her sunglasses, looking over their tops, wiggling her eyebrows. “At his place, your place, you know…after.”

  “He had to open the shop today so we didn’t stay the night together.”

  The light vanishes from her. “Wren.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t like the frown. Take off your sunglasses.”

  “It’s bright out.”

  “Off!”

  Doing as I’m told I hold them, and my gaze, on the boulder. “What?”

  “Girl, look at me.”

  Why is it so difficult to do that? My eyelids weigh twenty pounds each. “I don’t feel good.”

  She jumps from her boulder to mine and touches my hand. The kindness gives me the strength to face her. “Wren, where have you gone?”

  “…I don’t know. I feel lost.”

  “I’m going to give it to you straight because you’re in it and you can’t see. We’ve all done it. We hang our hopes on some dude right from the beginning because he seems like he might be it. And when things get shitty we don’t let go.”

  “That’s not what’s happening.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Staring at her I get really quiet on the inside as the sunlight seems to fade around us, oxygen leaving with it. “I thought Peter was a nice guy and that was a shift for me, you know, in the right direction. I usually fall for the bad boy type.”

  “But is Peter a nice guy?”

  Thinking about it, I’m reticent. “Yes?”

  “Has he been nice to you?”

  “He’s a nice guy in general.”

  “Is he nice to you?”

  “He’s not bad to me,” I lamely offer.

  El waves her hand, “Oh honey, you fell prey to a manipulating wimp who got you around his pinky, a girl out of his league to boost his puny ego and his puny dick, and now he’s stringing you along so he can feel like he’s the shit.”

  I stare at her, stomach flipping over. “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Chapter 20

  ERIC

  Tony, Mott, and I roll into a brunch hotspot just before eleven on this bright Autumn Thursday, wearing our ‘Sunday best,’ as the church-going folk call it. Heads turn to watch as we sit ourselves down without thinking to wait for a hostess to help us out. Only problem is now we don’t have menus, but that’s quickly remedied by a busboy who recognizes us, giddy with excitement as he rushes them over, hands shaking.

  Coach picked this place as a congratulations brunch for just the four of us, celebrating Monday night’s game in Chicago.

  “Guess we’re early,” Tony proudly says, slapping his napkin on his lap.

  Mott looks at him, vibrato rumbling his deep voice, “You haven’t ordered yet.”

  “So?”

  “So leave it on the table.”

  “That’s not the rule.”

  “Since when.”

  “Never.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  I’m reading the menu, ignoring them because this is how they always are. All I care about is, “Oh man, I’m going to get scrambled eggs, French toast, double side of bacon, sliced avocado, and fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

  Tony snickers, “Avocado?”

  Eyeing him I ask, “You know how good that fruit is?”

  Mott mutters while reading the menu, “It’s a vegetable.”

  “It’s a fruit,” both Tony and I correct him, in unison.

  Mott glances between us from under thick eyebrows. “No shit?” He goes back to making his choice.

  “Tony, let me explain the wonders of the best fruit ever invented by God. Avocados are not only delicious additions to pretty much anything except dessert, they have the good kinds of fat that help the machine you call a body absorb nutrients. They’re great for the eyes, loaded with antioxidants. They can lower cholesterol.”

  “You don’t have high cholesterol.”

  “I’m talkin’ here! They’re also packed with fiber which helps digestion, have twenty different vitamins and minerals, and they carry more potassium than bananas.” I pick up and drop my napkin like I’ve spiked a microphone.

  Tony eyes me. “You’re a nerd.”

  “Because I read?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rather be a nerd than a Tony.”

  He chuckles, “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  A male server approaches our table with no sign of knowing who we are. Good, because we partied pretty hard Monday, checked out the Windy City Tuesday and flew in yesterday. We’re longing for a little quiet today.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  We order a round of coffee and juice, and tell him we’re expecting one more guy. He nods and vanishes.

  Mott puts his menu down with all the gentleness of a rhino. “Coach is never late.” His big mug spreads into a grin, voice louder than most. “Look at the lovebirds suckin’ face before noon.”

  Tony and I glance over and see a couple in a booth, the guy with his back to us, kissing a girl with long brown hair, her face blocked by his streaked black mop.

  “Shit,” I mutter, feeling my stomach turn over as I realize who it is.

  I’ve stayed away from the bar after that day in Piedmont Park. Even on the weekends when the team goes, I’ve avoided it, made excuses. Yet I still haven’t been able to get Wren out of my head.

  I’ve never wanted anyone like this.

  And I keep expecting it to fade.

  But from the emptiness in my gut right now at knowing she’s in his arms, it hasn’t. I really don’t need to see her kissing that guy when I want her kissing me.

  Shifting to face front again, I grumble, “Is the waiter comin’ with those waters anytime soon?”

  “We didn’t order water, Cocker.”

  “Oh…right.”

  Mott grins, “They finally came up for air. Hey, he’s looking over here atcha.”

