Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  “Julian, can I—”

  “Not now,” I said sharply to my dad, who’d stayed behind. “Or even better, not ever.” I stared back at my older self. More defiant than I was, less caring. If I thought I was a shit, he was living proof I could get worse. “The past’s over, that’s all there is to it. Just try harder to be in Taj’s future.”

  He stepped toward me as I stepped away. “What about your future?”

  “My future’s here. I don’t need you anymore.” I shrugged with my hands tucked into my pockets, a gesture that asked what the hell he seriously wanted from me after all this time. “Focus on the son you’ve still got left.”

  Unconcerned with who saw, I slipped Rebecca a treble vodka and Coke at the bar, dropping a striped pink straw into the black liquid. She secured it between her thumb and finger, watching me deliberately as she sucked through it. I tossed in two cherries while her face floated over the drink, vodka and Coke jumping from the glass and dotting her makeup.

  “Ugh.” She patted her chin with the back of her hand. “Immature.”

  It didn’t take long before some of my old teammates surrounded us. No speeches or any of that official stuff was required from me tonight. The charity ambassadors and executives would handle the presentation side. I was the silent funding partner. And I wanted it to stay that way. I was here to support the people who ran the children’s centers and schools on a daily basis. Tonight was about celebrating them and the kids, not me. There were other influential people in the room. Businessmen and women who would hoist the silent auction miles off the ground and contribute to fattening the charity organizations’ pockets.

  It hadn’t eluded me, my divorced parents cooped up in the same room, alongside the latest Mrs. Lawson, and I glanced behind me to see if Mom was doing okay. Her table was empty, her pillar-box red suit nowhere to be seen. “Gimme a minute,” I said to Rebecca. Not that she was paying attention, too wrapped up in the affections of my longtime buddy, Rixton, tight end for Boston University’s football team.

  Walking out of the restroom as I broke onto the landing, my mom was fastening her clutch purse. Fading pink blotches around her nose and eyes told me everything. She’d been crying. Over him.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” I said.

  She pitched a generous breath, nodding.

  We sat across from each other in two upholstered armchairs, a glass of wine in her hands and whiskey in mine. Downstairs wasn’t part of the event, so we had plenty of privacy, and no one else had wandered down here so far. I didn’t think they would, either, considering it was an open bar upstairs.

  “I know what you’re thinking. That I’m an idiot… spineless.” The lacy black whatever-the-hell it was under my mom’s suit jacket revealed the thin bones beneath her skin. The sunken motion of her breathing as she held back more wasted tears. “This is new—seeing them together. I’m not used to it. I’m not crying for him.”

  Susan Hale’s Nordic blonde looks and long, slim figure, were a far cry from my mom’s much smaller frame and darkening blonde hair. Susan was that elusive woman whose appearance aged slower than others. She had everlasting youth on her side, and another woman’s husband on her arm. But I thought my mom was killing it for her age, turning forty later in the year.

  Flickers of shiny threads caught the ceiling lights. A tan leg peeking out from the side split in the deep green velvet dress. I swirled the amber liquid in my glass. “Well, fuck me. Look who it is.”

  Kristina Vincent beamed, bunched her skirt and rushed across the carpet to throw herself into my arms. “Julian.” My name was one warm and animated breath.

  I gingerly put her back down on the floor. She sat on the arm of my mom’s chair, leaning down to exchange kisses on the cheek. I hadn’t spoken to my old girlfriend since… I couldn’t remember when. But it’d been a while. I didn’t count social media. I mostly kept off that shit.

  “Wow, Kris. You look…” Two bronzed globes had doubled in size since I’d last seen them. And she’d definitely brought them along with her. What was she using to keep them in her dress? Magic? “Healthy,” I finished. “Very healthy.”

  Framing the underside of each enhanced boob through her dress, Kristina said, “Oh, these little things. They were a gift for Christmas. Do you like?” She gave them a jiggle—not that they responded—and I caught my mom looking down at her own boobs.

  “You look good,” I told her. I’d never liked fake breasts, but Kristina did look well. Her hair shone, her skin glowed. Silicone in her chest wasn’t an improvement.

