Wide Open (16 page)

“It was at the end of a job,” I tell him in a hushed tone. It vibrates in my chest. It’s weak and cowering but I push it out. I force it forward. “We were alone for days, exhausted from late nights spent editing. I had just broken up with someone and it was ugly. We’d been together for two years and we were very angry at each other at the end. We treated each other like shit. I didn’t know myself when I was with him and when he left I had to try and figure out who I was again. That’s when Derrick and I were working together. When I was tired of being angry and I just wanted to be happy. I wanted someone to be sweet to me. Everything my ex said to me was venom and then I was working with Derrick and every word he said was poetry. It was honey and I ate it up.

“We went to get breakfast at a bagel shop he loves and there was this big thunderstorm. It was hot and raining. The sky was crumbling, I was shivering and tired, and he held me. That was it. I was done for. That’s all it took to push me over the edge. I went back to his apartment with him and we kissed. In the living room, the hallway, his bedroom. I kept telling him we should stop but he didn’t and I didn’t and then I was naked. He was naked.”

I pause, taking a second to breathe. To remember it right. I have to make sure to remember it the way it really happened, not the way I tell myself it happened. Travis has worked on this with me for the last year; remembering the truth as it is, not as I wish it had been. The truth makes me feel weak. It makes me look small and I can’t stand that feeling. I can’t stand any of this. My stomach is in knots, my fingers aching where they’re clenching Kurtis’ hand, but I don’t let go. And he doesn’t complain.

“He made me come and I went blind. He didn’t know it but it felt like he did the way he took advantage of it. I lay there trying to breathe, trying to act like I wasn’t afraid, and then he was at the side of the bed. He touched my hands, drawing them up over my head. I asked him what he was doing but he didn’t answer. I started freaking out. I couldn’t see what he was doing and he wasn’t talking. I didn’t know what was going on. I tried to pull my hands away, but he was stronger than me. He kissed the skin of my wrists and then he wrapped a rope around them. It was rough, scratching my skin. It hurt immediately and when I tried to pull away from it the knot tightened.

“I started shouting at him to let me go. I threatened him. I cursed him. I thrashed on the bed and kicked at him, pulling at the rope as hard as I could. It hurt so bad the way it burned me, but I was too afraid to stop. I couldn’t see where he was or what he was doing. I was terrified. Then he touched my thigh and I started crying. My sight started to come back and he was a blurry mess on the side of the bed. I didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t handsome and charming anymore. He was a stranger and he terrified me. I pleaded with him to let me go. To untie me. He whispered to me, trying to sound soothing, but I was panicking. I could hardly breathe and finally he gave up trying to calm me down and he untied me. I grabbed my clothes and ran from his apartment. I didn’t get dressed until I was in the hall. I walked home alone in the rain and I vowed to never be alone in a room with him again.”

I take a shuddering breath, my lungs screaming for air, and I realize I’ve been rattling the details off at high speed. I’ve barely paused to breathe. I’m too lost in the ache of the rope on my wrists. The fear clenched tight in my heart. The warm rain on my cheeks as I practically ran home to shower.

Kurtis’ free hand comes slowly to my face. He runs the pad of his thumb under my eyes, wiping away the tears I didn’t know I was crying. The drops that felt like rain. He doesn’t say a word but he doesn’t let go of my hand and he never runs from my eyes. They’re latched onto his and he holds them steadily, a world of words unspoken but understood between us. He isn’t closed off. He isn’t hiding. His everything is right there on the surface, right there with me. Rage, anguish. Understanding.

I hiccup, fighting back a new wave of tears. “I told Travis,” I whisper. “It took a few months, but I told him what happened. He knew something was wrong but he didn’t know it was
that
wrong. We talked for hours about what to do. He wanted Derrick gone. I told him we have a contract with him. He said the contract was void if Derrick was dead. I didn’t laugh because I didn’t think he was kidding. I showed him a letter Derrick wrote me after it happened. He tried to explain himself. He said he thought being tied up during sex would turn me on. He said he was about to light candles. He swore he didn’t expect me to freak out like that, that he never meant to hurt me. He said he tried to explain it to me at the time but I just kept screaming. He was worried the neighbors would call the cops or that I’d hurt myself on the ropes. He swore up and down that it was meant to be sexy, not scary. He said he was sorry a hundred times.”