  “Eric?” Peter calls to our table, adding, “Wow, Tony Sanchez and Mott LaRock!” as he recognizes who I’m with.

  Oh fuck, here we go.

  Last thing I want is to act friendly.

  But I’m no coward either.

  Turning in my chair toward the booth I lock eyes with a girl who isn’t Wren. Confused, my eyelids narrow like she might change form if I stare hard enough. Then they flicker to Peter, and by the look on his face he just realized he’s not with the girl he’s supposed to be with, and I know it. But spotting me made him lose his cool, since he’s such a fan. Now it’s too late for him to hide his infidelity.

  I rise up from the chair and he retreats like the plastic booth will suck him into a world where he’s safe. Anger boils in my veins turning my vision blood red. That guilt in his fearful eyes tells me he’s cheating—they haven’t broken up since I saw her last. Every instinct is telling me, kick his ass for Wren.

  As I head over I realize…wait.

  This isn’t my business.

  But then I go ahead and kick the shit out of him any way.

  The jerk actually squeaks as I lift him by his collar out of the booth. As the quarterback I’m not the biggest, strongest guy on the field. But I’m a Cocker, and we know how to fight. Especially when you hurt someone we care about.

  I growl in his face, tossing him onto the f
loor.

  He scrambles up as the girl cries out, “Peter!”

  Pointing at her I snarl, “Shut up!” and grab the back of his shirt as he tries to escape.

  Mott and Tony don’t know why I’m doing this. They don’t need the reason. They just know there’s a good one for me to blow up like this. They’ve formed a circle with cheater Peter in the eat-shit sandwich.

  Nowhere to go, he cowers in front of me as I snarl, “You didn’t have to work that day I ran into you guys, did you?”

  “Yeah, I did!”

  I punch him. “Wanna try again?”

  “Alright, no! I didn’t have to work!”

  “Were you with her?” I jam a finger at the booth. He nods, and I shake my head in disgust. “You scumbag.” I hit him with my other fist, breaking his nose.

  He grabs it, blood spurting. “My nose! Fuck! Stop it! I’m sorry!”

  “You’re sorry you got caught!” I hit his jaw, then give him one powerful punch to the dick and ball sack. He doubles over. A whisper would knock him to the ground. With my foot I give him a good shove. He drops, groaning and clutching his jewels.

  Coach walks in, freezes, sees the damage, my knuckles, the quiet of the restaurant. “Cocker, What the fuck is goin’ on here?!”

  Throwing one last look at the mistress of the hour—or months, however long it’s been hot and heavy between these two—and I shake my head at myself almost as much as at her.

  I’ve been there.

  I told Wren that.

  I’ve been with girls who were taken and never once thought about the person on the other side of the infidelity. Now that I know it’s Wren, and how much this will hurt her, I feel sick for having ever been a part of something this vile.

  Stepping over the writhing piece of shit, I leave him in my wake. Mott and Tony walk up with me. Coach and I have had it out before. He wouldn’t let me skip a game when my Grandfather had a heart attack. I played. Won it, too. Then I punched his selfish ass before I raced to the hospital.

  “I lost my appetite.”

  He sees the look on my face. “Go.” As I walk out I hear him ask my buddies, “Who’s the weenie?”

  “Don’t know. Cocker didn’t explain but I think he’s cheating on a friend of Eric’s. Punk was mackin’ on that girl…”

  I explode out the door.

  Need some air.

  My chest is in knots.

  I don’t know if I can tell Wren.

  It’s not my place.

  We’re not friends or anything.

  Are we?

  Does it matter?

  As a human being, should I tell her?

  Does she deserve to know?

  Fuck yes she does.

  And I can’t trust Peter to do it.

  Nobody can trust him to do anything but lie.

  Chapter 21

  WREN

  “Is that your phone ringing? I thought we don’t have service out here.”

  Digging through my bag, I’m surprised, too. “Yeah, didn’t we check earlier?”

  “Who is it?”

  Staring at a number I don’t recognize I shrug one shoulder. “Don’t know…hello?”

  “Wren?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “Eric Cocker.”

  I almost drop the phone, but manage not to as I repeat for her benefit, “Eric Cocker?”

  She mouths, What the fuck?

  “How did you get my number?”

  Eric’s deep voice is quiet, even bleak as he explains, “Mike gave it to me.”

  I mouth to her, Mike gave him my number. Eleanor nods and frantically waves for me to keep talking to him.

  “Um, how have you been? I haven’t seen you since the park.”

  A fact I’ve tried not to notice.

  And failed miserably.

  He doesn’t answer the question, asks instead, “Where are you right now?”

  “At another park.” Appalled at my inability to talk like a normal person, I roll my eyes. “Guess I like them.”

  “Which one?”

  “Cascade Springs.”

  He exhales, “God, I haven’t been there since I was a kid.” His volume rises. “Okay, it won’t take me long to get over there.”

  “You’re coming here?”

  Eleanor’s butt bounces on the boulder, her frantic hands hitting my knees.

  I slap her away.

