Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (61 page)

“
A psychopathic asshole loser?”

“
Um.”

Carson claps me on the shoulder. “Just wanted to say. There’s worse things. I turned out okay. You did too. C’mon.”

I follow him into the locker room in sort of a daze. Are all families fucked up and I just never noticed? I mean, my dad knocked the wind out of me a bunch of times, tackled me pretty rough, but never sent me to the hospital. Maybe he’s an asshole, but he did always look out for his family.

By this point, I’m getting good at shoving personal issues aside to play football. This Hellentown game is critical to us, and I know it. Nothing I do or say this afternoon is going to affect what my father thinks, anyway. I might as well do my drills, show the coaches that my ribs are all better, or at least up to scratch to play. They still hurt, but not enough to stop me doing what I need to.

We have a good practice, a really good one. Wednesday, too. I talk to Lee both nights, but each time, I hear the mirror of myself after my father walked out on me. I keep asking him to come down and visit, because I feel so powerless across the phone line. He keeps saying no, that he’s doing stuff with Morty about looking for a job. And because it’s Lee, I’m worried that he’ll do something dangerous just out of boredom.

On Thursday, all my fears come true when he calls me from the road. As I listen, I stand up and start pacing the room. I’m waving my arms even though he can’t see me. I have to say, it’s good to hear him talking with determination rather than depression, but I wish he’d picked something, anything else to be determined about. The thought of him standing up to my dad in person makes me uneasy enough. Him doing it without me there to drive him to the hospital afterward freaks me out. I plead, I beg, I order, until he pulls out the unfair question of whether I trust him.

I can’t say no, not after our last fight. That’s got nothing to do with the fact that I don’t know what my father will do to him. I believe that breaking his paw wasn’t intentional. Not that first time. I don’t know whether it will be the next time.

I call my parents, but they don’t pick up, and I can’t think of what to say in a voice mail. But I don’t sleep well that night. The memory of Lee’s eyes, dopey on pain meds, swims in my head. I smell the bitter antiseptic of the hospital. I hear my father’s cold voice. When it’s finally time to get up, I feel like I haven’t slept.

On the way in to practice Friday morning, I call my dad’s work number. He doesn’t answer. I remember that we’re an hour ahead of him, and I curse loud enough that Charm asks me if I’m talking to my agent. How do I tell my teammates that I’m stressing out because my boyfriend is going to visit my possibly prone-to-violence father?

The answer: I don’t. I wait until an hour into practice. We finish one set of drills and I ask Steez if I can run out for five minutes. He looks skeptical, but I tell him I need to make a quick call to get my head back in the game. He narrows his eyes and nods, tail lashing. “Go, go.”

“
I’ll be fast,” I promise.

It’s a good thing I promised that, because if I had time to think, I probably would. I’m not thinking about myself as I hit the numbers. I’m seeing Lee’s muzzle again, hearing the defiance in his voice from last night. I press the phone to my ear and try to calm my breathing.

“
Lakeside Auto.”

“
Dad, listen, it’s me. I need to tell you—”

His voice cuts across mine. “I have nothing to say to you on the phone.”

“
Lee’s coming up there to see you.”

I rush out the words, afraid he’ll hang up. For a moment, I think maybe he did. “Dad?”

“
You sent him in your place?”

“
What?” I stare out of the locker room at the field. “I didn’t
send
him there.”

“
You didn’t stop him. Isn’t he supposed to be yours?” His voice carries a bit of a sneer.

“
He’s not—it doesn’t work that way. He’s coming up because of that phone call you made to the Dragons.”

“
Heh.” The half-laugh sounds sinister. “So he wants a fight. I will put him in his place and send him on his way.”

“
Lion Christ, Dad!”

“
Or should I say on
her
way? Is that how he likes you to talk?”

I can’t believe this conversation. It’s like I’m in some kind of fucked-up fantasy world. “Just don’t talk to him!”

“
You’re not the son I thought you were. Didn’t I teach you to face your issues yourself?”

“
I tried—”

“
This is why you’re weak. If you could stand up for yourself, you wouldn’t be in this so-called relationship.”

“
I—I
choose
to be in this relationship, and if you can’t understand that, then we don’t have anything to talk about.”

I hear him talking to someone else in the room. “What?” He returns to the phone. “Well, your fox is here.”

“
Don’t touch him!” I yell.

“
Good-bye.” He hangs up.

Both tigers clomp down the stairs, their paces measured, growing louder as they descend. I watch the doorway, tail flicking, ears straining for any clues to their mood. Neither of them says anything on the way down. Ivan comes out first, giving me a look as if to make sure I haven’t stolen anything. He steps to one side, letting Mikhail out into the garage.

He’s as big as I remember. Almost as tall as Dev, broad-shouldered, tail lashing behind him. He wears a denim shirt with his name in an oval patch on it, denim pants, and a half-smirk that widens as he looks down at me. Upstairs, a phone rings. He flicks an ear to it, but doesn’t look away from me.

I straighten. He stands in the doorway. We measure each other, and then he crooks a finger, points beyond the car that’s up on the lift. I nod, and follow him around to that side of the garage. I try not to shiver, though my fur is prickling.

On the other side of the car, the space in the garage is smaller, boxes of tires confining us to a space where we could both walk abreast for eight or nine paces. We stand about three apart. I can’t smell his attitude over the thick rubber of the tires, the oil and grease of the garage. He folds his arms; I do the same. Then I remember that I’m trying to be conciliatory and I lower my arms to my sides, hooking thumbs into my pockets.

His eyes flick down to my bandaged paw. They remain impassive. He doesn’t throw me out of the garage, so I jump right into it. “I came up here to apologize,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow, focused back on me. Here goes: my big idea for making things right. Faced with the reality of Mikhail, my words catch in my throat, inadequate and embarrassing. I push them out anyway. “For saying things about Dev—about your son. Listen, he’s a real...” This is going to be hard enough to say without me throwing foreign words into it. “He’s strong, he’s all male.”

