False Start: A Football Romance (35 page)

Chapter Five

Lucas

Department store.

Not just any department store. Macy’s.

Need I say more? Hanging out at the Biltmore Fashion Park is not really my idea of a good time, but it’s better than sitting at the house all alone. I frown and open the door, allowing Charlee to walk ahead of me. She smiles at me, and I can't help but return it. It’s contagious, like Ebola. Ok, that's a really bad comparison, but seriously, if you’re near her and she smiles, you just can't help it. For that brief moment, I don't feel an ounce of dread, anger or shame. I feel light and open—fresh. She breathes fresh air into me with just a simple smile.

Charlee grabs a shopping cart when we get inside, and I lift Everly’s car seat up and place it in the bottom part of the cart. Aaron bumps Charlee to the side and takes over the cart. “How many ladies do you think I can pick up with the baby?” he asks, earning a punch in the shoulder from Charlee.

“That baby is my daughter, you dick, and you are not using her as a chick magnet.”

“God you’re no fun, Sis.”

The music playing overhead is the equivalent of boring elevator music, but everything in the store seems to be organized and easy to find. My heart starts beating a little faster as we reach the baby items. I’m not sure if it’s from watching her booty sway when she walks in front of me or the confronting reality slap reminding me of the last time I was in a baby section, buying baby clothes.

"You ok?" she asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"You look a little flushed or nervous."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Ok. If you say so," she replies as she turns to the racks of pastel colored clothes.

They are cute, I can't deny that. I pick up a tiny green onesie. "Hard to believe we were once small enough to wear these things," Aaron says with a laugh.

"Yeah, especially you. I think you were born full-grown,” she replies.

I just shake my head and look through the rack next to her. I hold up a colorful purple outfit with a frilly pink and yellow tutu skirt around the waist that she just shakes her head at. The next four things I show her don’t seem to impress her any more than the first.

"Why don't you go check out the diapers?" she says, clearly not enthralled with the little outfits I've been eyeing.

"But . . ."

"Just go look for the ones with an ‘N’ on them.”

"An ‘N’?”

"Yes, newborn size."

"Wouldn't just saying newborn have been easier than trying to confuse me?" She pauses for a moment, fighting the smile pulling at her lips. I stand there with my hands on my hips in my best imitation of Richard Simmons. It works, and I’m rewarded with the sweet tinkle of laughter.

"No. I like being difficult." She can be such a pain—there's no doubt there.

"Fine," I reply, trying to act mad, but she can see right through it.

The aisle is lined with so many plastic packages, I don't know how anyone can find what is what. I take notice of the different sizes and brands, deciding on ones with little teddy bears on the front panel. Front panel? Is that even what it's called? Passing the wipes at the end of the aisle, I take my chances with a refreshing cucumber-scented selection. Deciding one might not be enough, I grab a couple more and shuffle back down to the diapers to get another case of those too.

With my arms full, I make my way back to the cart. She looks at me for a moment, biting her bottom lip. "Good job," she says, taking stock of my choices. "I didn't even think about the baby wipes."

“Why thank you, mademoiselle.”

“Bienvenu,” she replies, surprising me with her French. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be surprised with anything she does at this point, but every minute I spend with her, I find myself liking her even more. She’s like an infection that has invaded my body. At first, she attacked my sensory nerves, my vision and then my sense of smell. Now, she’s in my bloodstream, traveling throughout my body to every nerve ending. This morning, when she stood in my room staring at me, it took everything I had in me to not reach out and pull her to me. I could feel her craving my touch, her body practically begging me for it, but I held back.

Not just because of her past and the crazy situation she’s just coming out of, but because of my own too. I haven’t been with a woman in over five years—a solitary sentence I condemned myself to, but after the way my last relationship ended, the last thing I want to do is jump right back in with someone new.

Now though? Now feels like a good time to see where things can go, and Charlee feels like the perfect girl to do that with. The only drawback is if things don’t work out, I might very well lose my best friend.

“Aaron? Oh my God. Aaron, is that you?” I turn to look back up the aisle at the same time Charlee does. I see a silent exchange pass between her and Aaron before he steps forward and greets the obnoxious brunette.

“What was that?” I ask, tilting my head between her and Aaron, letting her know that I saw their exchange.

“Oh that? Just a little thing we do for each other.”

“And?” I ask. I swear, sometimes, getting this girl to talk is like pulling teeth. Aaron stops back by and asks Charlee if she minds having another person tag along.

