False Start: A Football Romance (36 page)

“Can I drive back?” I ask her.

“Not today, baby. We have to hurry.” She replies, speeding across the trailer park toward Kenny’s house.

I don’t think anything of it at first. Even still, when we ride over to Kenny’s, I just figure she remembered something she needed to do, and besides, I’m excited to tell Natalie, Kenny’s daughter and my best friend, about my presents, but she doesn’t let me go inside. Instead, she crawls in Kenny’s Oldsmobile and tells me to get in and buckle up. I do, and as we speed out of the trailer park, passing what had been my home for the last three months, I see a beat-up blue Chevy parked in the grass of our front yard. The driver’s side door is wide open. I press my hand to the passenger's side window and choke on a sob that erupts from deep within my chest. That explains why she was acting so funny. I process the thought, detached.
 

My wish has finally come true—at least, for my brother. As we drive down the long driveway, I strain my neck, looking backward until we turn around a sharp curve and I can’t see anything except the long, windy road behind me. Closing my eyes, I pray for a miracle. Behind my closed lids, I see it all over again—my brother standing on the front steps of the porch with his Power Ranger pajama top pulled up, and he lifts his arms as high as he can reach and wraps them around my daddy’s neck. He has found us. Tears fill my eyes unknowingly and spill down my cheeks.

Merry Christmas, Bubba . . . I love you.

Chapter Seven

Lucas

It’s the bottom of the fifth inning. The score on the board across the field shows 5 to 1 in favor of the Angels, who are playing here this week. It’s not looking good in our favor. Scott Shelton opened as pitcher this afternoon, and after four innings our pitching coach, Coach Traps, and Coach Matherson have both made a visit to the mound. Coach Matherson pulls him from the game, sending in the relief pitcher, Jeremy Banks.

I just hope it wasn’t too late.

Glancing out the corner of the fence of the bullpen, I can see Charlee and her new friend, Ashlin, in the family section of the stands. Everly is on her bouncy chair with an umbrella shading her from the hot Arizona heat beating down on the concrete. Every once in a while, I see Charlee take a small battery-powered fan that mists water and let it spray down on her sleeping baby girl.

They seem to be enjoying the game. Ashlin is jumping up and down like a cheerleader at a football game every time one of our teammates makes a run, causing quite a few head shakes from the wives around them, not that either of them seems to care one bit.

Aaron steps up to the batter’s box and takes a few test swings, getting used to the weight of the bat in his arms again. Charlee scoots forward on her seat as the announcer overhead plays his stats across the big screen, flashing his pretty mug for the world to see. The ladies in the crowd go nuts, screaming and yelling, but she tunes them out completely in focus on her brother. He glances into the stands and tips his helmet to her before stepping to the plate.

I can almost feel the determination pouring off him in waves right now, but I don’t watch him. I watch Charlee. She’s braced on the very edge of the plastic red seat. I see her lips moving, counting, but I don’t know why. Her sight is set on the pitcher and his pre-windup. She’s watching him intently, the way Aaron watches me from behind the plate.

I don’t look back down the field. I don’t have to. A hush has fallen over the crowd. Everyone is holding their breath, waiting to see what will happen between these two. The tension in the air is thick.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Swing.

I can read her lips now, even from this distance. I hear Aaron tap the bat against the base and then kick his feet into the dust, scuffing them against the dirt around home plate. Charlee stands and leans against the railings, watching her brother who is watching the pitcher.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Swing.

The crack of the ball against the bat can be heard for miles. It shatters the silence in the stadium moments before the fans stand, screaming for Aaron to run. There is no need. He knocked the ball clear out of the park, bringing in four total runs counting himself.

We are now tied.

I glance back up at Charlee, but she’s no longer standing. No, now she’s back in her seat, holding Everly in her arms and staring straight at me with a soft smile playing at her luscious mouth.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she knew how to read the pitcher.

That, or she’s psychic, and since I don’t believe in all that nonsense, I’m left with one conclusion, and conveniently, one question.

I wonder if she can read me?

“Damn good hit, man. Knocked it out the park,” Rorry, one of our outfielders, says, congratulating Aaron when he comes back in the dugout.

“That was the plan, man,” Aaron says, coming to sit next to me.