  “Fifteen minutes probably without traffic if I’m lucky.”

  “Why are you coming?”

  “I have to talk to you. And it has to be in person.”

  This is so bizarre all I can do is agree. “Um, okay, we’re by the stream. When you go left in the park, keep on that path. It’ll be a ways but there’s a small waterfall over a man-made cave.”

  “The drainage pipe one?”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “But it’s so lovely.”

  “Yeah, nature took it over. I’ll see you there.” He hangs up.

  I drop the phone onto my lap, dumbfounded and speechless.

  Eleanor leans close. “What. The. Fuck.”

  “Mom?!” Antoine calls over, distressed.

  “Coming baby,” she tells him before leaning toward me. “I’ve been watching this go down, keeping my mouth shut but now that Eric-fucking-Cocker is driving all the way over here to see you when he probably has a million other things he could be doing, I’m glad I just broke the silence about Peter, because girl, don’t be a doormat anymore. You deserve more. Wake up and smell the quarterback.” She jumps off the boulder. “Antoine, what is it? Please tell me you didn’t kill that sweet turtle.”

  “No, look! A snake!”

  “Oh dear lord, get away from that thing.” Octopus-like arms wrap around her children and whisk them from the stream’s edge, setting them down and shooing them onto the trail. “We’re walking back to the car, go! But don’t run. I want to be able to see you at all times, you hear me?”

  “Yes, momma!” they say, Tia pushing her hair back with both hands.

  I swipe our empty cups and jump down. We’re heading to the parking lot at the park’s entrance, so I’m not worried I’ll miss Eric’s arrival. If anything I’ll run into him on the way.

  With our feet crunching dead leaves I confess, “I’m nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She calls to her kids. “Are there any snakes where you are?”

  They stop walking and look around. Disappointed, their shoulder slump, “No.”

  “Good, hang tight.” She returns to me, eyes patient but firm. “This is not the Wren I know. That guy has fucked with your head. You are going to ditch him, right?”

  “Yes. I think I have to.”

  “Do you feel relief or sadness when you think of ending things?”

  Blinking to the ground I mull it over. Sliding my gaze back up I say, “Relief. But it’s hard to break up with someone.”

  Nodding she admits, “It’s never easy. But the best things rarely are.” Giving me a hug, she heads toward her children, calling over her shoulder, “Call him right now!”

  “Now?”

  “Yes! Or you might not do it.”

  Oh, I’ll do it. What she said cleared the fog I’ve been in. It’s weird when you’re in a bad relationship and you can’t see outside of it until a friend shines the light and says, this way to freedom.

  Chapter 22

  ERIC

  There are sirens lighting me up as I turn the steering wheel slowly clockwise. I spit out a few well-chosen curse words, eyeing the blue patrol car through my rearview.

  Two guys get out, each representing the two races most prevalent in Atlanta. They partner them like that on purpose to prevent racial bias, on either side. To me we’re all just people. It’s not like you’re given a choice how you’re born, what pigment you arrive in. Fucking ridiculous that we’re even still talking about it. But I get it. Some people look for any rea
son to feel superior, rather than earn it.

  “License and registration,” the white officer growls before he gets a look at me. “Oh shit.” I glance up from reaching in my pocket, ready for trouble. But he grins over at his partner, “It’s the Falcons Quarterback!”

  “No way!” Authoritative I’ve-got-a-gun strides switch to enthusiastic skipping as he hurries over, both of them on the driver’s side. “Holy shit, that was a good game in Seattle!”

  “Thank you,” I smile, my mind on Wren.

  “The way you passed the ball to Sanchez and he hightailed it to the end zone, spiked it and then danced like this!” He jogs in a tight circle, knees high before miming slamming a football into the road. “Fucking incredible, man. I felt it!”

  His paler partner grins at him. “That’s when we did that round of shots.”

  “And Stu lost two-hundred-dollars!”

  “Serves him right for bettin’ against our team.”

  Watching them I’m relieved they’re fans, and even more impressed how close they are, but more important to me is how I can get the hell out of here and fast. “Tony’s a good player.”

  “You’re a good team! All of you, man!

  “I can’t wait for the Super Bowl. You guys were robbed last time.”

  I shrug, pleased he thinks so. “They gave us a good run. Have to give ‘em credit.”

  “Nah, fuck that. You were robbed.”

  I laugh and ask, “What are your names?”

  “I’m Andre.”

  “Tad. Uh, hey, you ran that red.”

  Frowning with fake confusion I look back to the light I blew going forty-five. “Oh shit, when’d they put that there?”

  The cops glance over, unsure if they should make me feel stupid by enlightening me to a fact I secretly already know—it’s been there since before I was born.

  “Nobody was hurt so…” Tad begins.

  Andre finishes, “Forget about it.”

  “But be careful.”

  “We need you when January comes!”

  “Really good to meet you guys. Tell Stu to get his loyalties in check.”

  They both laugh, Andre reassuring me, “We will! Keep it up, man. We’re rootin’ for ya’ll!”