Red Flag (FSCU Pitbulls Book 2)

by Stella Marie Alden

  “That’s okay. I’ve got a heavy course load. I’m trying to get my doctorate in four, not five years.”

  I want to ask her where she’s applied but it wouldn’t be fair. I have no clue where I’ll end up. How can I ask her to put her plans on hold? One day at a time. Isn’t that what we said? “How about you come home with me for Thanksgiving?”

  She smiles sadly. “My mom isn’t doing well. How about you come home with me and I’ll spend Christmas with you?”

  No way would my parents let me off the hook when I haven’t seen them since summer. “I can’t be away. I need to check up on Egan.”

  “But December you’re absolutely invited, if you can get away.” I shudder when her soft fingertips touch my arm and she smiles.

  “We could spend the day together. Then, I’ll fly home for the rest of vacation. I’m sure my parents won’t mind.”

  Her upper teeth bite into her lower lip. “But, ah… isn’t this a little premature? I don’t want our families getting the wrong idea. I mean, we’re not, you know… serious.”

  It’s time we stopped playing around. “Star, darlin’? I am all in, one hundred percent. The only reason I’m holding back is because of that asshole, James. I have no idea what his agenda is, and frankly, I think he’s tied to some pretty ugly people.”

  “What if he’s found out about us?” Her mouth makes a little oh, and she bites her lower lip. “Worse, what if the NFL learns he’s really your agent.”

  “I’ll swear to God I thought he was my trainer.”

  “Does Coach know?”

  “Chris does.”

  “I don’t think it’s enough, Jacks. You need to tell CJ. Kira told me his brother’s a hotshot lawyer. Maybe he can help. Please. Do this. For me.”

  I take both her hands in mine. “I’ll call him as soon as I can pay him off out of my own pocket. I’m not taking any more favors from anyone. I’ve learned my damned lesson.”

  She nods. “I understand. Thanks for telling me. I appreciate it.”

  She didn’t back out of meeting my parents. That has to be a good sign.

  Chapter 22

  Star

  I Uber home from the Burlington airport and go south on Route 7 until I reach my parent’s modest home in Shelburne. In the last four years, not much has changed but the familiar is no longer comfortable, it’s suffocating. It started last summer when I tried to reinvent myself.

  Now, the estrangement is more pronounced. The cold chills me to the bone and gray skies threaten snow. About thirty minutes later, I point out my driveway where the front porch light glows yellow in a hazy fog.

  I grab my bag, thank the driver, and hop up the stairs. When I turn the handle and pull, the door is locked, a clear indication this home is no longer mine.

  I ring the front bell and my dad comes to the door. He smiles and pulls me into a warm hug. “Welcome home, honey.”

  “Hi Dad.” I embrace him, inhaling wool and old spice, smiling at the familiarity.

  “Where’s Mom?” I peek into the living room where dinner dishes are stacked high on the coffee table.

  “Resting.”

  When my eyes lift to his, he seems a lot older when he shakes his head. “She’s not good.”

  I force a smile. “That’s okay. We’ll make the best of it. Is Stephanie here?”

  “Not until after the morning milking.”

  “Right. The cows.” God forbid she hire some help for one day out of the year.

  I frown as I open the empty refrigerator. “Dad, did you make reservations for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “No. Your mom wanted a traditional day.” He seems oblivious to me freaking out.

  “Wait. So, is Stephanie bringing the meal?” My heart sinks because I’m pretty sure where this conversation is going.

  “She’s got the farm to tend to. Over a hundred cows. Surely, you wouldn’t expect her to-”

  “No, of course not.” I don’t bother to take off my coat and plop my bags down in the living room.

  My dad counts out two hundred bucks in twenties and places them into my open palm. “Is that enough?”

  “Enough money but not enough time.” I shake my head, tears welling because I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week.

  He pats me on the head, as if I was six with a box of broken crayons. “Just make a green bean casserole, the marshmallow squash, and mashed potatoes. If you tell me what to do, I can make the turkey.”