“Did you believe him?” Kurtis asks, his voice measured. Controlled.

I shrug. “I wanted to. I don’t know if I ever did, though. Travis didn’t. I just wanted it to be over, I wanted to forget it, so I decided to believe him, but I don’t think I ever really did. I’m scared to see him. I always forget that until it happens and I start to fall apart. Like my body knows it’s not true.”

“Why don’t you listen to it?”

“Because I don’t want to be weak.”

“Harper, you’re anything but weak.”

“At the time I said we all just needed to put it behind us and focus on the next job,” I explain, rushing past the topic. “So that’s what we did. It’s what we’re doing.”

“Is this the next job?”

“Yeah. We finished the project we were editing, then we signed contracts with the NFL. It didn’t start until months after what happened with Derrick and I didn’t see him that entire time. I didn’t think about him once and when it was time to assign roles for this project, Travis and I sent him to Foxborough to head the team there and keep him away from me. It was perfect.”

“Until he started texting you.”

I lower my eyes. “Yeah.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

I hesitate, weighing my options. I can lie and risk him seeing it, risk losing the faith I’ve been building for months, or I can tell him the truth and have another man watching over me like a damsel in distress. More pity, more worry. More protection that makes me feel small and ineffectual.

But I’ve already told so many lies lately, I can’t stomach another one. I can’t keep digging this well of disgust I’m mining for myself.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I brace myself for the onslaught of advice. For him to tell me what to do. I expect demands to let him help me or at the very least ideas on how to handle it. It’s what Travis has always done.

Kurtis gives me none of that. Instead he puts his knuckle under my chin, lifting my face to his.

His expression is tight, but also soft and entreating as he quietly pleads, “Be careful.”

I nod against his hand in agreement, and I think that this, his confidence in my ability to handle my life, is exactly what I need. It’s what he knows I need. It’s the right thing to do, leaving me to handle it on my own because I can. I will. And he knows that.

But if that’s true, why does he look so uneasy?

Why do I feel exactly the same way?

KURTIS

October 1st

Nissan Stadium

Nashville, Tennessee

Not much in this world tastes better than victory, but there are a few exceptions.

Good bourbon.

A perfect lemon meringue.

Harper’s moans in my mouth as she falls apart in my hands.

Water from the shower cascades down her face, over her chest. I have her ass in my hands, her back pinned against the hard tile wall, and her legs wrapped around my waist. She has her eyes closed against the torrent assaulting her from outside and within, gripping me with every muscle she has as I finish inside her, nothing between us but water and air. We stopped using condoms a long time ago when she told me she was on the pill and I swore to her that I was clean. I didn’t know it until the first time I pushed inside her bareback, but it takes a lot of trust between people to do that. I was nervous the first time. And the second. Probably all the way to the eighth, but now I don’t think anything of it. She won’t burn me, and I’d die before I hurt her. She’s too perfect, too beautiful to mar in any way.

“Oh God,” she gasps, burying her face in my shoulder. “I can’t breathe.”

I grind against her slowly, bringing us both down as the water runs cold around us. She whimpers quietly. The sound sets off a protective roar in my chest and I turn off the water, carrying her away from the wall. She stands when I release her slowly. She lets me towel her dry and when I look up into her eyes I find them empty. Staring blindly over my head at nothing.

She’s afraid now. You can’t see it on her face because she’s strong, but I know it because she told me. Only me.

“Are you cold?” I ask her quietly.

She smiles. “On the outside, yes. Inside I’m on fire.”

I chuckle, lowering my head to watch as the towel erases water droplets from her legs. Her hips. Her smooth, rich skin that’s soft under my fingers as I drag them behind the towel, unable to stop touching her. I’m gentle over her breasts, even as she moans in the back of her throat and my dick jumps eagerly. I dry her arms, her neck. I pull her long, dark hair over her shoulder and twist it until it releases a stream of water onto my feet, and when I look into her eyes to ask her if she’s hungry, she’s watching me.

“Hi,” she says quietly.

I smile. “Welcome back.”

She hums happily in the back of her throat as she pushes her fingers through my wet hair. I wrap the towel around her, securing it under her arms.

“Are you hungry?”