I don’t know what I expect from him, but it isn’t, “If he were strong, he would be here.”

“
He has a game to prepare for. He didn’t want me to come here, either. But—”

“
I know.” His lips stretch into a grin. “He told me you are disobedient. Tell me, why did you come here?”

“
To tell you, um...” The grin is throwing me off. Also the ‘disobedient.’ I stick to my prepared speech. “That. That you were right. I’m the weak one. So you can still think of him like you always have.”

He paces around me. Behind the car, up on the jacks, Ivan’s long tail distracts me for a moment. He and the bear are standing, otherwise motionless. Then Mikhail speaks again. “It’s Devlin who is weak. He has let you pull him away from his family.”

“
Away...?” I try to control my own tail’s angry curl. “Look, I’m the one trying to get you all back together.”

“
With yourself in the middle of it.”

“
Because,” I say, folding my arms, “I just want Dev to be happy.”

“
Happy. And yet, and yet,” he leans closer as he says this, half-laughing, “you will not do the one thing that would make him happy.”

My idea about what he wanted to hear is crumbling. I feel like I’m hurling myself against a big black-striped brick wall. “That is what I’m trying to do. Right now.”

He waves a paw. “You are trying to keep his fame for yourself. Or his money, perhaps. You foxes always want something.”

“
I don’t need his money.”

“
Ha. Pull the other one.” He shakes his head.

“
Look,” I say, because he’s doing that half-chuckle again, “I’d appreciate it if you would take this seriously. I don’t know what’s funny about it.”

“
It is all funny!” He makes a big, sweeping gesture. “You, you come here to plead for him, as though he cannot plead for himself. You think because you tell me you let him,” he lowers his voice, “
fuck you
,” and it’s back up again, “that I will say, come home, Devlin, all is forgiven? That it will be just like it used to be?” His muzzle wrinkles in a sneer. “I know what you let him do to you, that you are just trying to make me angry when you say it is not so.”

“
You didn’t
know
it until I told you,” I say, my ears flattening. Just like that, my big idea is swept away.

He laughs. “I may not know what you are trying to turn him into, but I know certain things about my son. Go, little fox.” He stands aside and gestures to the open mouth of the garage, where a female wolverine and bear are standing, peering in curiously. “Go back to Hilltown, and if you really want Devlin to be happy, you will not see him, or any of his family, ever again.”

I set my teeth. “That reminds me. I haven’t thanked you for getting me fired.”

His smile dies. I think I see a flicker of uncertainty, and then smug satisfaction masks it. “You had not told the Dragons, I understand. Good.”

“
It’s because of me that they drafted Dev!”

Mikhail’s smile wavers at that, too. Then I hear Ivan murmuring behind the car. Mikhail looks in that direction, then out at the people in front. “That is not true,” he says, loudly.

“
And you say you know your son.” I put some scorn into it.

“
He earned his spot.”

“
Yes!” I jump on that. “Because I got him the chance.” I bite back the rest of what I want to say, that I was the one he was striving to impress because you never showed him any approval, that I motivated him in a way you never could.

He takes a step toward me, blocking more light from the front of the garage. Frantically, I run through my aikido defenses in my head. They feel flimsy against the reality of six feet of muscled tiger staring me down from two feet away. Hold and twist, spin and throw. My heart accelerates.

But Mikhail doesn’t come closer. “Then why,” he says, “did he never tell me any of this?”

“
Because you won’t let him!” The words are out before I can think of something less confrontational. “You put up this—”

He doesn’t let me finish, yelling over me, “Why could he not tell me about this life in person, himself? Why did I have to learn about it on
television?
”

“
It’s your bigotry that makes him have to hide.” I point with my right hand, part of me alert for any attempt he might make to grab it. I can’t afford to lose both paws.

“
He was not like that before he met you. I know how you are. Secrets. Hiding. Deception. No wonder he is ashamed.”

“
He’s not ashamed. You’re the one who should be ashamed, the way you treated him.”

He leans closer. One foot away. “You dare talk to me like this, in my own business? Get out.”

“
I’m not leaving,” I say, despite my body’s efforts to make me obey him, “until you agree to take him back.”

“
I have told him when he can come back. He does not—”

“
I don’t have to come along.” He glares at my interruption, but I keep going. “Just let him come back for the holidays. I’ll stay home.”

He snorts. “And you get your way.”

“
It’s called a compromise.”

“
Yes.” He sneers, showing his impressive fangs. “Compromise is female word for getting what you want later rather than sooner.”

I try to ignore the gender dig. “I’m being honest.”

He sees the tension in my shoulders and arms, and maybe mistakes it. “You should not restrain yourself,” he says. “You want to hit me, don’t you?”

I will my paws to open, to stay flat at my sides. “No.”

“
Of course not. Come all this way just to talk. You...foxes are all talk.” He jabs a paw in my direction, coming within inches of my muzzle. I only flinch a little, jerking back into the car. “When you leave him, Devlin will talk to me himself, the way he used to.”

“
He doesn’t talk to you because you don’t
listen
to him.” I snap the words. “You hear what you want to hear, you tell him he can talk to you and then make homophobic remarks and denigrate his accomplishments. What’s he supposed to say?”

His eyes widen, then narrow. He growls. “I never stopped him from talking. I never—”

I talk over him. “If you really loved him, you’d take him back. With or without me, and you’d work out the details later. I tell you, he loves you. God knows why. You bully him all his life, you doubt his football career, you only support him after he succeeds, and when he finds something that really does make him happy, you try to ruin it for him.”