“Did you see my hit, or were you too busy staring after my sister?” I know he’s just busting my chops, but the fact that I was staring after his sister makes this situation feel insanely awkward.

“Dude, can she read the pitch?” I ask, trying to change the subject. It works, thank God.

“Yeah. She’s always been able to. Actually, she’s the one who taught me how when we were kids. It just came naturally to her. Hell, everything to do with sports came easy as hell to her, but she never really cared about them. One day, I showed my ass, swearing up and down she was cheating, and she asked me why I didn’t just count the ticks and wait like she did. I had no fucking clue what she was talking about, but after a lot of practice, I managed to grasp it.”

“Seriously? Why didn’t she go into sports? If not to play, as a scout or coach? Hell, anything. People pay out the ass for someone who can do what she does.”

“She never wanted to. I don’t know, man.”

“Wow. That’s crazy. You think she can read me?”

“I’ve never found an athlete she can’t read. Baseball, basketball, soccer, football. It doesn’t matter. She always knows when he’s going to release. She can pinpoint his pattern in fewer than five minutes, and after that, there’s no outsmarting her.”

“Damn. You know I’m gonna have to test it.”

“Go for it. Maybe she can help you hide your ticks so others won’t be able to read you either.”

“Hell yeah. You think she will?”

“After she finds out that gift on her bed wasn’t from me? Yeah, she will. She’s going to want to repay you somehow. My advice to you man . . . let her. And in the future, if you want to make her happy, don’t do it by buying her stuff. She is as far from materialistic as they come. Seriously. That girl would rather live under a bridge and be happy than live in a mansion and be miserable.”

“Dude, you know I didn’t buy it for that.”

“I know that, but she won’t.”

“Fuck.”

“Oh shit. Easy there, Luc, Saint Peter might come down here and snatch you up right now if he hears you cuss again.” Aaron laughs, picking at me for my aversion to cussing, but I don’t laugh back with him. I can’t stop thinking about Charlee and how she’s going to react to the camera when she finds out I bought it for her.

Never in a million years did I think she would get pissed off, but then again, I wasn’t really thinking at all. I saw the way her eyes lit up when she saw that flyer for the photography class, and then when she said she didn’t have a camera anymore, the heartbreak in her voice just about destroyed me right then and there, so I pretended to have to use the restroom, and instead, I ran into Wilson Camera and asked the clerk at the counter for the best professional camera and any lenses she may need to go with it. I didn’t care how much it cost. It didn’t matter to me at all. All that mattered in that moment was making her smile.

“Hey, man, don’t sweat it too bad. If you want, I’ll just tell her I got it for her.”

“No. I don’t want to start this off by lying to her. Something tells me she has had enough of that in her life. I’ll tell her and pray she doesn’t kill me.”

“Kill you? Nah. She’s more into brutally maiming people nowadays.”

“Thanks. I feel so much better.”

The next two batters strike out, and before I know it, we’re back on the field. Coach Matherson puts in Troy Grayson as relief pitcher, and I watch as he goes through his warmup with Aaron. Charlee watches for a second, but after a quick shake of her head, I have about as much faith in us winning this game as she does. I wish there was a way to get her opinion on what she thought he needed to do, but we aren’t allowed to leave the dugout during the game unless we’re going on field.

Glancing up toward her and Ashlin, it seems Charlee has had the same thought as me, because now she is holding up a sign and facing our dugout.

Tap. Tap. A picture of a donut.

Tap. Tap. A picture of a pencil.

It takes me a minute, but I get what she is saying.

“Coach.”

“Yeah, Bouchard?” Coach Traps calls back to me.

“A word, please, sir?” He walks to the dugout fence, where I meet him. I can tell he isn’t happy about being called away from the game, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to help us win this thing.

“Make it quick, 23. I got a game to coach.”

“Yes, sir. Grayson is giving away his pitch, Sir.”

“No shit. I just can’t figure out how.”

“When he goes to throw a curve, he taps his foot twice and then circles it in the dirt, but when he’s throwing a fastball, he taps twice and draws a straight line.”

“No shit? How did you figure that out?”

“I didn’t. Cooper’s sister did. She’s in the stand.”

“Thank her for me, 23.”

“Yes, sir.”

I turn back to Charlee and tip my hat to her and mouth the words
thank you
. Charlee, ever the smart aleck, bows at the waist and curtsies me.