  “The fam’s upstairs, I see.” Kristina slipped an arm over my mom’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Where’s Gary?”

  “Conference in South Dakota.” Mom sipped her wine.

  “Mom and Dad’s here. Mom’s looking for you. Wants to know if Gary’s coming back to Zumba next week.”

  “Zumba?” Whiskey threatened to shoot from my nose, and I sat forward in my seat, leaning over my knees.

  The semi-scowl from my mom put me back in my place. “His resolution this year is becoming more active. To get fit.”

  Gary looking after himself and his health was a positive sign he could look after Mom and Taj. I wouldn’t knock that. “Good for him.”

  Kristina whisked my mom away to see about that Zumba class, and I bought myself another drink, wishing quietly that I could leave here and spread out on my old bed. Pull the sheets over my head and wake up ten thousand years from now. Kristina looking so amazing was an unexpected high that knocked me slightly off my feet, though. And I’d been around Kristina’s lies to recognize her bounce back from the miscarriage wasn’t just immaculate pretense. We’d drifted out of each other’s lives over the last year, but she could drift back in anytime she felt like it.

  The night passed like snails in a sprint race. The CDS (Children’s Deaf Society) and HFC (Hope for Children) each had a person talk to the room about what they’d achieved so far and hoped to achieve in the future. The silent auction got underway and I put my name down for the signed and worn Boston Bruins package. Not for me, for Taj. I’d secured the pricey uniform and equipment through one of the New England Patriots vets who I’d gotten to know throughout the season, and he knew a couple of guys from the Bruins who were happy to contribute.

  I bid high and prayed for the best. I could have asked for this stuff and been given it for free, but I believed in these organizations and everything they were doing. New sensory centers and bigger classrooms. Extra teaching staff and more training offered. Funds for researching the latest hearing devices and aids. The support was priceless.

  It wasn’t the same without Taj, but he’d made it clear in a text message he was staying with Angel tonight. Elena had returned before dinner was served—assuring me Angel was fine—and was now cozied up to O’Hara, who didn’t forget once to pitch me a shitty look. He should be thankful my heavy silverware hadn’t found its way up his miserable ass. He hadn’t approached me, though, so I could assume for now Angel hadn’t told Elena. Or Elena hadn’t told O’Hara. In either instance, the boat hadn’t been rocked just yet.

  There were so many people vying for my attention, my head swam. I took a breather, sneaking away from the table to talk to Nicky. He was filling me in on his girl Katlyn’s acceptance to try out for the Patriots’ cheer camp and my mind wandered, lingering enough in the present to nod and hmm at suitable times. It was nothing against Nicky, but my left and right hand were missing. Without them, my balance was off. My climate of temperament unstable.

  I wasn’t sure exactly when Rebecca had crashed mine and Nicky’s one-sided conversation, but she was sitting at the table, eyeing Nicky in overdone suggestion. “Hello. I’m Rebecca, Julian’s sister.”

  She’d promoted herself from half-sister, her status inflating only in her head.

  “You’re not my sister. Stop telling people you are.”

  Nicky’s eyes ran over Rebecca’s torso at leisure. “Lucky man. You can’t do anal with your siste
r. The prudes call it incest.”

  Rebecca tapered off a sidelong look that said is this guy for real? I lifted one shoulder, answering her with a slow smirk.

  “Nicky?” Her smile was as sweet as syrup. And just as sickly. “Do you mind giving us a minute? I need to talk to Julian alone.”

  Fingering the diamond stud in his hear, Nicky said, “This is my table.”

  “I’ll meet you at the bar in fifteen minutes and we can discuss it over a drink. I’ll have a Vodka Redbull.”

  Relighting his smile, Nicky spared an extra round of his time to admire Rebecca’s chest in her silver dress. She was the brightest moving object in the room. Like a walking disco ball.

  “He’s got a girlfriend,” I said once Nicky had left for the bar. “Soon-to-be NFL cheerleader, and she’s my friend.”

