Game On (10 page)

Mrs. Fox asked innocently, “What are two-a-days?”

“Mother, that's when the team practices twice a day,” answered Samantha.

Mr. Fox jumped in, “Congratulations, son. There's nothing sweeter than success. While you guys were on the way up I was explaining to my wife that with you on board the Tigers have a legitimate shot at a championship this season.”

Samantha just sat there and watched how her starstruck dad was acting, the big goofy smile on his face as if he was sitting on Santa's lap and whispering his Christmas morning wishes into the ear of the white-bearded one. Her old man was worth at least $3 million and could easily hold a suite for every ball game at Comerica Park. But here he was behaving worse than a giddy teenage girl backstage at a Drake concert.

Sean said, “We have Oakland this Saturday in the first round of the playoffs. Should be a tough one.” He squinted at Mr. Fox. “Say, how would you and Mrs. Fox like a suite at Comerica Park to see the first game this Saturday? You can bring anybody you want.”

Samantha just shook her head. The look on her mother's face was priceless. Ever since she was a little girl Samantha's parents had always conferred with each other before making plans, but something was telling her that that wasn't going to be the case here.

Mr. Fox didn't even consider his wife when he said, “It'll be our pleasure.”

“Maybe after the game, you can come into the locker room and meet some of the guys,” Sean said to Mr. Fox.

Samantha was looking for a reaction from her mother. And there it was—the pursed lips, the gradual flaring of the nostrils. Mrs. Fox looked like she was about to go there with her husband when a sweet young waitress walked up just in time. The girl took their drink order and walked away, barely able to resist a backward glance at Sean Desmond.

Samantha had forgotten that her iPhone was on vibrate. She almost jumped out of her socks when it buzzed inside her right pocket. Tension stuck in her throat at the possibility that Xavier might be trying to contact her. Rats. It was Jennifer. Samantha sent the call to voice mail, trying not to let disappointment register on her face. But it was too late.

“Baby girl,” Mr. Fox said, “why the long face?”

Samantha stared at Sean. He absently looked the other way, which made her even more suspicious.

“Samantha, honey,” her mother said. “What's the matter, pumpkin?”

Samantha came right out with it. “Someone shot Xavier a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my God,” Mrs. Fox blurted out, with both hands up to her mouth.

“I hate to see anybody hurt, but I would be remiss if I didn't say that I saw it coming,” Mr. Fox said.

Mrs. Fox said to her husband, “Fitzgerald, how could you be so cruel.”

The waitress was back and placing drinks before her guests. White wine for Mrs. Fox, gin and tonic for Mr. Fox—Samantha had ordered sweet tea, and before Sean, the waitress set down a glass of water.

Mrs. Fox, due to the bad news that had been dropped, immediately took a sip of her beverage. She waited until the waitress collected all of their food orders and walked away. “Samantha, sweetie, how bad is it?”

“I really don't know, Mother. I can't get in touch with him to find out.”

Her mother asked, “What about social media?”

“Xavier doesn't do social media.”

Samantha couldn't miss Sean's lackluster reaction to Xavier's injury. The healthy yawn just about summed up his interests.

Mr. Fox wet his whistle with a sip from his drink. “Sweetheart,” he said to his wife, “Xavier was born and bred to be violent.”

“Daddy, not now. Not the psychological babble.”

“Fitzgerald, please,” Mrs. Fox said.

Mr. Fox persisted, “His mother has violent tendencies. Case in point: The ruckus her and her loser boyfriend caused almost two years ago. Xavier inherited her unstable behavior, probably what led to him being shot.”

“Daddy, no disrespect, but that's silly. Xavier has been on the honor roll ever since I met him our sophomore year. He has his ways, but so does everybody else. He's done a lot of good at Coleman.”

Mr. Fox argued, “You said yourself that his father had gone to jail for selling drugs. Samantha, Xavier might be intelligent, but somehow, some way, heredity is going to tap him on the shoulder, and I guarantee you the boy will get himself sent to prison for a violent crime.”

Sean finally spoke up. “Mr. Fox, may I?”

Samantha's father extended his right hand. “By all means, son, you are a part of this discussion. I believe you have a testimony that's lodged in humble beginnings. Please share with us.”

“I didn't have my father around,” said Sean. “But unlike most kids without a male in the home, I invested my time with constructive activities, like the Boys and Girls Club. My mother struggled to raise me. So I felt obliged to help her by working hard. I would pay my dues, practice fundamentals, and listen to coaches. It all paid off and now I'm able to purchase my mother the home of her dreams.”

