The Baller (30 page)

We stayed that way for a few seconds, yet it felt like so much longer. Then, somehow, his eyes managed to hold mine while they swept over the table. His jaw tightened at finding Michael Langley sitting next to me. I saw the shutters go up on the window of pain in his eyes, right before he turned his head and walked to his table.

“What the hell just happened?” Marvin said. The entire table had been watching the exchange go down. With his head buried in equipment, Marvin was quite possibly the only person at the station who didn’t know about my relationship with Brody.

Indie kicked Marvin under the table and answered for me. “Just some baller making goo-goo eyes at a pretty girl.”

The waitress appeared from nowhere. “Are you ready to order your main course?”

“I’ll have an apple martini.”

“Okay. And for dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Indie mumbled, “Shit,” under her breath. Rightly so. I wasn’t much of a drinker. And the last time I drank martinis, I was in bed for two days. I couldn’t even remember half the night. At the time, I’d thought it was the scariest thing ever and never wanted to get that drunk again. But right then, I wanted whatever it would take to make me forget. And fast.

During my first martini, I stole fleeting glances at Brody.

During my second martini, I glared at him like he had just kicked my dog.

After my third martini, I could barely hold back tears.

He never looked my way all night.

Indie saw my face and wrapped up dinner as quickly as possible. When we stood to leave, I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They came so fast, they blurred my vision. When I wiped them away, the only thing that was clear was Brody staring at me from the other side of the restaurant.

***

I nosedived into the bed. Indie tried to get me to undress, but I was dead weight. She only succeeded in rolling me over and tugging my jacket off. She slipped off my shoes. “You okay?”

I nodded and pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. At least the crying had stopped.

“I’m going to wash my face and brush my teeth. You need anything?”

I shook my head. Alcohol made me mute.

She was tying her hair into a knot on top of her head when there was a soft knock at the door. She went to the door, sighed loudly and walked back to me. “It’s Brody. I’ll get rid of him. Stay here.”

I nodded, doubting if I could get up even if I wanted to.

“Is she okay?” Brody’s voice was low.

“She’s fine. Just needs a good night’s sleep.”

“I want to see her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You seem like a good friend. But just so you know ahead of time, I’m going to lift you up and deposit you outside this door if you don’t move out of my way.”

“Brody . . . ” Indie warned.

I stumbled from the bed. “Let him in. It’s fine. I’m drunken not so much.”

Indie shook her head. “Drunken not so much, huh?”

I waved her off with my hand. “He’s used to it. Dealing with plastered women. Right, Beaston?” (My attempt at Brody Easton obviously had failed.) Maybe that’s what I should have done. Smoked some heroin and then he’d fall deeply in love.”

Brody’s jaw flexed.

I turned to Indie, wrinkling my nose. “Do you even smoke heroin?”

Indie shrugged; she looked very uncomfortable standing between us. She turned to me, cupped my face in her hands and held my eyes. “Do you want me to stay?”

I covered her hands with mine. “I’m fine.”

She searched my face, then nodded. Walking straight up to the hulking, brooding man standing in the doorway, she jabbed her finger into his chest. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. If you hurt her any more . . . so help me God. I’ll blow the first guy from housekeeping with a set of passkeys, sneak into your room while you’re sleeping, and when you wake up, you’ll think Lorena Bobbitt had visited.”

She grabbed her running shoes from the closet and disappeared after one more menacing look.

Then it was just a slightly drunk me and Brody.

“Can we sit down?”

“Why? You’re not staying long.”

Brody clenched his teeth so hard, I thought he might crack a pearly white. “Because you’re swaying back and forth. Thought it might be better if you sat your ass down.”

I turned back to the room.
Not
because he wanted me to sit, but because the room began to spin. I sat on the edge of the bed. Brody stood in front of me.

I looked up. Even in my intoxicated state, I could see my future with just a glimpse into his green eyes. I was suddenly terrified. My eyes darted around the room. The dresser, the TV, the other bed . . . anywhere but at the man standing right in front of me.

He kneeled down. “Delilah?”

“You should leave. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nothing happened.”

I stared at my hands for a moment. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Fuck if it doesn’t.”

I waited and then dragged my eyes up to his. “Do you love her?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before reopening them. “Yeah. But not like you think. We have a lot of history. I just don’t want to see her hurting herself anymore.”

When I looked away again, he put two fingers under my chin and lifted so our eyes met. “I love you, Delilah.”

“You can’t love two women at the same time.”

“You can. You just don’t love them the same. If you fall in love with someone else, the other person you still love was never meant to be yours forever.”

His words eviscerated what was left of my fragile heart.

I couldn’t do that to Drew. I just couldn’t.

Brody covered my hands with his. “Do you love me?”

I didn’t answer.

“Delilah?”

I couldn’t love him. I still loved Drew.

I was terrified, as I looked into his eyes, that he could see through my lie. “No. I don’t.”

Delilah

“You look like shit.”

Every time I blinked my eyes, my head throbbed harder. I attempted to lift my aching skull from the pillow but had to put it back down again. It was nearly four in the morning when we finally went to sleep. I’d cried so much, I was certain the headache was caused partly by dehydration.

“What time is it?” My voice was a groan littered with cracks.

“Time for you to get your sorry ass out of bed.”