  I envision staying up all night and for a moment, contemplate turkey burgers and frozen French fries but can’t bring myself to do it, not the way my dad’s sad eyes plead.

  Sighing, I grab his car keys off the hook and mentally prepare myself for empty shelves and last minute grocery shoppers. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  I greet some of my neighbors waiting in the express line. They all manage to politely ignore the fact my grocery cart is full. I find a small turkey that might thaw with a little help from the microwave, a pumpkin pie no one wanted because the crust was damaged, and other similar items.

  My God, even the canned goods were out of stock. When I asked, Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup has been sold out for weeks. I settle for cheap broth, mushrooms, and drive through Burger King for fried onion rings.

  By four AM, I’m done with the prep work and put everything into the refrigerator, exhausted.

  The next thing I hear is my sister pounding on my bedroom door. “Wake up!”

  I glance at the time on my phone and moan. She has got to be kidding. “Hey sis, can you make some coffee?”

  “Now? I’ve been up for hours. You should try it.”

  And here we go…

  My mother’s voice sounds from the kitchen. “I’ll make some.”

  At least she hasn’t started drinking yet.

  I pull my hair into an elastic band and put on my ratty robe from high school. After a quick pee, I pad into the sixties kitchen and give my mom and sister a peck on the cheek.

  “So good you’re finally home.” My mom beams as my sister opens the ‘fridge. “Where’s the turkey?”

  “In the tub. Trying to unthaw it.”

  Both my Mom and my Dad’s eyes go wide. “Pepper!”

  “I didn’t pepper anything.”

  Why is everyone so upset?

  They run into the bathroom where a small cat meows, hisses, and scoots under the couch.

  In the bath sits my turkey with the plastic torn and a little bite out of the top.

  Fuck. I stare horrified. “When did you get a cat?”

  “It’s a stray who needed a home.” My mom tries to coax the little beast from its hiding place.

  “Think we can save it?” I point to our ruined Thanksgiving and search cat germs online.

  “I wouldn’t. We could all die.” My sister clucks her tongue, crosses her arms, and shakes her head.

  “What do you suggest, then, sis?” I haven’t had nearly enough sleep to deal with my family.

  “It’s your mistake, fix it.” She wanders out of the bathroom, pours herself a cup of my coffee, and sits.

  When I follow, my hands full of Happy-Catsgiving, she looks up from her Kindle. “Can you pick up a few donuts at the bakery while you’re out? Not the Jelly ones, the old-fashioned. We haven’t got anything to go with our coffee.

  Sputtering, I leave as her husband arrives at the door. “Hey Star. Can I give you a hand?”

  “Can you buy them donuts? I need to find another turkey.”

  “Why? What happened?” He stares into my face, no doubt seeing the dark circles under my eyes.

  I sigh heavily. “The cat nibbled it.”

  “Couldn’t it be saved?”

  “Not according to your wife.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll come with.”

  “No point. Unless you want to drive with me into Burlington.”

  He gives me a knowing look and hands me his truck keys. “I’ll see to it the rest of the meal is started.”

&n
bsp; I stop at four stores before I find a cooked turkey breast that will have to do. By the time I get home it’s noon and the table isn’t even set.

  Everyone is chatting away and the noise stops when I arrive in the kitchen and place the bird on the countertop.

  Stephanie pouts. “That’s it?”

  I bite my tongue. “Yup. Can you guys set the table?”

  “So soon?” My mom asks.

  “How about you guys move into the living room and I’ll start dinner?” I plead with my eyes at my brother-in-law.

  He’s the only one who gets the level of crazy my family operates on.

  Standing, he grabs my sister’s arm, and pulls her to her feet. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give your sister some help.”

  “Why? It’s her turn to do a little work. I’m taking the day off.”

  I don’t mention how I’m taking a double course load, how I didn’t sleep all week, or how it’s unfair for them to expect me, single handedly, to make a whole fucking holiday meal when I just arrived last night.