  “I don’t care about that. It’s one drink, relax.” Rebecca tucked in the chair she was sitting on, the dainty legs shuffling over the blue and gold carpet. “You said Angel would be here, what changed?”

  “She was here.”

  Rebecca glanced around the room, eyes resting on me. “Was?”

  Close wasn’t a word I’d use to describe mine and Rebecca’s relationship. I tolerated her more now than in the beginning. Similar to when a fly gets trapped in your house. At first, it’s annoying, buzzing and smashing blindly into your windows, and then you sort of just forget it’s there and learn to live with it.

  Till it dies, anyway. Or gets smacked with a rolled newspaper.

  “Can you keep this to yourself?” Rebecca’s nod was solemn, dark eyebrows working to meet in the middle. “It’s over. I ended it.”

  “When?” Rebecca asked, stung by what I’d told her.

  “Tonight. She went home after and Taj followed her.”

  “Julian, what the fuck for? Not that bitch, Angela…”

  “It was nothing to do with Angela.”

  “Then wh—”

  “It’s between me and Angel and that’s the way it’ll stay.”

  “But last time we spoke you said—”

  “I know what I said, and that’s why I did what I did.”

  Emotion drained from Rebecca’s expression, forcing me away from her gaze. Whatever she was thinking could stay in her head.

  “You ended it? Did you listen to what she had to say? Who that guy was to—”

  I leaned a forearm on the table, dropping decibels to a near snarl. The hum of frustration became vocal. “I listened to what she had to say weeks before tonight. I listened, Rebecca. Really, I want to flip this table and put my fist through the nearest fucking wall. Wrap my hand around Beau Kessler’s neck and launch him into the Middle East. I did Angel a favor.”

  My reflexes jerked me from Rebecca’s touch, and I bolted from my chair as fast as she did. Too many drinks had made me less careful and too emotional.

  I used the restroom, not surprised in the least to see Rebecca standing outside waiting for me afterward. “Come and see Tabby with me?” She fell into step at my side. “Mom’s taking her home soon. Late nights get her all cranky the next morning.” Her arm looped through mine, head laying on my bicep with a tender sigh.

  I told myself the only reason I didn’t shake her off was because my hand was stowed in my pocket and I was stuck with her.

  Every home, condo and apartment I took my mom to look at, she shook her head and said no. The half-furnished condo we were in now was worth each zero tacked onto the listing price. Three bedrooms and four bathrooms, royalty could live here and not find anything to complain about. Neutral walls, hardwood floor. Private patio and landscaped lawn. There was a fireplace in the living room, heated floors throughout, and a double closet in the guest room. It was a condo on steroids.

  “It’s too expensive,” Mom said, stepping through the patio door and into the private garden. A private garden on the ground floor of a brownstone building in the middle of Back Bay, Boston. And she was turning it down.

  Thanks to regimented hydration, I’d dodged a hangover from the charity event last night. But the irritability from lingering effects of alcohol meant I was too damn warm, and not feeling my friendliest. I also wanted my mom out of the house she was in and someplace nicer.

  There were two cushioned patio chairs on the fake lawn, and I dumped my body into one of them while my mom admired the view of a gated wooden fence, and the top floor of an adjacent apartment block. Yeah, the view was shit. But this condo was a spit-shined palace.

  “I can afford it. Let’s give our offer and get out of here. I’ve got a double-date with Tabby and Taj at Chuck E. Cheese’s over in Everett. Tabatha’s never been before, can you believe that? She’s probably never had McDonalds, either.”

  “Julian, you hate junk food.”

  “And junk restaurants. Chuck E. Cheese is terrible games and worse pizza. Didn’t stop you dragging me there, though.”

  Mom turned from where she stood reading the tags on some of the potted plants dug into new soil around the fence. “You need to pick up Taj from Angel’s dad’s house.”

  “Right.” Her name was a bucket of iced water to the face. Standing up, I gave the yard one last look. Money was the issue here, not the condo. And I had the money in spades. This was an investment in my family and that was the end of it. “This condo is perfect for you and Taj, and I’m putting in an offer. The full asking price. Is there anything more you’d like to say about it before I go get Taj? Because out of all the open houses we’ve been to today, it’s obvious this is the one you want. And you should have it. I want you to have it.”