“How about you just take her and go . . . anywhere but here?” I laugh so hard I snort. I love how blatantly honest she is, and if I’m being completely truthful, it makes me feel good knowing that if she didn’t want me here, she would have been the first one to tell me. I can’t help but respect the hell out of that.

“Fine, but promise me you will buy everything you see that you like. Not just for Everly. I want to see at least ten new outfits for you tonight, Char. I mean it.”

“Whatever. Go on. I’m already seeing enough of her skin. God forbid she decides to strip here and let you take her. Everly has virgin eyes, and I want to keep it that way until she is at least three months old.”

“I love you,” he says, kissing her on the forehead before he joins the bimbo in the aisle, who is shooting daggers at Charlee.

“Oh shit, Lucas. I dropped something.” Charlee says loud enough that she catches Aaron and the bimbo’s attention. She bends over, and as she stands back up, she raises two birds at the brunette. “No worries. I caught them before they flew off.”

Aaron bursts out laughing, and for a second, I think he may be joining our fun outing once again, but the chick apparently decides a day in Aaron Cooper’s bed is worth the slight, even if he did laugh his ass off about it.

“Now, will you tell me what that thing between you guys was about?” I ask once Aaron and his company are out of sight.

“Sure, nosy pants. Whenever we’re out and someone walks up for me or for Aaron, we check with the other to see if they want the attention.”

“And?”

“Well, like that skank, for instance. If Aaron didn’t want to be seen or bothered by her, then I would have stepped next to him and wrapped my arms around his waist or asked her what she needed with my boyfriend.”

“Oh lord, so you guys pretty much cock block for each other.”

“Yep.”

“Does it work?”

“More often than you think. People are so stupid. Like that chick. She could have looked at me and seen the similarities between us, but instead, all she saw was Aaron kiss another woman and hear him tell her he loves her, so she felt like someone was encroaching on her territory.”

“I see.”

“Truthfully, if I was out with a man and he thought it was alright to kiss me bye and leave me to go to another woman’s bed, then we already have one too many problems, ya know what I mean?”

“I can say for a fact that if you were ever my lady, there is nothing on this earth that would pull me from your side. Nothing.”

I’ve completely rendered her speechless. I can tell by the way she turns her head away from me and leans in to check on Everly. That seems to be her go-to reaction whenever she’s uncomfortable. I think her daughter centers her. We push the cart up to the check-out counter, and I unload the clothes and diapers and other things we managed to pick out. She pulls out the debit card Aaron gave her this morning, and with shaking hands, she swipes it, trying and failing to ignore the balance on the screen.

Chapter Six

Charlee

I’m about to go out of my mind sitting here at the house by myself. Aaron and Lucas have games for the rest of the week, so most of their time will be spent on the field either practicing or playing. I never realized how much time a major league ball player puts into his career. It’s literally a job to them.

My phone dings, and I look down at it, seeing Emma’s name. I need to reply to her and let her know how things are . . . to keep in touch with her. She has been my only friend for the last four years, but I think we both knew when I stepped on that plane that our friendship was going to suffer. Not that I don’t miss her and wish she were here, but to be honest, if it hadn’t been for her constantly showing up and calling or texting me, we wouldn’t have been friends this long. I’m an introvert at best. I like my privacy, and Emma and I are as far from alike as they come.

I swipe right and hit the
X
in the corner, ignoring the text.

Standing from my crossed-leg position on the floor, I take the pile of freshly cleaned and folded baby clothes and tuck them into their drawers. Aaron went above and beyond yesterday, spoiling Everly with more stuff than she would be able to use in two lifetimes, but I wasn’t going to complain.

Not today.

Today, I’m going to be thankful for my amazing brother.

Even if he’s a pain in my ass.

I still can’t believe he left me all alone with Lucas halfway through the day just so he could chase some ass. Who does that? I mean, I get that he’s his best friend and all, but I’m pretty positive the last place he wanted to be was out shopping with me and my infant daughter, especially after my blatant staring earlier that morning. Judging from the number of women swarming around him, he could have easily had his pick of any of them and followed Aaron off to God knows where to do God knows what, but he didn’t. He actually seemed to enjoy himself.

Surprisingly, so did I, especially when we came across the small art studio in the square. Lucas didn’t bitch or complain one bit—the way Byron used to do—about me wanting to go inside and look around, even though I couldn’t afford anything. Byron hated my love for art and photography. I think he hated the thought of me loving anything, and that’s the main reason he didn’t want to have a baby. He knew I would love him or her more than anything in this world.