Harper nods emphatically. “I bet you are too.”

“I’m starving.”

“Takes a lot of energy to destroy another team.”

“Not as much as it should have. They’re not a good team.”

“That’s harsh.”

“But true.”

She wrinkles her nose unhappily. “I guess you’re right. So are you going to feed me?”

“Will you be able to get away?”

“I can probably manage.”

“How did you manage it just now?”

Her eyes cloud, turning dark and distant. A shadow of when they’re blind. “I lied,” she tells me honestly. “I told Travis I had to go to the bathroom. It’s the only place he won’t offer to go with me.”

“Long trip to the bathroom,” I joke, but inside I’m thickening. I’m turning to stone bit by bit, avoiding the feeling that tries to overwhelm me. The old feeling, the familiar feeling. The memory of lies and secrets, stolen moments, hidden meetings. A woman I wanted who could never be mine. It’s all too real, more than I can handle standing naked in an opponent’s locker room.

“Yeah, I’ll have to think of something to cover up the time,” she mutters in agreement.

“Tell him you stopped off to fuck a football player in the shower. Give honesty a try and see what happens.”

She doesn’t react to my shot, not on the outside. She feels it on the inside, though. I know she has guilt over lying to Travis and a not so small part of me is happy about that. I want it to bother her like it bothers me. I want it to gnaw at her. I want it to stop.

I want her. All of her, all the time.

Harper dresses as I dry off. She does it quickly and silently, and when she’s done she kisses me hastily. It’s a goodbye and I know by the feel of it that she won’t have dinner with me tonight. She won’t lie again, not today. Not to Travis.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” I yank my shirt over my head. “I’ll see you later.”

She hesitates for one awkward moment before turning her back on me and hurrying out of the locker room.

I don’t watch her go.

The rest of the team is long gone from the locker room. I lagged behind, intentionally missing the bus so I could stay to see Harper. Her crew was already planning to stay later to get some shots of the inside of the stadium after our win, do interviews with Kodiak fans who flew all the way out from L.A. to Tennessee to watch us play. We’ve won all three of our regular season games and last night the New England Patriots lost to the Buffalo Bills, 40-38. Every day we’re looking more and more like the Super Bowl favorite and the fans know it. Away game turnouts are at an all-time high. This is the season everyone is convinced will be the one they look back on and applaud themselves for being at every game. They think this is the season when we go all the way, and even I have to admit we’re off to a solid start to make it happen.

I should be happy about that and an hour ago I was. But now all I can think about is the year I spent living a lie. Now all I feel is shit.

I shove my gear into my bag before slinging it over my shoulder. I’ll have to go through the locker room and grab my shoes before I catch a cab back to the hotel. I’ll go alone. I’ve missed dinner with the team and I’ll hear about it from Coach Allen, but for the first time in a long time I don’t care. It was worth it to be with her.

I round the corner to the locker, already dreaming of calling ahead for a steak from room service, when I see that I’m not as alone as I thought I was.

Tyus Anthony is parked on a long blue bench running alongside the lockers. He’s still in his uniform, his head down, his body leaned forward over his knees. He looks like he’s either praying or he’s going to be sick.

“Are you okay, man?”

Tyus doesn’t look up. “What are you still doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Don’t. Go away.”

“So you can sulk alone?”

“Fuck you, Matthews.”

I step into the locker room, dropping my bag onto the floor and taking a seat on the bench opposite him. The room is muggy from sweat and showers. The air is thick to breathe and I’m dying to get out of here, but instead I sit. I look him in his angry eyes and I ask him again, “You okay?”

He sits back, sneering at me. “No, I’m not fucking okay. Do I look okay?”

“You look like you’re about to cry or kill something.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Which one?”

He stares at me, his face tight with anger and irritation.

“It’s Ramsey, right?” I ask, deciding to go for the jugular. Tyus doesn’t look in the mood to dance around the obvious and neither am I. “You’re mad ‘cause he took your spot.”

“I’m mad that people saw me riding the pine the last three games, sitting on my ass while some ignorant motherfucker goes out there and fumbles every pass. He can’t even remember the playbook.”

“He’s learning.”

“Yeah, and I’m being taken for granted.”

“They’re holding onto you as a failsafe in case Ramsey collapses completely.”