Mr. Fox sat back, smiling, showing off a full set of healthy pearly whites, like Sean Desmond was the son he'd always wanted. “Sean has just eloquently proven my case. We know his mother, and she is not a violent person. Just look at how her son turned out.”

Mrs. Fox couldn't do anything but shake her head at her husband.

“Daddy, there's no talking to you.”

Sean stepped up his game. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box.

Samantha's heart sped up. Her mother's eyes widened and Mr. Fox smiled even harder.

Samantha was hoping and praying that the boy wasn't getting ready to play himself. If he was, Sean was in for an embarrassing reaction. Marriage was nowhere in her immediate future.

When he opened the box Samantha was able to breathe a sigh of relief. The diamond studded earrings might've been the size of ice cubes, with a blinding sparkle that played out underneath low house lights, but at least it wasn't an engagement ring.

Sean said to Samantha, “Baby, I want you to have these. Samantha, I can't see my future without you.”

Samantha said, “Aww, Sean, they are really beautiful. But I can't take them.”

The outburst came out of nowhere. “You can and you will,” Sean said, almost in a growl. His forceful behavior took everybody at the table by surprise. He quickly cleaned up his act as he looked at her parents' baffled faces. “I mean, Samantha, I really want you to have these. Please don't hurt my feelings by not accepting them.”

Mr. Fox seemed to have ignored the tone and Sean's voice. He said to his daughter, “Samantha, baby girl, those are gorgeous. I'm sure Sean paid a lot of money for them.”

Mrs. Fox cut her eyes at Sean and then back to Samantha. She noticed her daughter's uneasiness. “Fitzgerald, the money isn't the issue. I think your daughter is grown enough to make that decision.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Fox. “I think it's a very nice gesture, and once someone gives you something, you take it and say thank you.”

The salads saved the day. The waitress was back with two clean-cut gentlemen dressed in khakis, donning aprons.

Samantha didn't have the energy to go there with her father. So she stayed quiet and allowed the servers to serve them. The one thing that was on her mind—other than the tone Sean had used—was Xavier.

13

XAVIER

 

T
he pain medication had Xavier feeling woozy and his body numb, like he'd gone on a forty-ounce malt-liquor-drinking bender. He was resting comfortably on his bed with his eyes closed, the door closed, the shade drawn, and the lights out. The room was in complete darkness.

The entire night kept playing over and over in Xavier's mind like those old grainy black-and-white gangster films he'd seen a time or two on the TCM channel.

Gangsta rappers,
Xavier thought. A bunch of suckas. It took him getting shot to bring the understanding that most of those fools were a bunch of lying phonies, with some claiming that taking a bullet bumped up street cred. A few had even gone on record boasting that they were hard to kill after having survived an attack, their lyrical content rich with much respect for those homies in the game who'd gone out and gotten themselves blasted for doing something stupid. Had kids all jacked up thinking that the only way to be a tough guy was to catch a hot one.

Xavier knew better, though. Those studio gangstas were just blowing hot garbage. The only thing that getting shot in the right shoulder had proved to him was that the junk hurt like hell. He'd never had his fingernails ripped out with a pair of pliers at the hands of some sick psychopath before, but it had to feel better than his current situation. The pain meds were the only thing that made it tolerable. He had to watch his pill consumption. The boy had seen far too many of his fellow students strung out on painkillers.

Thanks to the exploding air bag, the only thing he could remember from the night of the shooting was coming to in the recovery room, gazing up at his father and the attending surgeon. First thing out of their mouths was how lucky he'd been. But at no time had he remembered
luck
being associated with a hole in the shoulder. The bullet had hit the clavicle and fragmented, shattering the bone. The surgical team had done all they could, but pieces of the slug remained lodged deep inside the bone. The surgeon warned that trying to remove the tiny shrapnel would've caused extensive damage. Postsurgical x-rays had revealed the fragments. He'd spent that Saturday in the hospital and was released Sunday. It had been seventeen days since the shooting. He'd turned off his cell phone and tossed the device in the bottom drawer of his chest. Xavier was so confused that he didn't know who to trust. Until he could sort this matter out, dude didn't want any contact with the outside world, period!

“Ahem.” Xavier could hear the sound of somebody clearing their throat and see light through his closed eyelids.

He slowly opened his eyes and saw his kid brother standing in silhouette with the door open. Xavier's good hand shaded his eyes from the bright hallway light that flooded his dark domain. Alfonso didn't look too concerned about his brother's well-being, just a stupid little look on his face.

He pointed to Xavier's wounded shoulder. “Does that hurt?”