I’d had a shitty as hell home life growing up, but the one thing that taught me was that I wanted to be a good mommy. I wanted to do everything right. Not a day will go by that my daughter doesn’t know how much I love her. Even on the days I’m angry and disappointed in her, she will know without a shadow of a doubt that I love her with every fiber of my being.

He sensed that, I think, and in a way, I think he knew he was going to lose the hold he had over me. My entire life, I struggled with love—loving myself, loving others. The only people I know for sure I ever loved before Everly was born were my two brothers, but especially Aaron. My twin. My other half. It’s always been a battle within myself, and for the most part, I blame my mother. How is a little girl supposed to learn to love without the love of her mom? Its damn near impossible. And when I finally did love, I always second-guessed it, not sure if it was true.

Until Everly.

The first moment I felt her move inside me, I knew true love. At that moment in time, I knew a mother’s love, and there is no greater love than that of a mother. When she was born and the doctors placed her in my arms . . . it was like the stars aligned above, and for the first time ever, I understood.

I understood it all.

And in that moment, I hated my mother even more.

Because she left. She never cared. She never loved.

The art studio had a sign up offering photography classes in the morning from 9-12. I jumped up and down, squealing with excitement when I saw it, and then I remembered I didn’t have a camera anymore and forced myself to swallow the disappointment . . . but when we got back home, Lucas told Aaron about the classes, and he made me promise to call and register. He knows how much I love taking pictures and capturing that one moment in time, freezing it for centuries to come, never to be forgotten again.

It’s my passion.

My love.

It was no surprise that I woke this morning to a box—wrapped in paper towels, no less. When I finish pulling them away, I barely hold the tears back. A brand new Canon EOS 5D Mark III stares back at me. I grab my phone and text Aaron
thank you
right away. I can’t believe he bought me the best camera on the market. I don’t even want to know how much he paid for it. Jumping up from the bed, I squeal in delight. Now, I am officially ready to start class, and I have never been more excited for anything in my entire life.

I have thirty minutes before I’m supposed to arrive to complete my registration and finish Everly’s paperwork. I can’t believe they have a daycare worker there at the studio for the mothers. They call it interactive art, and in some of the classes, they even let the children participate. I can’t wait to get started.

I park in one of the empty spaces available at the front end of the Student Services building and climb out, but not before spending the required two to five minutes adjusting my lip-gloss and fixing my messy ass hair again. I once read somewhere that you could tell how hot a woman is by how long it takes her to exit her vehicle. Let’s just say I take an extra long time. After applying a dab of lip gloss I rub some lotion on my hands and arms where my skin always dries out and then spritz a little body spray. One last check in the mirror and I am ready to go.

Within an hour after arriving, I have everything taken care of, and Everly is settled into a crib in the nursery. It’s the first time I have ever left her with someone I don’t know, but I find comfort in the fact that she is just down the hall from me.

When I walk into the class, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in here. Are all of these people here for photography class? I know the lady at the desk said that this was orientation or something, but I didn’t expect this many people. I look around, trying to find a place to sit down.

Orientation has just begun. I sneak in the doors in the back of the room and duck my head as I swiftly walk down the hall.
Dear God, the room is fucking packed!
I’m searching intently for an empty seat when I hear a
psst . . . psssst.
Lifting my head, I see a hand waving in the air. I look to my left and right, and then I see her cover her mouth like she’s holding in a laugh. She nods her head yes and gestures for me to join her.

I look around the room after I’m seated, sure that I’m going to see people staring back at me after my awkward entrance, but no one is paying me any attention. Then the doors slam shut behind me, and I slump in my seat and release a shaky breath.

“Thank you.” I lean close to her ear and say. This reminds me of the first day I met Emma so much that I have to pinch myself just to make sure it's all happening and that I haven't nodded off.

My eyes are drawn back to her repeatedly. I try not to seem like a total freak, so I glance at her out of my peripheral. Her leg is bouncing up and down to the beat of the music playing on the screen above. She reminds me of a trapped bird, keeping her wings tucked tight until the cage door is opened.

I have no doubt that this girl would love to open up, dancing and singing right there, but she’s not acting on that impulse. Her short brown hair is swaying back and forth every time her leg raises or lowers. My leg starts bouncing alongside hers without me ever consciously thinking about it, and she looks over at me, her sky blue eyes sparkling like the moon across a silent sea.

She catches me studying her, and I smile, wondering what she is thinking. A giggle escapes. I'm not sure who it came from, but within seconds, we are both leaning over, holding tightly to our stomachs and trying to hold in the sweet tinkle of laughter. We fail miserably, of course, and soon every neck in the room is stretching, searching for the cause of our outburst. The PowerPoint is over, and everyone is instructed to make our way to one of the student services tables to finalize class requirements. We stand before the man at the microphone is done with his speech and flee up the aisle.