  Instead, I grit my teeth and slam pots and pans onto the linoleum. They drank all the coffee so I make another pot while they laugh and carry on in the other room. My mom comes in for the wine and pours everyone a water glass full.

  She smiles at me. “Surprise, honey! I bought wine.”

  Of course she did. I look to my dad to say something about the early hour but he seems fully absorbed in the pre-game show.

  It takes me a couple hours, but by two, everything looks good and I’m pleased with how well I’ve managed to hold my temper at bay.

  Pepper, who has a bad habit of jumping on the counter, has been banned to the basement and every so often, yowls pitifully.

  “Dinner!” I walk into the living room where everyone’s watching football.

  At that, I wonder what Jackson is up to. I’m sure he got to sleep and didn’t have to work like a slave.

  Smiling, talking, and not including me, my small family sits down at the meal I managed to pull together. My sister goes all out and opens a jar of pickles and olives and places them into a crystal plate.

  The oven dings, the rewarmed bakery rolls come out, and I place them in a basket. The turkey breast is dry, but with the canned gravy, it’s palatable. I know it’s not perfect, but given my timeline, I did a damn fine job.

  My mom, on her third glass of wine, says grace. “Blesh ush for thish meal.”

  I glance at Dad who doesn’t meet my gaze. Surely, this would be classified as enabling? He’s a professional. Why the hell does he let this go on?

  God, some things never change.

  We load up our plates and while I didn’t expect gushing praise, a thank you would’ve been nice.

  “This turkey is too dry.” My mom takes a bite and washes it down with wine.

  “What’s up with these?” Stephanie pokes at the onion rings on top of the casserole.

  Chewing slowly, I glance at my so-called family, figuring this is the best they can do. Hell, I’ve had therapy since grade school to deal with them. My dad insisted, because of my mom, that I should be one-hundred-percent emotionally healthy.

  And I am.

  That is, until Pepper launches onto the table. One front paw lands in the cranberry sauce and one in the green beans. The two back paws push the glass gravy boat and it careens off my wine glass before crashing onto the floor.

  Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep or the fact I’ve studied families like mine. Maybe, I’ve finally gone off the deep end because instead of screaming, I start to laugh and not the good kind.

  I should be crying, throwing things. My response, says my internal therapist, is entirely inappropriate and yet I continue to do so until tears run down my cheeks.

  My family stares but does anyone grab the cat making pretty pink paw prints all over the kitchen floor?

  No.

  Where’s the mop and dustbin for the broken glass which could hurt the poor soul? My family looks to me but ring-ring, hello? Star is not in right now.

  She’s checked out and is having a nervous breakdown.

  When I stop chuckling, I grab the last wine bottle, go into my bedroom, and lock the door. Once there, I put on headphones and blare my music to drown out any sounds they may be making.

  Frankly, I just can’t give one more shit about anything.

  Chapter 23

  Jackson

  The game is over by the time Star responds to my Happy Thanksgiving gif. I found a Football shaped turkey with a helmet to give her a smile.

  After my Moms’ awesome meal, me and a bunch of my older cousins drive to a local dive to blow off some steam and catch up.

  “Give me a second.” Holding open the back door of the Ford Escort, I check my pinging phone.

  Star: Can you talk?

  “I’ll catch up with you guys later. I got to take this.” I wave on the crew and press speed dial.

  “What’s up?”

  As Star gives me the play by play of her day, my mouth drops open. Why the hell didn’t she come home with me? She could’ve slept until noon and been fed a most delicious meal prepared by two grandmothers, my mom, her two sisters, and five sister-in-laws. Hell, we even had a couple neighbors show up with pecan and key-lime pies.

  My too-full stomach grumbles and I belch on mute while I listen to her tale of woe. Funny though, she doesn’t cry. It’s more resigned than I’ve ever heard her sound.

  “Where are you now?” I sit down on the front porch swing.