Xavier was grouchy and wasn't in the mood. “Naw, it feels like a day at Cedar Point amusement park—Alfonso, what do you want?”

“My friend Keisha who's in my class said her brother got shot in the leg two months ago. He was supposed to be some big tough guy, but Keisha said he was nothing but a wimp that cried tears the whole time.”

“Alfonso, I promise you that I won't cry tears the whole time.”

“How long do you have to keep that thing on your arm?”

“Alfonso, it's called a sling, and I'll be wearing it until I heal up.”

Alfonso paused for a moment. “Is that true that you could've been dead?”

“Alfonso, I'm not dead.”

“But you could have been.”

Xavier was trying to be patient with his little brother.

“Dad said that you been locked up in your room since it happened because you don't want anybody to look at your face.”

The kid had a point. The air bag had done a number on Xavier's mug—two swollen black eyes, a severely bruised nose, and minor cuts and scrapes had left him looking like he'd been dragged into a dark alley and worked over by a two-by-four-wielding steroid freak of a bodybuilder. There was no way Xavier was leaving his bedroom, not with a face that looked like a slice of week-old pizza.

“Well, Pop says a lot about everything,” Xavier said dryly.

“Dad's friend really wanted to meet you.”

Xavier thought about it for a second. His dad did have some female company over yesterday, a smoker. Even behind the closed bedroom door the fumes were recognizable. The two had been carrying on, laughing and joking like they'd been cozy with one another for years. But his dad had been cooling his heels in the slammer for almost a decade, so she had to have been some new chick. Her high, raspy voice was irritating and her laugh was loud. The lady had wanted to meet Xavier. But the loud-laughing heffa must've been smoking catnip if she thought that he would make her acquaintance with his grill looking like mashed up raw hamburger.

Xavier grunted from the pain and asked, “Alfonso, who is this lady?”

Alfonso said, “Roxanne—Roxanne Hudson. She works with Daddy at his job.”

His old man must've been serious about her, because he was a die-hard Christian and didn't go for any of that smoking jazz in his crib. But the way that those smoke fumes had been seeping through the cracks of his bedroom door left Xavier to believe Roxanne was a chain smoker.

“I don't like her,” Alfonso admitted.

Xavier didn't engage. Sometimes his baby brother didn't need a response from him in order to continue his thought.

“Roxanne looks sneaky. Besides, she smoked too much.”

Xavier moved around, holding his slinged arm, grunting.

“You're lucky,” Alfonso said out of nowhere.

Lucky—there goes that word again,
Xavier thought. The next person who mentioned it would have their spine ripped out of their nostrils by Xavier's one good hand.

He adjusted the sling and slowly rolled more to the right. “Why am I lucky, Alfonso?”

The boy wasted no time with the response. “Because you don't have to go to school until you get better. Maybe I should get shot.”

“Alfonso, get your little self out of my room and close the door behind you.”

After the door closed Xavier was back in the dark. Just like his relationship with Samantha. He hadn't thought about her much. Last time he'd peeped her, she was real cozy with that rat-face rookie Sean Desmond. But that was before all the drama went down and Linus instigated that fight.

Something was going to have to be done about Linus, though. Homeboy was unraveling at a rapid rate. That drama at the skating rink could've easily been avoided if the boy had been in a sober mind.

A rap on the door killed Xavier's thought. He had never laid a glove on his little brother before, but if that was Alfonso, his little behind was about to be pushed in the closet and locked in.

Before Xavier could say anything, the door opened, but this time the bedroom lights washed over his face. And just when he was about ready to go the hell off on Alfonso—

“Ooh-wee,” said Billy. “That air bag put a lickin' on you, youngster. You look like a raccoon about the face.”

Xavier winced as pain ripped through his shoulder. “Now tell me how you really feel.”

The old man smiled softly, walking in and wheeling Xavier's desk chair to the side of the bed. He didn't exactly know if the pain meds had him delirious, but Billy's face looked different.

Xavier wasn't feeling like company, especially not in his present condition. But there was no way that he was going to tell Billy to bounce. Xavier would not have gotten as far as he had if Billy hadn't had his back.

Xavier groaned in pain as he tried to adjust his pillow with his right hand to sit up a bit. He said, “What's up with all the facial hair, geezer? What are you, hiding out in witness protection?”

Billy smiled and said, “Let me help you with that, squid bait.”

“I got it, Gramps. Not helpless, you know.”

Despite Xavier's protest, Billy helped him anyway.

“Now you want to tell me why you're looking like Rick Ross's grandpappy?”