We end up winning the game 6 to 5. I have no doubt that if it hadn’t been for Charlee’s quick eye and smart thinking, we would have lost the game. Thanks to her, our winning streak continues. After a quick shower and change of clothes, I meet Aaron and Charlee at the entrance to the stadium.

“This chick has decided she is starving. You wanna run and grab a bite to eat?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

“Alright, you guys wanna follow us or how do you want to do this?” Aaron asks Charlee and Ashlin.

“Yeah, we can follow you. I’ve got Everly’s base in the car already.”

“Mexican sound good?”

“Mmm. Fuck yes. My favorite,” Charlee says.

The restaurant is packed when we arrive, but we are able to find a seat outside on the balcony without much wait. It’s nice to sit at the table with friends and enjoy a nice, quiet meal without a lot of drama and crazies interfering. Of course, I should have known that wouldn’t be good enough for Aaron.

“Who wants to hit up the club when we leave here?”

“Not me. I’m going to the house. I need to get my bags packed for tomorrow.” We head back out of town tomorrow, this time heading to Boston.

“Of course you don’t want to go. You don’t know how to have a good time,” Aaron says sarcastically.

“Whatever,” I reply.

“I need to get Everly home and in bed, so I’m out too.”

“I’ll go.” Ashlin offers. “Can I invite a few friends?”

“Sure, the more the merrier.”

Chapter Eight

Charlee

Ashlin chatters on and on about what she’s planning to wear to the party tonight, and I try really hard not to shut her out. I want to be a good friend, so I really do try, but parties and clothes and all of that have never meant much to me. I have never understood the appeal of the world of fashion. I mean, what's the point in spending tons of dollars on something that you may only wear once or twice? I'm a much simpler girl. Give me a baggy t-shirt and some comfy jeans paired with my favorite Converse, and I am set. On occasion, I'll slip on a summer dress, but usually only when I haven't done laundry that week and I don't have anything else to wear—like today.

The first look Emma got at my closet four years ago sent her into shock. I worried that she might have a heart attack looking in at the lack of clothes and accessories. She stood there staring at my meager belongings with a disgusted curl of her lip. I wanted to say something, to take up for myself, but I couldn't even muster the energy, so I just kept my mouth shut and let her dress me whenever the occasion called for it, which, according to Emma, was often.

“Is Andy going with you?” Andy and Ashlin have been dating off and on now for the past two years, but apparently, things have been different lately. He’s been acting strange, and I have a feeling they aren’t going to last too much longer.

Picking a book off the shelf in the living room with a striking cover on it, I flip it over and read the synopsis before I set it back down. I'm not too big into sci-fi romance, especially when alien inhabitants are mating with humans, creating a new race of genetically altered beings. I pick up another, quickly reading the back of it.

Arsema believes she is just a regular sixteen-year-old girl until a week before the start of her junior year, when she starts to experience strange occurrences. Soon after, she is thrust into a world that feels more like make-believe than reality.

To make matters worse, she is being hunted by two ancient races of supernatural beings, one looking to find and save her life and in turn save their race, the other looking to use her to bring an end to the world as she knows it.

After being attacked and kidnapped by her best friend's boyfriend, she is rescued by the guy she has been having reoccurring dreams about. Soon, her life is not the only thing she is in jeopardy of losing as she finds herself falling hard and fast for her rescuer, Lyon. But will she be able to see past who or what he really is and accept him as he is?

Sounds like my cup of tea. I slip it on top of my ever-growing stack of “
to read soon
” books and keep browsing.

“Who knows? I am so over Andy. I mean, don't get me wrong. He is ah-mazing in the bed, but the problem is that I can't keep him in
only
my bed. I swear, that boy thinks I’m dumb or something. Like I can’t see what’s going on right under my own nose? Pshhh. Please.”

“Oh my God, Ash. How long have you known that?” I am the worst friend in the world. I’m so lost in my own world that I didn't even realize my friend was hurting. I can't believe it.

“Oh, I've suspected it for a while, but ya know how it is. When you’re comfortable you don't want to change it. You don't wanna have to think about a life alone, so you stay even when you know it's not what's right. I guess I finally got to a point where I'd rather be alone than deal with it anymore.”