“Oh my God! I haven't laughed that hard in like . . . forever.” She states, still holding her stomach.

“I know, right?” I hold tightly to my midsection, wondering if it always hurts this much to laugh. Is this normal? “I hope we didn't cause too much of a ruckus in there.” I say, wondering what the hell has gotten into me. I'm not that girl. The cheerful, fun to be around girl who acts on impulses and has fun. I just don't have it in me. Or at least, I didn't think I did until I met this girl. She changes everything. She’s just one of those people there is no way you can be around and not
feel.
All of a sudden, I’m really starting to look forward to my life here in Phoenix.

“Psssh who cares. You know what I always say? You only live once, and I don't know about you, but I'd rather live my life laughing.”

“Yes, I see that, crazy lady, but some of us don't know how.” I realize what I have said the moment the words leave my mouth, and I want to pull them back in to shove them back down my throat and lock them in tight. I don't like the sound of longing in my voice or the amount of truth I spit out. I don't want her to guess I’m not who I pretend to be. My body stiffens, waiting for her to ask more . . . to pry, but she just ignores it, and I’m so thankful for it that I wrap my arms around her and squeal . . . right into her ear.

“Oh my God. That was so crazy. I’m Charlee, by the way.”

“Ashlin. The pleasure is all mine, me lady,” she says, bowing at the waist, making me burst out laughing uncontrollably again. “Are you taking photography too? Oh, please tell me you are.”

“Oui me lady,” I reply in my worst French impersonation ever. She is laughing again, and I can almost pretend that I didn't have the worst case of word vomit just two minutes ago—almost, but my monster is there . . . always, reminding me every time I fuck up.

I ignore her this time and choose to focus on the fact that maybe, just maybe, I might have made a new friend.

In Phoenix

And she loves art too.

I can't believe it, but it’s true. I know, because she’s standing right next to me talking a million miles a minute, and I’m soaking in her presence like a moth in the night seeking her glowing flame of light.

“Come on, Charlee, let's go make sure we get a class together.” Grabbing my hand, she drags me toward one of the many desks set up to assist new students and proceeds to do exactly that.

While she explains our
dire situation
to a woman who looks like she is doing her best to not laugh, I get lost in memories of the past. I think about the first time I met Emma and how much my life has changed since that day. I wish everyone in the world could have someone like her, even if we ended up growing apart now—someone who could infect their life in the best possible way, unlike the way my mother infected me. In a lot of ways, my life ended that day. The day I met my mother. I was no longer the young, carefree, innocent girl I was thirteen years earlier.

Thirteen years prior . . .

It’s Christmas morning, around seven, and we are already tearing through our gifts. Wrapping paper is flying all around the room, only settling when we have to grab another present. Neither of us pauses to question where Mom got the money for the presents or how they could just appear in the middle of our living room. I don’t think Mom or Frank could have afforded any of this when we don’t even have food in the refrigerator to eat. At the young age of ten, neither of us really cares. We are just happy to believe for once that Santa has actually found us, even when our daddy couldn't.

l wish briefly that I could trade all of my presents for him. Even my new white makeup vanity and stool. I’d happily trade it all to feel my dad's arms wrap tightly around me again, and then another present is offered to me, and all thoughts of him disappear as I shred more wrapping paper, throwing it over my head. “Ahhhhhhh! No way! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I squeal when I see what I hold in my hands. I tear the packaging open quickly and slide the cassette tape in before resting the earphones on top of my head. I hit the tiny triangle key, and Billy Ray Cyrus’s
Achy Breaky Heart
fills my ears.

Mom walks out of the room for a moment—to grab batteries for her camera, I think—and when she comes back in, she is pale and her eyes shift all around the room. She ticks her head toward Frank and then toward the kitchen. I pull my earphones off when she pulls me to my feet. Her hands are shaking as she helps me into my coat. I’m about to ask her what's going on when I hear a car door slam.

“Come on, baby, I want to show you something,” she whispers in my ear and then turns to my brother. “Hey, tiger, I think I hear someone at the door. Can you run and check on it for me?” He jumps up, racing toward the front door while Mom rushes me out the back. We jump on the golf cart she keeps by the door for running errands in the trailer park. She turns the key and presses the pedal to the floor. The cart jerks several times, losing its grip on the icy ground before gaining traction and carrying us away.