False Start: A Football Romance (37 page)

I feel a tear slide down my cheek, surprising me. I didn't think I had any more tears inside of me. I honestly didn't think I could feel enough to cry anymore. I have worked really hard to shut down every part of myself that feels pain over the last three months, refusing to show any emotion to anyone around me. I welcome the numbness. I welcome the absence of feeling. I want to be fine. I need to be. And so I will be . . . tomorrow.

I roughly swipe the offending tear off my cheek and swallow the lump of heartache down once again. It’s getting easier, I think, to not care. To not feel anything. Every time I open myself up and try to be happy again, something like this happens. It never fails. The moment I believe that I can be happy again, my world is ripped out from underneath me again. I don't want to exist in this life anymore. I don't want to.

Let it go,

the friendly voice in my head tells me. I like her. She protects me. She won't let me feel.

She cares.

The snow begins to fall faster, in a hurry to coat every available bare surface. I watch it, transfixed by the beauty of it, and imagine if Aaron were still here, we would be outside throwing balls of snow at each other, but he's not here, because of her. Because she only wanted me. Why? I wish he was here. I wish I wasn’t all alone. I miss him so much, it hurts deep inside my stomach. It aches, and I rub my chest, trying to make it go away, not wanting to feel the pain anymore. If I close my eyes tight, I can almost hear his high-pitched squeals and see his rosy red face, flushed from excitement, just like he was the last time I saw him, but then I open my eyes, and reality sets in again.

He's not here.

He's at home with my daddy.

I wish I was home.

I want my daddy.

Let it go, she whispers again.

I let it go.

Chapter Nine

Lucas

We’ve been on the road for two weeks now. We lost our series in Boston two to one, and then moved on to Chicago. It’s our last game here before we head back to Phoenix. I hate to admit it, but for the first time since I started my professional career, I actually feel homesick, and it has nothing to do with my house.

I miss Charlee and Everly.

I can’t wait to walk through the door and pick her up and kiss her swollen, fat cheeks. She turns two months old tomorrow, and I want to be there for it.

Somehow, the sweet baby girl has managed to do what no one has been able to do in the last five years. She has made me happy again. I didn’t think a day would come that I would ever be able to look at another child and feel anything other than heartache and grief, but with Everly, I can’t help but feel so much more. She is perfect in every single way, just like her mommy.

It pisses me off to no end when I think about the way her father is acting. I know it’s not my position in either of their lives, but I swear, if his piece of shit ass shows his face around them high or drunk while I’m there, it will be the last thing he does for a while. No one should abandon their children, especially not for addiction. I understand everyone in life has their own problems, but there are plenty of places out there to get help.

If you want it.

Sadly, he doesn’t. I know, because I was sitting there when Aaron called him and offered to pay for him to go to an inpatient rehab so he could get cleaned up and be a part of his child’s life. He refused immediately, and Aaron and I made a pact to not tell Charlee. She didn’t need to know. Not right now. Not when she is just rebuilding her own life. It would crush her, and the thought of hurting her crushes me.

Chapter Ten

Charlee

“Hey, you ready?” Ashlin calls back to me.

“Yeah, grab that pacifier for me.”

We are taking Everly for her first ever photo shoot. Part of our class assignment includes working together on a project photographing a real life person, and since today is my baby’s two-month birthday, I figured this would be perfect.

Ashlin passes me the pacifier, and I give it to Everly, letting her suck on it while I set up the last of the lights and my camera stand. I decided to leave her completely nude for the photos, with the exception of a diaper. It just feels more natural.

Perfect.

I aim the camera and adjust the settings and then take a few test shots, making sure everything looks good on the playback before I begin. I want these pictures to be perfect. Amazing. And not just because I want to get a good grade on the project, but because this is my baby and this is going to be the memory I capture of this moment in time. A moment that I have to hold and cherish for the rest of my days.

Taking the pacifier from her, I get a few quick shots of her with her lips poking out from when she was suckling before she opens her mouth, searching for her binky. I take some more of her like that. I love every one of her facial expressions. I could sit here and photograph every minute of the day and never get tired of capturing her ever-changing moments.

I hear the front door open and shut, and Aaron yells for me. I wave at Ashlin, telling her to go let him know where I am. I was hoping he would stay away and not interrupt.

He doesn’t.

“What’s this? A photo shoot without her favorite uncle?” Aaron says, coming in and immediately picking Everly up off the soft downy blanket I have spread beneath her.

“Oh hush and put her back down. I’m not done taking pictures.”

“Fine, but only if you get a picture with the best piece of sports equipment known to man.”

“What’s that? Your mouth or your dick?” I ask as Lucas walks in the room.