“I feel so bad. I don't know what to say, Ash. God!”

“No worries, babe. I'm good.” She laughs. “Now help me zip this thing up.”

I pull the two ends of her dress together and zip it up for her while she slips her feet into a pair of nude high heels. While I watch her finish getting ready, my mind wanders back to the night we left North Carolina. I can't believe it's been thirteen years since the last time I saw Meika. I wonder how she is. Would she remember me?

No.

You didn't mean shit to her.

She forgot about you before your taillights faded in the night.

Thirteen years earlier...

Tap. Tap. Tap. My mind registers the incessant knocking just before Granny T yells through the door. “Charlee, that friend of yours is here.” I jump up from my seat by the window, where I must have drifted off, and run out the back door to meet Meika, my only friend here in Kannapolis, North Carolina, our new home.

We drove for over ten hours on Christmas morning and arrived here at Frank’s Granny’s house around nine that night. Frank showed up about an hour after us in Mom’s trusty El Camino, loaded down with whatever he could escape with. To say Granny T is a gracious host would be like saying Meika is a tall, beautiful blonde babe. She’s not, but she’s my best friend, my only friend if you wanted to get technical.

When we first arrived, I was sullen and reclusive. I refused to talk to anyone or to play with any of the neighbors, and after about a week, they all gave up trying. Well, everyone except Meika. She was relentless in her chase. I swear, it was like she just KNEW that I needed her. I was alone. I was scared. I was hurting, and at ten years old, I had no idea what to do with the pain I was feeling. I had no idea how to be more than what I had become.

My past defines me. It's who I am.

I am . . .

Unseen.

Unheard.

Unwanted.

That is what I am . . . if I’m anything at all, and I have no idea how to let someone close enough to me to see beyond that.

Meika didn’t care.

She didn't want me to be anyone except whoever I was in that moment. She would come over and just sit next me in silence some days, and then others, when she thought I might need more, she would tell me about her life. I learned a lot about her in those first few weeks, about the kind of life she had, and I realized that even though I didn't have who or what I wanted right that moment, I did at least have someone.

The back door slams behind me, startling Meika from her perch on our trash can. She bounces down, her rubber boots hitting hard on the snow-covered ground. It’s falling faster now. Almost all of her short black braids are peppered white from the dusty snow. She sticks out her tongue and circles with her arms wide, trying to catch the falling flakes. I laugh out loud at her.

“Come on, you nut, before we are late.” I grab hold of her coat sleeve and pull her toward the path that leads to our church. Sunday school starts in fewer than twenty minutes, and it’s a good fifteen-minute walk on a pretty day. Chances are, we are going to be late anyway. We take off running through the woods, dashing under branches swollen with winter dusting until finally, the church yard comes into view.

Meika and I make it back home just after one and go our separate ways. I round the corner of the house and immediately hear Granny T inside yelling.

“I’m telling you, you better keep a better watch on that girl of yours! Letting her run around with that niglet! It ain't right, Frank. You know it ain't. Don't nothing good ever come from hanging out with that kind!” I stumble to a stop under the kitchen window and listen, waiting to hear what Frank has to say. I am shocked. And angry. I knew Granny T didn't like Meika. She refused to let her come in the house, even to just use the bathroom, but I never would have guessed it was because of the color of her skin. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. She could no more help what color her skin is than I could. It made me wonder if she had any idea that my Granny in Alabama is black or that I am part black. Would she throw me out if she found out?  I wait, shivering in my threadbare coat, for someone to take up for Meke, but no reply comes.

I don't know how long I stay there, refusing to go back in her house, but the sun is setting and my teeth are chattering uncontrollably. I thought about going to Meika’s house, but that is one rule I am too scared to break. Her family didn't let many people come over. Ever. Even though my mom is allowed there, I’m still not. I'm not sure if that is her decision or Garrett, Meika’s uncles, decision. The closest I’m allowed is the tall oak that separates our yard from theirs. There is a tire hanging from a thick branch that we like to swing back and forth on. I head there now, too cold to sit still any longer.

Mom is walking across the back yard when I reach the swing. I watch as she peeks back over her shoulder, and then she notices me and picks up her already hurried pace.