  “In my room where I will stay until Sunday.”

  “I’m sorry, Star, I really am. That sucks.” My heart goes out to her and some beliefs I had about her shift.

  “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Feel sorry for me. I hate it when people do that.”

  “Then, tell me, how should I feel?” My tone sounds too sharp, even to my ears.

  “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  “No. C’mon, now, Star. We’re beyond this, right?” I don’t want us to start fighting.

  We’re in a good place and I want to keep it there. Besides, I think she needs me to be the strong one. Maybe I’ve been wrong about her. Underneath all her psychology-bullshit, she’s fragile.

  She sighs. “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s because I’ve been away but this Thanksgiving seems more dysfunctional than ever.”

  I don’t want to speak trash about her family but hell, I can’t believe they’d expect her to do all the work. “Did your sister finally pick up the mess?”

  “I have no idea. I haven’t been out of my room since the cat did its aerial act.” She snickers. “If it wasn’t so pathetic, it’d be funny. Too bad I didn’t catch it on my phone. I probably would’ve gotten a million hits by now.”

  “Mmm. So, I’m guessing my house for Christmas won’t be a problem?”

  “Do I need to prepare the whole meal?”

  “No.” I chuckle, imagining all the women in my family having a heart attack at the thought of someone making a meal all by themselves.

  “I’m in.” She stifles a yawn and I remember she hasn’t slept for days.

  “I got an idea. You got money, yeah?”

  “My grandfather left me some, enough to get through med school.”

  “Can you pull out a few hundred? Check into a hotel?”

  “I guess…”

  “Do it. Get some sleep. Take care of yourself. I won’t be able to play well unless I know you’re okay.”

  She laughs. “Not true. You told me you can turn off everything when you play.”

  “You remember, huh?”

  “We’re a lot alike. I can turn off my family so I get it. I don’t need to find a hotel, I’ll be fine, here.”

  “Luv, they manage fine without you while you’re at school. You can’t let them dump on you. You need a break.”

  She sighs. “True, the hysterical laughter was not a good sign.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ll think about it, okay?�
��

  “Nope. Promise me or I’m not hanging up.” My porch swing squeaks when I stand and wait for her to respond.

  There’s a whole lot of silence coming from the other side of the phone but then her bed creaks and her footsteps pad. Shower water runs, making it hard for me to hear.

  She whispers, “Fine.”

  “Good girl. I’ll text you as soon as I can. You know how Coach is about game day and phones. I’ll call you from my burner. Keep the number, okay?”

  “Will do. And, uh… Jackson? Thanks.”

  “For what? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Just for listening, being there. It was nice. I really like having someone to talk to. Luv you, Bye.”

  “Huh?” Dial tone buzzes, leaving my mouth open.

  Well, fuck me. Did she mean to say the ‘L’ word or was it one of those things that pops out by accident, like have a nice day?

  I think about calling her back but she hung up so fast, maybe she didn’t want to say it back. Hell, I think I fell in love with her freshman year, I was too stupid to know it.

  Grinning, I ping my cousins, and am surprised to find them waiting for me in the driveway.

  “Girl?” Janice, the oldest of the gang asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Pretty?”

  “Incredibly.”

  “Smart?” Another chimes in.

  “Going for her doctorate.”

  As they continue to grill me, it dawns on me how fucking lucky I am. I just got to keep the ball moving down the field toward the final goal and get her to stay with me forever. As much as I feel bad about her Thanksgiving, in a way, it was good. Surely, Vermont won’t be her college of choice.

  Chapter 24

  Jackson

  My cousins drop me off at the airport where I catch a short flight to Miami. Once there, I Uber to the hotel, check in, and drop off my cell phone with Coach.

  CJ Quinn waves me into his hotel room. “How were things at home?”

  “Good, good.” I wonder where he’s going with this.

  “Sit down.” He points to a chair next to his small kitchen table and I ease into it, eyes on his stony stare.