“Ha-ha. No,” he says, grabbing a bat and laying it in front of Everly. He takes her hand and props it up against the cool wood. I snap a few shots, because it really is cute seeing her cuddled up against the bat, and I know if I don’t, he won’t ever leave me alone.

“No, no, no. This isn’t going to work for me. You can’t have that baby taking baseball pictures without a glove and ball. It’s sacrilegious.”

“There you go with your damn French cuss words again,” Aaron says, picking at Lucas.

“Shut up. You’re just mad because you know it’s true.” Lucas grabs his glove from his bag and nestles it beneath Everly’s head.

“Oui, belle.”

I tap the button on top of the camera and capture my precious daughter sleeping amongst the baseball items, and my heart swells. She is so loved. Even at the tender age of two months, she has managed to capture the hearts of two of this country’s most eligible bachelors without lifting a single finger.

Thirteen years earlier . . .

It's been three weeks now that we have been living out of the motel room in the middle of nowhere. Well, technically we are somewhere. I just don’t know where that somewhere is, and truthfully, I really don’t care. I try my best to become invisible to her and Frank. It seemed to be working for the most part, and then, all of a sudden, it wasn't working at all. Mom made new friends that first week we arrived. I don’t know their names. I don’t care. She’s like a chameleon, able to fit in anywhere we go. I still don’t understand how she does it. I don’t understand how anyone would want to be around her.

She still goes in the bathroom . . . a lot. She practically lives in there. I notice it more now, probably because we are all stuck in this small motel room together. I wish I didn't know what she was doing in there. I wish I could smile at her and pretend like I was still naive, but I can't hide the disgust on my face when she comes out, not that she even notices the way I feel. Frank goes in with her sometimes too, but not often. He seems to prefer to drink the nasty brown stuff instead. I don't think he knows that I know what they are doing there, because he always makes sure to shut the door and lock it, and then when he comes out, he leaves the room and doesn't come back until he's ready to go back in the bathroom. I think, in a way, he is ashamed to be high in my presence. I don't care. I'd rather see him high than drunk.

I don't like Frank drunk.

I see the differences in Mom now. Her cheeks are sunken in, making her look older than her thirty-five years. She has sores all over her body that she picks at constantly, making them puss up and bleed.

She doesn't notice.

I do.

I can't even stand for her to touch me. I don't want to feel her skin against mine or to think about her sores leaking out on me. I sleep on a pallet on the floor so I don't have to be next to her—on the nights she sleeps—and so I don't have to pretend to sleep when her and Frank are naked on the nights she doesn't sleep. I hate being near either of them.

I hate them.

Her hair is smothered down, pressed flat to her scalp and greasy. I wonder silently when she last used the bathroom for showering. Her clothes are starting to hang off her body now, too. I notice as her shirt sleeve falls down her arm, exposing her pink bra strap. She pushes it back up as she stands.

“Come on, baby,” she says as she walks to the door.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I slide my feet into my tennis shoes. They hurt to put on. I outgrew them months ago, I think, but I don't have anything else to wear.

“To Sam’s. Hurry. You can tie them in the car,” she says, glancing at my feet. I slide my foot in the other shoe and walk out of the room. I don't complain about going to Sam’s anymore. He’s a nice enough guy. Him and mom always go to the back room when we get there, and I don't see him again until we are leaving.

The first time I met Sam, he scared the living crap out of me. We drove up to this white mobile home with blue shutters and blue swans all over the yard. Mom got out and walked straight up to the door with ease. I could tell she had been there before, and she was not worried at all when this giant of a man opened the door. He stood there, taking up the entire doorway with his wide shoulders, and ducked slightly to keep from hitting his head while he looked out. I couldn't make out any other features on his face. I was so terrified.

He stepped back, and Mom walked right up the steps, pulling me in after her. I remember looking around the living room, my eyes landing on anything and everything to keep from having to look back at the giant black man. Then he dropped down on one knee and took my tiny hand in his, drawing my attention back to him.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Charlee. My name is Sam,” he said.

“He—hello.” I stammered out a greeting.

“You thirsty? Hungry?” he asked, and I glanced up at Mom, not sure how to respond. He didn't wait. Instead, he walked to the kitchen and made me a fried bologna sandwich and a glass of Kool-Aid. When he was finished, he placed them both on the bench of a sleek black piano.

“You sit here and practice on this old thing all you want. Me and your momma are gonna go to the back and talk for a few minutes. Ok?” he said sweetly. l nodded my head, already taking a huge bite out of my sandwich.

I don't know how long they stayed in the back room talking, but when they came back out, Mom had the same glass-eyed look I was used to seeing when she came out of the bathroom. We visited Sam several times a week after that, and every time we went, he made me the same fried bologna sandwich and Kool-Aid and left me to play on the piano. It was our routine, and today, I was craving the normalcy it offered.