  “I do love it.” My mom couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “It’s so much space, and light. The mortgage will be extortionate.”

  “No mortgage,” I said.

  “You have your own rent to pay.”

  “Yeah, rent. This is a home. Shut up for a minute, think about it, and let me do this. All through high school, college, development camp… what? You thought I was saying I’d get you out of Dorchester for the sound of my own voice? Football’s been as much for you and Taj as it’s been for me. I wouldn’t love football this much if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Your dad—”

  “Isn’t here—hasn’t been here. Can I go back to Miami and into my second season with one positive turnout?” Putting that pressure on her wasn’t a deliberate intention. But we’d talked about her moving, and when the time comes knocking, she won’t answer the fucking door.

  The look on her face was vacant, yet I read her mind through seconds that lapsed into agonizing minutes. “I’ll take you home,” I said. Moving into a bigger, nicer house had to be her choice. Keeping her here until she agreed on the size of the U-Haul trucks was a foolish move. The offer was there to take whenever she was ready.

  I drove her home, staying behind the wheel in the SUV rental when Mom got out at her house. “Think about it,” I told her seriously. “Take Gary to see it. See if he can talk you into coming around.”

  That guy must be good for something.

  A pause tallied with the lifting of my mom’s eyes. Slinging her purse up on her shoulder and zipping her jacket. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Your life, your house. Gary’s part of that and I’m happy you’re happy. I’d be even happier if you took that life to a bigger house.” What would I have to do to prove I wasn’t conspiring against Gary? Construct a monument in his honor?

  I told my mom to call me before the end of the day or I was calling the realtor with an offer to buy. It was an empty threat. I thought more of her than to go against her wishes.

  I’d have to forget the condo for now. I had the mighty Taj’s stubbornness to deal with next, and I was in for one hell of a long afternoon if past experience had taught me anything.

  E

  lena bustled into the living room, tiny mounds of snow melting from the shoulders and sleeves of her ivory pea coat. My dad wasn’t far behind, the OCD knocking of his leather shoe soles at the door and cussing out the weather.
>
  “Has Taj left?” Elena asked, draping her wet coat over the back of one of the dining table chairs. My dad would remove that once he came in here. There were already the first drips of a puddle forming around the cuffs and hem of the coat.

  “Julian not long ago picked him up,” I said from the couch. White swirled on the other side of the window, the street and trees blanched in a dazzling snow void. Similar to how I was feeling right now—a swirling kind of nothing.

  Elena frowned as she unzipped her boots. “It doesn’t sit well with me what he did to you. I won’t say a bad word because that isn’t my place but, I’m not happy with him. And you can tell him that from me.”

  I smiled because Elena was so far from threatening. She was more like a kitten with a sneer.

  “I don’t think I’ll be seeing Julian again.”

  “His loss, and he needs his brain testing.” Elena sat down on the couch next to me and picked up my hand in hers. A chill raced up my arm from her icy, damp palm. “If he even has any. Too many concussions, probably.”

  Elena didn’t know any better. I’d told her Julian broke up with me the night it happened. Blamed his doing so on his hectic schedule and the strains of long distance. They weren’t the most conceivable reasons, and now that I thought about it, they just made Julian seem like a ginormous ass. But I’d been on the spot and didn’t have much to work with. It wasn’t like I could’ve told her the truth. I wished I never even knew the truth.

  My dad sauntered into the living room, combing white flakes from his hair with his fingers, and scowling at the harsh winter weather he had absolutely no control over.

  “Where’ve you guys been?” I asked, terminating any more talk of Julian.

  Three more days stood between me and my flight home to Los Angeles, and I was desperate for the distance. Being so near to Julian with no reason or meaning to see him was unbearable, and it’d only been minutes since he’d left.

  “Michael, can we tell her now?”

  I tracked the pinched grin on the tip of exploding onto Elena’s face as she looked at my dad. He didn’t share joy she had compressed. If I believed it was even possible, I’d say he looked frightened.