I turned my whole body, walking backward with my hands stuffed in the front pockets of my shorts. “Hey…” I made a shallow search for her name, but nothing came to me.
“Angela,” she said, her sharp strides catching me up. “Off to watch more game tape, or are you free to leave?”
“I’m done for today, ready to face it all again tomorrow.”
“Ah.” She looked up at me sideways, a fat pile of folders and papers in her arms. “The life of a professional athlete. The outsiders will never know the daily grind you’re faced with. It’s not all disgustingly large paychecks and mansions is it?”
I snorted. “Not for me it isn’t.”
“Would you like to come somewhere with me? I’m off now, too. It just took me thirty minutes to prize three minutes’ worth of respectable information from Pat DeSimone that I can use in an interview. I’m sure Dolphins fans are just dying to hear about his sister’s crippling gas problems during her first pregnancy.”
“Yeah, no doubt. The struggle’s real.” I smiled as Angela laughed loudly, her ultra-white teeth making another appearance.
“So, do you want to come with me?”
“Where?” I heard myself asking, even though I probably had no business going anywhere with this woman. But going home to do fuck-all wasn’t appealing too much to me right now, either.
“Now that is a surprise.”
Outside our brand-new training facility, in the private parking lot, Angela unloaded her paperwork into the front seat of a sleek, black BMW 6-Series convertible. “Nice wheels,” I said, running my fingers over the glossy paintwork.
“The Dolphins pay me well to hang around half-naked football players day in day out.” Slipping out of her nude pumps, she threw those in the car, too. Swapped them for a pair of flat sandals and pulled out the pencil holding up her hair. A strip of Miami-tanned skin flashed below her naval as she locked the car, shoving the keys into an oversized purse. “Okay, Rookie, let’s go.”
“We’re walking?”
“It’s a beautiful night, and you have legs…” Her vision traced to my calves. “Very capable legs.” Her eyes snapped up to mine. “It isn’t far, don’t panic.”
The sky was a clear blue above the towering palm trees, street lights and neon signs already starting to turn on. The sidewalks and roads were busy, tables crowded with people outside of restaurants and Hispanic bakeries.
“It’s right around this corner,” Angela said, after we’d been walking around fifteen or twenty minutes. I followed her down a wide alleyway that led to a quieter street with less lighting, both sidewalks lined with parked cars. She walked up to a nondescript building, iron bars caging the door and window. She pressed a buzzer on the wall. A few seconds later, the inside door was yanked open, the corroded hinges groaning under the weight.
The person on the other side, unlocking the metal grate, looked younger than me. About eighteen or nineteen. Tied across his forehead was a red and white bandana, black hair buzzed close to his skull. “Yo. Hermosa, what are you doing here?” he said in a thick Puerto Rican accent, his gaze shifting away from me.
I followed Angela through the low-roofed doorway, the smell of urine and wet dog burning its way into my nostrils. A combination potent enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“I came to see how the new addition’s doing. Watch your step, it drops down a little here,” Angela said to me, over her shoulder. Her hand reached out in the dark and the tips of her fingers connected with my hard stomach.
“I got it,” I said, taking the concrete step down.
Dull yellow light quivered from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. “What is this place?” I asked, looking around at, well, nothing. The damp, stone walls were bare and there was no furniture.
We kept on down the passageway, the scraping of our shoes on the concrete floor echoing off the walls.
“Makeshift dog shelter,” Angela said. “And sometimes cats.”
I couldn’t hear any dogs barking, but it sure as shit smelled like a shelter. I rubbed the back of my neck, squeezing the tight muscles there and wondering why she’d brought me here. Then I questioned why I’d agreed.
We rounded the corner into a large, brick room, what looked like kennels set up along the back wall. “These are all empty,” I said, walking in deeper.
Then I spotted it.
Drooping eyes, black as marbles. Caramel and black fur matted with dry blood on one side of its nose.