“What are you doing, Charlee? Come on, let's get inside,” she says as she pulls me along with her. I think about telling her what Granny T and Frank said earlier, but something tells me now is not the best time. She is practically dragging me across the yard, her steps are so quick. I’m having a hard time keeping up. We hurry through the back door, and she locks it tightly before pulling the curtain back and looking over to Meika’s yard again. I want to ask what she is doing, but I don't dare. Instead, I go to the bathroom and run some warm water, excited at the thought of finally warming my bones.

It's not much later when I crawl from the warm embrace of my bath water, but already my Mom has most of our things packed into large black trash bags. I look around curiously, wondering for a moment if Frank decided we couldn't stay here with someone so hateful anymore. Nothing would make me happier. Mom notices me and tells me to go grab something to eat. “Grab a few granola bars and some sodas to take with us, baby.”

It's pitch black outside now. Mom won’t let me turn on any lights in the house. She says it needs to look like we are all asleep, so I leave them off and do my best to not run into anything as I take another load out to her El Camino. I'm turning to head back inside when Meika surprises me. She runs up to me, grabbing my hands, and that's when I notice she is shaking uncontrollably.

“Charlee, y'all have to go. Go right now!” She is whispering, but it’s forceful. I get the impression that if she could talk normally, she would be screaming at me.

“Why, Meika? What's wrong?” I ask her, confused, and she slaps her hand over my mouth.

“Shh. Whisper, ok?” I nod yes, that I will whisper, and she removes her hand.

“My uncle . . . he says your mom took something from him. He's really mad, Charlee. I don't know what it was, but he's called others over and they all have guns and stuff. Charlee, y'all have to go, right now. I'll stall them, but you need to leave. Promise!”

I'm shaking with fear now, remembering the way my mother was acting earlier when she came from their house. I wrap my arms tightly around Meika’s thin waist and tell her goodbye, and then I run back into the house, no longer caring what I run over.

I search every room, yelling as quietly as I can for my mother. I can't find her anywhere, then I see a small light coming from under the bathroom door. My heart is beating in my chest, like it is about to pounce straight out. I don't knock. We don't have time. I shove open the door, my eyes finding her immediately.

I will never forget the way she looked when that door flew open. She sits, straddling the toilet, with her greasy hair sticking to the side of her sweaty face, which is cast downward toward the dirty floor. The brightness in her deep, sunken eyes fades as she slides the needle farther into the vein in her arm. I stand there for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away from her thin, bony hands as she gently pushes the orange plunger down farther and farther until all the murky liquid is gone.

My mind notices other things too. Things that I didn't even realize it has seen until much later—like the coffee cup on the bathroom counter and the spoon lying haphazardly next to it. How many times had I seen this over the last few months and never questioned it? Is this what she had been doing this entire time? What exactly is she doing?

I stand there, unable to break the spell she has forcefully woven over me. I’m not even sure she notices me until she speaks. Her words slur unattractively. “Hey, babyyy. ‘Mere.” She motions for me to come closer. “You wanna try it?” she asks, holding up the needle she just pulled from her arm. “I won't ‘ive you too much. Jus nuff so you know what it'sss like. It makes you feel soooo good.”

I have often wondered what my face must have looked like in that moment.
I just stand there, staring at her with my mouth hanging open, wondering silently who this woman in front of me is. How did I end up here?

“I can tell you want to. Come on, baby. It’s fun,” she continues.

Finally, I find my voice and look away from the destruction that is my mother. “Meika just left,” I whisper. “Garrett is coming . . . with guns. We need to go.” She just sits there, staring at me like she doesn't understand a word that is coming out of my mouth. “NOW!” I scream at her. She jumps up then and gathers her stuff from the counter. I turn and walk away, unable to stand the sight of her anymore.

Frank walks in the door just as I reach it, and he picks me up in his arms and carries me to the car. Mom is not far behind us. I hear her shuffling down the hall, mumbling to herself, and all I can think in that moment is . . . just leave her here. But I don't say it out loud, not that Frank would even listen if I did, but in that moment, I want nothing more than to be as far from the woman who gave birth to me as I can be. I still don't understand what exactly she was doing in the bathroom, but I do know it's not good, and somehow, I know that it is tied directly to the reason that Meika’s uncle is angry. And that thought makes me angry and . . . sad. So sad, because now I am leaving my whole life behind again.