Fallacy (Apprehensive Duet Book 1) (14 page)

Alex has always been the one to be there for me when I have a bad day. And there have been plenty of them. It's one of the things I like most about Alex. He’s not like most guys who don’t want to talk to you when you’re in a shitty mood. They run at the first mention of PMS. And forget shark week.

Not Alex, though. He wants to make my days better; he even asks if I want ice cream when I’m cranky. It's rare he needs some support. I’d like to be the one to hold him up for a bit.

I place an order for Alex’s favorite pizza, mushroom and pepperoni, as I make my way to the liquor store, and then I’ll stop to pick it up before heading to Alex’s. I don’t want to have it delivered and make it there before me.

After making all the stops, I head inside Alex’s brick apartment building and head toward the stairs. The elevator in this building is old as hell and slower than my grandmother. Alex only lives on the third floor, so I don’t bother with the elevator.

I knock and try the door when I get to his apartment. He doesn’t always lock his door when he’s home. Finding the door open, I head inside and call out, “Hey, babe. I come bearing gifts.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, coming out of his bedroom, a towel around his waist and a shocked look on his face.

Closing the door behind me, I smile. “You sounded like you needed a friend tonight.” I lift up the box in my hand as an offering.

A genuine smile now replaces the look of surprise, and he charges forward and pulls me into his arms to kiss me. “That was very sweet of you, angel. I could use a slice of pizza and a beer right now.”

“Put some clothes on then or no eating will get done,” I smirk at him glancing down at his towel.

“Eating would get done, just not of the food,” he chuckles as he turns and heads back into his bedroom.

Heading for the kitchen, I place the pizza and case of beer on the counter. I open the cabinets to grab some plates and pull two beers from the twelve-pack I brought and reach for the bottle opener magnet Alex keeps on his refrigerator.

Just as I’m grabbing the plates of pizza to head into the living room, Alex joins me in the kitchen. “Can you grab our beers?” I ask as I pass him.

“Sure.”

We sit on the couch not talking, just eating our pizza and drinking beer. I can tell just by looking at him something is still bothering him. I’ll give him until he’s finished his first slice before I ask. I want to give him a little time to unwind in his own space before asking him to talk.

I watch as he finishes his beer and then the rest of his pizza. “Hey, what’s going on?” I ask softly, placing my hand on his arm.

“What?” he asks, shaking his head as if to expel the haze he was just in. “I’m sorry. Nothing. It’s just been a bad day.”

“Hey,” I say as I lean forward to place my plate on the coffee table. I turn my body toward his and scoot a little closer to him. “Something’s bothering you. Talk to me about it.”

Sighing, he softly tells me, “I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.”

“Alex,” I rebuke. “You don't weigh me down by talking to me. That’s what I’m here for. You’re always there listening to me and all my problems; why can’t I do the same for you? I want to be the one you lean on for once.”

I shock myself when the words leave my mouth in the form a plea. I think I shock Alex too. A small smile flickers over his lips before he starts talking.

“One of our rookies has a high-ankle sprain and he refuses to listen to us. He's completely reckless.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. I think football, in general, is pretty wild. You’re willingly playing a game when your body is getting banged up constantly.

“He’s on a mission to break the rookie receiving record. This kid’s amazing. I mean, he’s really fucking good. He’s always doing the impossible. One-handed catches, breaking tackles, laying out for passes no one else will. He and Tanner are leading the league in touchdown completions. Last week, he was rolled up in a tackle and that’s how he got hurt. We all told him he needs to take it easy for the next few weeks and let it heal up, but he doesn’t seem to care. He jumped for a ball today in the end-zone when he should’ve let it go.” He shakes his head as if he’s replaying it in his mind. “It was high and thrown into double coverage. He wanted the touchdown. He doesn’t seem to understand that trying to make those plays when the team doesn’t really need them is going to get him hurt. He’s lucky neither of the defenders rolled his ankle again.”

He sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees and hangs his head in his hands. “It’s just so frustrating. He’s only thinking about himself instead of the team. He thinks he's invincible. We need him for the entire season, not just the first half.”

“What’s the deal with the record?” I ask. “Is there a bonus for it or something?”

Straightening, he nods. “There’s most likely a clause in his contract about bonuses for his performance, but when I asked him why he was pushing it so much he said he needed to prove himself to his dad.”

“His dad?” I question. “What does his dad have anything to with breaking some record?”

“The gist of it is his dad told him he wasn’t good enough. He’s broken a lot of records. He said when he broke the state high school receiving TD record, his dad said it was only high school and he wouldn’t be able to do it in college. When he broke the college record, his father said he wouldn’t get that far in the pros. So now he’s pushing himself to prove to his dad that he can make it in the pros. But he doesn’t need to prove anything. He’s all everyone talks about. He’s on the highlight reels every week for amazing plays.”

Boy, can I relate to this kid.

“Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how many people think you’re great when the one person you want to think it tears you down with every achievement.” I explain to Alex.

He shakes his head in disagreement. “He’s a twenty-two-year-old man. Why does it matter to him if his dad doesn’t think it’s good enough when he’s already proven he is? It’s not worth getting seriously injured for.”