“Empty for now.” The teenaged boy walked over to the dog’s kennel, crouching down in front of the open hatch. “But some weeks, this room is full. Battered dogs howling and crying through the night. Either ’cause some asswipe pitted two staffs against each other or served up a golden retriever as bait. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit we see in here. Would give you nightmares.”
“Where are the dogs now?” I asked.
“Rehomed. Some get put to sleep. Depends what state they’re in.”
“What happened to him?” I nodded at the sad German Shepherd. Its fur was fluffier and softer-looking than a full-sized dog, its face rounder. He was just a puppy.
“His owner dumped him next to the train lines. Tied him to an electrical post in the middle of nowhere. Whoever abandoned him probably beat him with his own leash before taking off. There are lacerations all over his body, and his leash had blood on it,” Angela said.
I couldn’t help but frown. “How’d you find him?” I asked the teenager.
“My uncle works the lines on maintenance.”
Angela kneeled in front of the pup, making kissing noises until it dragged its limp ass up and let her scoop him up in her arms, round, clumsy paws clutching at her shoulder, blunt nails tangling in her thin camisole straps. “Now we just need to find the little guy a home,” she said to the dog.
“Has anyone looked at him?” I asked. “A vet?”
The teenager stood, throwing back his shoulders and digging his hands into his hoodie’s pockets. “It’s the first thing we do. He’s all good, his injuries are superficial. He’s had a couple stitches. It’s his head that’ll be fucked-up.”
The tortured puppy stared at me over Angela’s shoulder, eyes lifeless and begging at the same time. I stared right back, knowing I couldn’t walk out of here after seeing what I had. Go home to my fully furnished luxury condo while this heap of blood and fur lay on this cold floor all night on top of a ratty blanket, not giving enough of a shit to even howl.
“Angela,” I said over a deep sigh that reached from the bottom of my stomach, “you’re a piece of work.” She turned and smiled at me, stroking the German Shepherd’s back. It looked too big in her arms. “You can’t take the dog?”
“Not sure this fur ball would play nice with my three cats. They like their home dog free.”
“You know what they say about women with cats…”
Angela grinned. “We’re amazing in bed?”
“Pretty sure no one ever said that. But, whatever, I’ll take the damn dog.”
Her victorious smile was imminent. And premeditated. “I had a feeling you might say that, Rookie.”
And I had a feeling you’d say that.
T hrough most of the funeral service and eulogies, I zoned out, replaying my own memories of Nellie. Using those earlier, happier images to replace ones of the morning she died—scenes that were burned into my retinas. Because that morning was too sudden for me, and I’d rinse my brain of it if I could. Had she really only been dead minutes before I’d woken up and noticed her motionless chest? Had she suffered at all, asked for me when I didn’t hear?
I closed my eyes to interrupt the haunting, stray thoughts, and Taj’s fingers laced with mine gave a supportive squeeze. On my other side, Marilyn linked our arms, and I leaned into her when she dropped her head to my shoulder, sniffling into a tissue.
Standing over Nellie’ casket, I couldn’t speak—couldn’t say my good-bye. There were no words, just an aching in my throat. A stabbing pain build
ing to a silent crescendo, readying for me to open my mouth and let it explode out.
As I walked to the exit between the rows of chairs, I couldn’t see one foot in front of the other for the spontaneous flood of tears, and my crying turned ugly as I made my way down the aisle. A sea of people in black standing on either side of me, probably with their own tears. Their own grief.
I sucked in a deep breath as loud as the music playing, my breathing restricted inside my too-tight chest in what felt like an overture of panic. And then someone much broader and taller than me stepped out from the last row of chairs. Placed a firm hand on my lower back, my next ragged breath seeped in the clean scent of expensive cologne.
Julian led me from the funeral home. Beneath a slate sky, rain speckled the ground, and I let my tears quietly fall, soaked up by Julian’s tailored, wool suit. Piecing together his schedule wasn’t a task I was capable of. Where he should be, how he’s here, when did he get here? What are the consequences? I didn’t voice my concerns. I was just thankful he’d made it.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” I said. Communication between us had been limited. Mainly because of me.