I pulled the cover up over my head. “I liked you better when you felt sorry for me and sat up handing me tissues from the box.” After Brody had left, Indie held me for hours while I cried. I cried right through intoxicated and straight into a hangover.

“You have to be at the pregame at one, and it’s going to take you an hour to get the swelling under your eyes down. I ordered you breakfast. Dry toast, a pot of coffee, orange juice and a side order of ice for that face.”

I pulled the blanket down enough to poke one eye out. “Where are you going?” She was tying her shoes.

“For a run.”

“Ugh.” I pulled the cover back over my head.

“There’s two Motrin on the table next to you and water. Suck it down and stay in bed until room service knocks.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

She chuckled. “Be back in an hour. Don’t fall back asleep.”

***

At least I look way better than I feel.
I stared at my reflection in the shiny metal-and-glass door in the hallway leading to the locker room. The Steel had won 21-14, with Brody running in the winning touchdown with thirty seconds left in the game. He deserved to be happy. The last week had been awful, to say the least. A lesser player might not have been able to focus and play the way he had. I was proud of him, but also extremely anxious to walk into that locker room.

Playoff games had triple the number of reporters. Everyone needed a sound bite for the news tonight, and most wanted more. The lines to speak to the players would be an hour long. We had three reporters going in today, not just me. Nick approached with Michael Langley at his side. “You ready?” Nick had flown in this morning, and I doubted he knew that Brody and I broke up.

“Yes.” I picked up my bag and started to follow, but Michael stopped me, putting his hand on my arm.

“You okay?”

I forced a smile. “I’m ready. Don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I asked. Are
you
okay?”

I took a breath. “I will be. Thank you.”

He nodded.

We waited in line forever and worked out our attack plan of player interviews. Michael claimed Brody and a defensive lineman who’d recovered a fumble. Indie had mentioned seeing Michael at the gym this morning, and I had a feeling that she had filled him in a little—enough to make sure I didn’t have to interview Brody. I was grateful for the reprieve. I picked two of the less exciting players, careful to also stay away from Colin, who happened to have had the best game of his career. It meant the lines for my interviews would be the shortest.

I tried to avoid stealing glances at Brody, but my eyes didn’t follow my brain’s direction. He was wearing his signature towel wrapped around his waist, but his cocky smile was nowhere to be found. At one point, Nick, Michael and I were standing in the open center of the locker room, and my eyes locked with Brody’s. He was between interviews and waiting for Angie Snow and her cameraman to finish setting up to film. A pang of jealousy hit me. Angie was gorgeous—young, blonde, curvy and very touchy-feely. She said something to him and reached out to touch his arm, and I had to look away. But like a bad car accident, I went back for more gore.

Brody’s eyes flitted back and forth between Angie and me as he spoke to her while her cameraman tinkered with his equipment. I was so preoccupied with watching the two of them, I didn’t realize Michael had asked me a question and was waiting for a response.

“Delilah?”

“Hmmm?” I turned to Michael.

He furrowed his brow. Then leaned into me and whispered, “We can handle this if you need to take a break.”

I assured him I was fine and just a little overwhelmed by the craziness of my first playoff locker room trip. When Michael had leaned down to me, his hand had gone to the small of my back. I hadn’t even realized it was still there until I saw the look on Brody’s face. His eyes were burning into where Michael was touching me. He looked furious, about to blow. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights when his eyes lifted to meet mine.

Angie’s cameraman said something, and Brody’s attention was forced back to the impending interview. Just as the light flashed on Brody and the cameraman lifted his camera into position, Brody glanced over at me one more time. It was the exact same minute Michael leaned in again to say something. I grimaced as I watched Brody’s face shift from angry to an evil smile.

He turned his focus back to Angie, and she shot her first question off. His response played out in slow motion for me. He grinned wide, then his hand slowly went to the knot at his towel, and he gave it a little tug. It fell to the ground. I didn’t stick around to watch the rest—I already knew what came next. And my guess was that Angie wouldn’t put up half the fight that I had.

Delilah

January 15th—Drew would have been twenty-six today. This was the first year that I wouldn’t be spending his birthday with his family. Mr. Martin had retired a few months back and had finally convinced Mrs. Martin to move to Atlanta, where Drew’s sister already lived. I was happy for them, but when they packed, it meant they had to pack up Drew’s things. Even last year, six years after Drew died, his room had been untouched when I went over to celebrate his birthday.

The car ride out to the cemetery was long. I was alone with my thoughts and tried to recall memories of the good times Drew and I shared. Homecoming, senior year in high school. I smiled. Some of the guys from the team had booked a few hotel rooms, and we all went back after the game.

That first time Brody kissed me in his hotel room, it hit me so hard, I wouldn’t have been able to stand if he wasn’t holding me so tight.

I forced Brody from my head. Again. It was becoming a full-time job lately. A plane from the nearby airport was flying low overhead in front of me. I remembered back to when Drew and I flew to Alabama to meet the football coach of the college he was planning on attending. It was my first flight, and my nerves were on edge. Drew had held my hand and calmed me by telling dirty jokes.

Brody took my breath away on the plane with a kiss and tried to stick his hand up my skirt under the blanket.

I switched on the radio station. It only jumbled my mind more.

Pulling up to the cemetery, my phone buzzed, so I put it on speakerphone and sat in my car to talk.

“Hi, Mrs. Martin.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jana, dear?”