When we walk in the door today, Sam already has my sandwich ready for me, so I sit at the piano and begin stroking keys in an off-tune rendition of
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star
for a few minutes before my stomach demands I take a bite of my food. Mom and Sam head straight to the bedroom at the back of the trailer. I don't go back there. Ever. I did once, a few weeks ago. I had drunk two full glasses of Kool-Aid and had to pee so badly, I thought I was going to bust, so I snuck down the hallway in the direction I hoped the bathroom was in. I found it, the last door on the left of the hallway. Sam’s bedroom door stood just in front of me at the end of the hall. I knew it was his bedroom, because I could hear my mom and Sam in there.

“Take your clothes off.” Followed by the rustling of fabric.

“Mmm. Damn, that’s a beautiful white puss. I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you.”

I sat on the toilet as quietly as possible and tried to block out the moans and grunts coming from the bedroom. The walls were super thin, and as much as I tried, I couldn't ignore them all. I finished my business and held my hands over my ears as I ran from the bathroom amidst creaking bed frames and my mother's loud cries of ecstasy.

Today, I can hear Sam's deep voice as they walk down the hall. “I’ve done told you, Dawn, I don’t have nothing for you today.”

I manage to push all thoughts of Mom and Sam as far out of my mind as I can while I bang around on the keyboard until I hear the screaming and yelling. I stop pressing keys and listen closer, trying to hear what they are arguing about.

“I know you have some, Sam. You just don't want to give it up.” I can make out my mom's shrill voice easily. She is screaming at the top of her lungs. A door opens and slams shut, only to be opened again. Sam appears from the hallway and immediately notices me watching the exchange with wide eyes. It's easy to tell he is angry. His face is flushed and his breathing is heavy.

“Why don't you want me no more, Sammy? Why am I not good enough for you? Did you find someone else?” I see a light go off in her mind. “That's it, isn't it? You found someone else.”

“Dawn, take your daughter and go home. I told you, I don't have ANYTHING!” He yells at her, causing me to flinch. Mom doesn't miss a beat. Reaching across the piano, she snatches me up by wrapping her hand around my upper arm. My glass of Kool-Aid wobbles on the bench, threatening to fall over as she yanks me up. I feel tears burning behind my eyes, threatening to fall. The grip she has on my arm is tight enough to bruise. My fingers are beginning to go numb before she shoves me toward Sam. He catches me effortlessly.

“Take her then. I'm not young enough or pretty enough for you? Take Charlee.” Her lip raises in a sneer. “I know you like the little brat. Do whatever you want with her. Just give me a hit!” She ends her statement on a whine. I look back and forth between them both, not fully understanding the things she is offering, but judging by the look on Sam’s face, he does.

“Fine,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. Mom breathes in a satisfying gulp of air, like Sam has just given her oxygen to breathe.

“I knew you’d come in handy one day,” she says with a conceited smirk.

Sam leans down and whispers in my ear, “Just sit here and play for me, ok, Angel? I’ll be right back.”

To my mother, he simply demands, “Come.” She jumps up and follows him greedily to the back.

“Play loud, Angel,” he calls back to me. And so I do, but even still, I am able to hear the screaming. Sam is angry. Furious, even.

“What are you doing, Sam?” Mom cries before I hear the first the slap of skin against skin. I cower, recognizing the sound of someone being hit . . . hard.

“You tried to SELL your kid to ME!” Another slap. “For a hit?” Something shatters. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he roars.

“Just give me one, Sam. You can take her,” she begs. A loud noise, like something being thrown against the wall, followed by wailing. Several minutes pass by. My fingers hurt from constantly beating on the black and white keys. No matter how hard I jab at them, I can't shut out the screams. They play over and over in my head long after she is quiet.

“You can stop now, Angel,” Sam says when he returns to the room.

“Where’s my momma?” I ask, hating the way my voice breaks. I don't want to care about her, but right now, she is all I have.

“She’s just taking a nap. Come here, Angel,” he says, pulling me to his lap and wiping my tears away with his swollen fingers. “I need you to do me a favor. Can you do that?”

“Okay.” I reply timidly, looking up from beneath my lashes.

“I need you to call Frank, Angel, and tell him to come get you.” He says, kissing me against the side of my head and standing. I walk over to the phone on the side table and pick it up, dialing our room number from memory. I glance at Sam while the phone rings and see him at the kitchen sink washing his hands. The water runs pink as it mixes with the blood on his hands. Frank answers, and I try not to think of the blood while I ask him to come get me. He hangs up, saying he will be there in five minutes.