“Bye Week,” he explained, his lips grazing the side of my head. “I fly out Sunday. But for the rest of today and tomorrow, I’m yours. I know it’s nowhere near long enough, but it was the best Coach could agree do.”
My cheek pressed into the starched fabric of his navy vest, my tear-streaked face a safe distance from his white dress shirt, even though I was more than certain Julian couldn’t care less about the state of his clothes. “It’s enough.”
When grandpa Killian and my dad finished thanking the guests for attending, I let Julian go, leaving in the town car with Elena on my right and my dad on my left.
“Here.” My dad pulled a folded handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, shaking it out and handing it to me. I took it, wiping away my snot and tears, not at all sorry for ruining a piece of material that may have cost more than my entire outfit, including my new peep-toe pumps.
“I see Julian made it out.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Bye Week isn’t a vacation.” My back teeth ground together, and my toes curled inside my narrow shoes. He would press on with or without interruption from me. “He still has physio to attend, training. Team meetings and video analysis to watch. Over and Over—”
“Michael!” Elena leaned forward, wearing a severe frown. “That isn’t what’s important. The boy’s old enough to handle his own responsibilities. He’s a professional athlete, and if management have let him go, that’s their decision. It’s obviously not a problem, so let’s not make it one.”
My dad sniffed, but eventually settled back in the leather seat, the view from the side window falsely soaking up the rest of his attention.
Cars lined the roads outside of my dad’s Beacon Hill brownstone when we arrived for the wake. Before I felt strong enough to face anyone, I locked myself in the upstairs bathroom and splashed my face with water, drying off with one of the hand towels that hung neatly over the heated towel rail. I gripped the marble basin while I stared down at the gold drain.
Today had been surreal. Like I’d floated up out of my body and watched the funeral service from above everyone else. Not really a part of it.
It was too final. I’d never see her face or hear her voice again. Somehow, I couldn’t get my head around that. And the more I idled over not being able to see or touch her, the more I wanted exactly that. To get in my car and go and visit her, whether she remembered who I was or not. Progressive Alzheimer’s disease seemed like such a small inconvenience compared to this. I wanted her back in any state I could get her. I wanted all the times she’d smiled at me, laughed—told a joke. The few times she’d seen who I really was, even if it only lasted minutes, or seconds. The years I’d visited Boston from Los Angeles during summer vacation and she’d spend her days with me when my dad showed zero interest in making me happy.
Movida, our old housekeeper, had played Mom back in Santa Monica, but Nellie O’Hara had been my mom here. Two mothers, both gone. It was only just dawning on me how lucky I’d been.
“Angel?” Three knocks sounded from the other side of the bathroom door and I looked up into the mosaic-edged mirror, smoothing back the rogue hairs on my scalp. I wiped my hands over the front of my pencil dress, dusting off invisible lint.
“Angel,” came the voice again, “It’s me, Jordan. Could you, uh… open up… please?”
Jordan?
Just that one word—that name—and my heart shot into my throat. Ignoring my quiet voice of anger, I opened the door, stepping out into the carpeted hallway. Over the curved dark-oak stair railing, people cluttered the foyer, Jordan and I the only ones upstairs.
I looked up into mossy green eyes I hadn’t seen for a long time, and it was like looking into myself. Everything I used to be and no longer had—everything that had changed in my life.
“Can we go into your old room?” Jordan asked. He sounded unsure. A vulnerable mannerism I’d rarely witnessed in him.
I took the lead, walking to the room at the farthest end of the hallway, knowing he’d follow me. I opened the door to rose-colored walls, white furniture and a beige carpet so thick, you’d think it had just been laid. I crossed to the window and stood between the lace curtains, my bottom resting on the wide sill.