“I think you’re frustrated because you don’t understand the dynamic of a parent relationship like his,” I offer. “When someone is constantly telling you that you’re doing something wrong or not giving enough, it can consume you. All you want to do is show that person you can do it and more.”

“Speaking from experience?” he raises an eyebrow at me.

“I am,” I nod. “You know all about my dad. He’s been doing it to me for years. Nothing anyone can say to me will matter until the day I prove to him I’m worth way more than he gives me credit for.”

“So what are you getting at here?”

“You aren’t going to be able to get him to alter his frame of mind when it comes to this issue with his dad. Just give him the tools to try and keep his ankle in the best shape it can be. You telling him he can’t do it is just like his dad saying it…”

“But I’m not saying he can’t do it,” he interrupts.

“You’re telling him to take it easy. To him that’s failing,” I stress as I grab his hand, pulling all his focus to me. “I think you just need to give him the best preventive course of action, but don’t tell him not to work for it. You’re reminding him of all the times his dad put him down, and it’s going to make him push himself harder.”

“I guess that makes sense,” he admits.

“Trust me,” I tell him. “Supporting him getting to his goal will do him worlds more than trying to hold him back. Maybe making some changes to cater to his limitation is a better idea.”

“Okay, angel,” he concedes. “I’ll try it your way. I’ll have a talk with him and make some suggestions to the coaching staff.”

Alex grabs his phone and starts texting. I assume to his colleagues so I go to grab us each another beer and slice of pizza. When I rejoin him on the couch, he takes his beer and pizza with a smile.

“Thank you. It’s hard for me to understand that level of pressure. My mom wasn’t like that.”

“You’re welcome.” Something’s bothering me, though. “Why did you tell me you didn’t want to unload your problems on me?” I ask.

“I didn’t want to push my crap on you. I was already frustrated, and not in the best of moods. I guess I didn’t want to take any of it out on you,” he says sheepishly.

“You don’t need to do that. How many times have I unloaded on you? I want you to talk to me. I want to be able to help you like you help me. Please don’t ever feel like you can’t lean on me. I’m stronger than you think,” I smile at him. I’m surprised how easily I was able to share those feelings with him. When he didn’t initially tell me what was wrong, I was slightly insulted. Things like that make me suspicious, and I don’t want to be that person with Alex. Things are good. This is working wonderfully. I don’t want to start having reasons to be doubtful.

“Okay, next time I’ll tell you what’s bothering me,” he smiles at me brightly. I can tell from the expression on his face he’s enjoying my need to have him express his problems. “Tell me about your weekend?”

I relay my findings to Alex, finally glad to be able to share my excitement with someone.

“That’s great,” he grins. “Hopefully, your dad listens this time. I bet this will help with the promotion too.”

“We’ll see. I’m sure he’ll find some way to fuck this up for me.” He always does. No matter what I do, it’s never right.

Quinn

“I CAN’T BELIEVE he fucking did that!” I yell as I pace the length of my living room.

My father announced the launch date of BioMeds new stem cell therapy today in a meeting. Not only did he announce the launch date of my project, but he took full fucking credit for the discovery. It was my fucking project! I’ve been working with them for two months.

I should’ve expected him to do something like this. He was way too eager to agree to fund the project. He was too interested in all the details. His interest went way past the usual progress reports.

He played a good game. Making sure I was too shocked by the “good jobs” he kept giving me to notice he was slithering in to strike. I thought his interest was because he was finally accepting I know what I’m doing, and he was getting ready to move me up. How could I fall for the diversion?

“I’m so sorry, angel,” Alex says as he walks up to me and wraps his arms around me, stopping my pacing. “Is there anything you can do?”

“I’ve been working on this project for two months! Two months of hard work and he didn’t even have the nerve to give me a little credit. He just took it for himself.” I continue to rant. “And now I have to go to the fucking company Christmas party tonight and listen to everyone congratulate him.”

“Why don’t you let me come with you?” he offers with a smile.

“No, that’s not a good idea,” I decline. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

“Why not?” he asks. A hard look appears on his face, his eyes narrow and go dark. The muscles in his jaw are flinching and he grits his teeth. He looks offended.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but my father is just going to use you against me,” I explain, trying not to insult him. “You don’t make seven figures a year. He’s just going to tell me I’m wasting my time. He’s going to be a complete asshole to you, and after the day I’ve had, I just don’t have much more fight left in me.”

“I’m not going to seek your father’s approval, Quinn,” he fires back angrily. He takes a step back putting some distance between us. “I’m going for you. I know your father’s an asshole. I also know he’s waiting for you to fuck up. Do you think it’s a coincidence he did this today knowing you’d be forced to listen to everyone talking about it tonight? He’s waiting for you to do something stupid.”

He acts like I don’t know all of this already. “What does any of this have to do with you coming and me having to listen to him pick you apart tonight?”

“It’s not going to the party, Quinn. It’s about wanting to support you. It’s me wanting to be there for my girl when she needs me. I can make tonight a little easier for you but you don’t want that. You don’t want my support outside the walls of our homes,” he barks exasperated.

“What’s your problem?” I ask aggravated. “Why are you making this about you? I’m trying to spare you a night of being degraded by a douchebag.”