“Woman trouble,” was all Billy said. He took a seat, laughing. “Now tell me what in the Sam Hill happened to your face and shoulder.” Billy was sporting a new look. Because of his military background Billy's hair was always high and tight. Always been clean shaven. But now tangled gray facial hair had overgrown the black strands, stretching down both jaws and hanging two inches off the chin. He was wearing his favorite hospital scrubs, some type of camouflage shirt, and combat boots laced up to the top.

Xavier grunted as he attempted to raise his torso to scoot himself up. “Don't know where to start.”

“Try the part where you get shot.”

“You want the CliffsNotes version?”

“Whatever you're comfortable with.”

“Somebody shot me.”

“I see you want to be a knucklehead. Who do you think shot you?”

All of Xavier's past good deeds at the school hadn't exactly earned him any nominations for the “best classmate of the year” award amongst the scumbags at Coleman. His past efforts to rid the campus of gangs, dope boys, and grimy thieves had left him a marked man. He'd pissed off a lot of folks. Stepped on a lot of toes—his old boss Slick Eddie and former BFF Romello included. Mix in Sean Desmond and his clowns, and the line of colorful characters waiting to whack him ran longer than the ones at Best Buy stores on the eve of the release of the new iPhone.

“Don't know. Had to get my
Fast and Furious
Vin Diesel on to keep hot lead out of my butt.”

Billy looked the kid over. “Didn't appear to work, did it?”

Xavier grunted as he adjusted the sling. “You got jokes.”

“Carjacking?”

“Got shot before I could ask the dude.”

“Who has the jokes now?” Billy asked, scratching his hairy chin. “What do the police think?

“Dude just rolled up and started cappin'.” Xavier shifted his gaze out of the bedroom window. “The police—those jokers think it was random.”

He could lie to Billy easily. But the truth wasn't that easy for him to forget. Xavier knew damn well that the shooter could be linked to any one of his enemies. Yeah, the police had questioned him the moment he was released from the hospital. There was absolutely nothing he could tell five-o. He hadn't laid eyes on his assailant.

Besides, he still hadn't told his dad or Billy all the details about his fascinating little Coleman High criminal history—joining forces with one of the coldest gangs in the city, stealing cars to support his family, being shot at by rivals, brushes with the law, near-death experiences, almost becoming a baby daddy, being stalked by a deranged jump-off, not to mention his number of school and street fights that read like the rough-and-tumble makings of a highly decorated championship prize fighter.

“The next thing I remember was waking up in recovery,” said Xavier.

“All I can say, youngster, was Jesus must've been sitting in your passenger seat. Do you know how lucky you were that the guy didn't get out of his car to make sure the job was done after you wrecked and were knocked unconscious by the air bag?”

Xavier smirked.

“What's so funny?”

“Folks have been telling me how lucky I am, so I said to myself the next person that utters the word, I would take my one good hand and rip their spinal column out through their nostrils.”

Billy grinned, fumbling around in the right pocket of his scrubs. “My switchblade says you won't. You little gremlin, don't think because you took a bullet that you're man enough to whup up on me. You youngsters better stop listening and believing those stank rappers.”

Xavier winced in pain as he situated himself. “And you old geezers better stop believing that y'all can live at home by yourselves without a Life Alert bracelet.”

Billy laughed. “That was a good one. So I guess you can launch your rap career now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know how those rap artists get shot and go triple platinum. Better get started, you already got the bullet wound. All you need now is a record deal and tattoos.”

“Whatever, old goat.”

“So how's your car?”

“Totaled—thank God.”

“Why? Didn't you want it?”

“I can't drive something the rest of my senior year that I almost got smoked in.”

“Good point.”

Xavier asked, “Now you know all of my business. Tell me what's up with the whiskers.”

“New beginning. My baby mama left me. Now she's petitioning Wayne County Friend of the Court for a large sum of child support money.”

“You have to kick out the cheese for making an old man baby.” Xavier laughed a little. “You still didn't tell me why you're walking around here looking like you're about to audition for that reality show
Whisker Wars
.”

“Would you get off my whiskers, please? I forgot to shave.”

“Forgot to shave for how long? Two years?”

Billy rose up from the chair. “You just make sure you don't get shot any more before you graduate. Stay out of trouble, you young punk.”

“And you make sure to be careful and chew denture-friendly gum with those fake choppers of yours, you two-hundred-year-old walking mummy.”

Billy laughed good-naturedly. “Seriously, youngster. Take care of yourself. Be careful. And if you need me, just hit me up, you feel me?”