“Man.” Jordan stood next to my California king bed, gazing around the room, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his gray slacks. “Feels like centuries since I’ve been in here. Nothing’s changed.” His eyes settled on me and he blinked. “Except you. You’ve changed. I’m sorry about Nellie, everyone knew how much you loved her. How much she loved you.”
“Yeah,” was the only word that fluttered from my mouth. I couldn’t easily forget how Jordan had fucked me over. Cut scars of rejection deep enough across my heart that they still hadn’t completely healed.
Did I wish Jordan hadn’t put me through the wringer? Absolutely. Points still had to be made and voices still had to be heard. They were mostly mine, but still. He took away my choices, pushed down my feelings and now… now I was being sucked back into that dreaded relationship just by being in the same room as him. Standing an inch over six foot in his gray suit and brown shoes, Jordan looked different than before, more put together. Taller, maybe?
Should I even care? And I had to wonder what he was even doing here. My family hated him, and so did a significant part of me.
“Listen…” He sighed, rubbing his fingers above his browbone and dropping down onto the edge of my linen covered mattress. “I fucked up—with you.” He spoke to the floor and I automatically followed his line of vision. “I treated you not good, and you…” Another sigh. “You didn’t deserve that.” He turned his head away from the carpet, eyes rising at the same time mine did. “But it was never about you. I said to you from the off I didn’t like the idea of a girlfriend. I warned you…”
And that was when I stopped listening, his ramblings drifting to noise.
“While I’m here… do you still have my Hollister jacket from last year? I never got it back from you, and I really liked it.”
I hadn’t expected to be able to laugh today. Some people went to funerals to pay their respects, and then there were others who just wanted their favorite clothes back.
By nightfall, only close family friends remained in the house, drinking whiskey in the dining room with my dad and grandpa, toasting to Nellie and her full, colorful life. Music from an era before my own strummed from a docked iPod, and I took Julian by the hand while everyone else was caught up in conversation.
In the privacy of my bedroom, behind the locked door, I reached for the zipper at the back of my dress. I had one arm over my shoulder when Julian replaced my hand with his, sliding the zipper along its track himself. The dress halfway open down my spine, Julian’s hand stilled as I swallowed, a brief pause before his voice slashed the heavy silence. “I saw you with Jordan ear
lier. I won’t get into why you took him to your bedroom.”
“He told me he was sorry, but that I’d basically asked for it. The usual mind games. Oh, and the most important reason of all? He wanted the jacket you ripped from me in your old locker room showers.”
Outside of my periphery, Julian laughed. “You give it to him?”
“Without disclosing where it’d been.” I turned to face Julian, his hand falling away from my back. Sometime throughout the day, he’d discarded his navy suit jacket. “And I know you aren’t him. I’m not trying to push you away, Julian. It’s just… I don’t mean—”
“Hey, it’s cool. You set the pace, remember? I’m just happy to be invited along.” He slipped a hand into his left trouser pocket, a delicate smirk gracing his full lips, and heat flooded my core, tingling between my legs. His double-breasted vest was cut low, showing off his slim, navy tie and molding to his narrow waist. No suit should fit a man this generously, it wasn’t fair to the rest of the world.
I cursed myself for acting this weak around another human being and commended myself for not ripping off Julian’s suit and tie and covering my naked body with his.
“He should never have had you, Angel. He didn’t deserve you, and he sure as fuck didn’t deserve your tears. I’d like to take every one you ever spilled and drown him in them. I didn’t like him then and I don’t like him now. I don’t care if he’s turned into Mother-Fucking-Theresa, I can’t stand the sight of his face.”
Julian reached behind me, finishing what he started. With my zipper undone, he eased the sleeves of my dress over my shoulders, tracing the material with shaded eyes. The dress slid to the floor, pooling around my heeled-feet. My black lace underwear was skimpy and partially see-through, and Julian failed to notice either quality as he wound his fingers through mine and led me to the bed. His back against the upholstered headboard, he pulled me onto his lap and wrapped one arm around my stomach, draping the other over my legs.
Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2) Page 6