Some of the fight fades from his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly. It’s bullshit.”

“It is. It’s also how it’s done,” I remind him bluntly. “It’s how it’s going to happen to me someday too. One day my run times will slip and my dexterity will fall off, and they’ll draft a rook to take my place. And they’ll ask me to train him. It’ll happen to me, it’ll happen to Avery. It’ll happen to Domata, and someday it will even happen to Ramsey.”

“And today it’s happening to me,” he growls.

“Yep. You’re nothing special. None of us are.”

“Jesus, Matthews, this is the most depressing pep talk I’ve ever heard. I’m gonna go slit my wrists after this.”

I lean forward on my elbows. “No, you won’t and no, it’s not. I’m not trying to cheer you up. You don’t want cheering up. You don’t need it. You need to face the fact that your career with the Kodiaks is ending. Nothing in the world can change that. Even if Ramsey shit himself on the field tomorrow, they’d trade him off for someone else. They’re not coming back to you, and I don’t know why, but I think you do. And that’s what pisses you off more than anything.”

He licks his lips, pinching them tightly between his teeth until they leach their color. Until their pale and lifeless. He releases them on a burst of air, looking away. “I can’t remember shit sometimes. People tell me something and I can’t hold onto it. I forget almost as soon as they said it.” He taps his temple with his finger. “It’s the hits. I keep taking ‘em and every time I do I lose a little piece of my brain. I had two concussions last year and Coach started asking questions. He and Luxe are watching me close. Too close. They know what’s up.”

“It’s in your med files, isn’t it?”

“Luxe started recording it this year. Memory loss. It’s a death sentence. No team worth anything will ever pick me up when the Kodiaks drop me.” He laughs unhappily, the sound biting. “I’m done. I’ll be lucky to make it through the season.”

I look down at my hands. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t be. That’s what I don’t want. People feeling sorry for me.”

“Okay.”

Tyus pauses, considering his words carefully. “What would you do? If it were you sitting here, what would you do? Would you ride out the season from the sidelines?”

I look up at him, spreading my hands helplessly. “I don’t know. I don’t think you can know until it happens to you.”

“We might win the Super Bowl this year. I could get a ring and quit, but I wouldn’t feel like I earned it, you know? I won’t play in the game. I’ll barely see the field on the way there. It won’t mean shit to me.”

“I get that.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, swiping his hand across his mouth. “I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this.”

I nod, unable and unwilling to find words to make it better for him. It’s a raw deal, one of the ugliest parts of our careers, and I would be belittling the importance of it by trying to console him. It’s not what I would want and I know it’s not what he wants either. All I can do is sit with him, nod my head, and agree that it’s fucking unbelievable.

But it doesn’t make it any less real.

“You want to catch a cab back to the hotel together?” I ask him.

“Nah, I’m gonna stay a little longer. I want everyone to be asleep when I get back.”

“You’re rooming with Avery?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know about the concussions?”

“Probably, but he doesn’t say it. He’s probably waiting for me to bring it up.”

“But you won’t.”

“Would you?”

I don’t answer because I don’t know. A year ago, I’d say no. I would keep it to myself. I’d hide it from everyone. I’d internalize it along with everything else in my life that was a boiling hot mess and I’d suffer in silence because that’s how I thought it was done. Now, though, I wonder what I’d do. Would I bury it or would I tell Harper? Would I trust her with that truth? I don’t know, but I know I’d want to.

“You should tell Colt,” I hear myself say to Tyus. “You shouldn’t go through it alone and you know you can trust him. I would tell him.”

He barks a laugh. “For real? You of all people would tell someone?”

“If there was someone I knew I could trust, yeah. I’d tell them.”

“There’s nothing he can do about it.”

“You’re not asking him to fix your problems,” I remind him as I grab my bag, lifting it back onto my shoulder. “You’re telling him so you’re not alone. Being alone sucks. Believe me.” I clap him on the shoulder, heading for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell Colt. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, you too.” He waits until I’m at the door to call out after me. “Hey, Matthews! You didn’t tell me what you’re still doing here?”

“I wanted to get off in the shower without an audience.”

He laughs. “For real?”

“Yeah,” I answer honestly, thinking how hollow the half-truth sounds. “For real.”