Wide Open (12 page)

“I’m glad I passed his test.”

I smile fondly. “He would have liked you. He was the strong, silent type too.”

“He’s gone now?”

“Passed away three years ago. He was ninety-two.”

“Good run.”

“Very good. He was a good man.” I hesitate, looking at him sideways as he pulls us out of the garage. Sunlight cuts across his face in a hurried pattern of light and dark that morphs him through moods faster than I can follow. “What about you? Are your grandparents still alive?”

“No.”

I turn straight ahead, accepting the short answer. Accepting that the openness he showed me is closing, cooling in the sheets in Colt’s apartment.

“I only ever knew my grandma on my mom’s side,” he continues quietly. Still, his voice startles me.

“When did she die?”

“My junior year of college. It was sudden.”

“What was it?”

“Cancer.” He glances at me quickly, his own face unreadable. “Your grandpa?”

“Heart failure. My grandma died of a stroke five years ago. Grandpa was never the same after that. I think he was ready to follow her the second she took her last breath.”

Kurtis doesn’t respond, because what is there to say? We’ve gone down a dark path. I don’t regret it but I also wonder how the hell we get off it.

“A firetruck,” I tell him suddenly. “I could see you driving a firetruck. Maybe a moped.”

I’m relieved when he chuckles. “I can’t pull off a moped. I’m not cool enough.”

“You mean you’re not Macklemore enough?”

“I might be. Believe it or not, I can rock a fur coat.”

“I choose
not
to believe that.”

He narrows his eyes, their darkness glinting in the dusky gray light of morning. “You’re not an animal rights activist, are you?”

“What if I am?”

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“Those aren’t the same thing.”

“You’re dodging. If you try to tell me a veggie burger tastes as good as a real burger, I’m making you walk home.”

My stomach turns roughly at the mention of food. “I’m so starving right now I’d eat a bald eagle. Beak and all.”

“I think that’s an unconstitutional act.”

I offer him my hands, wrists pressed together. “Cuff me then because I stand by it.”

He grins, gently pushing my hands down. He keeps hold of one of them, putting it on the gear shift under his own. “Do you want to get breakfast?”

I hesitate. I’m trying to process the fact that he’s holding my hand. I can’t deal with much more than that right now.

“Harper?”

“Yeah,” I blurt out. “If you’re game, I’d definitely eat. I’m so hungry I almost took Lowry up on his Spam offer.”

Kurtis snorts. “I guess that answers my vegetarian question. Spam is at least four types of meat crammed into one.”

“And none of them the good parts.”

“So why does it taste so good?”

“I don’t know, but it does.” My mouth starts to water. “It is so damn good.”

He checks the clock on the dash. “Food trucks should be setting up out by the beach for breakfast soon. I’ve heard Trey talk about a good Hawaiian one. They definitely have Spam.”

“You want to drive all the way out there?”

“Are you worried someone will see us together?”

“No.”

“Do you have somewhere you need to be this morning?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I laugh. “That’s what I’m asking you. You don’t hang out with people, remember? Secrets and lies. That’s how you live.”

“I don’t lie,” he replies seriously. “Not if I can help it.”

“That’s good to know.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you a liar, Harper?”

I look at him, my face straight. My eyes somber. “No. I’m not a liar, Kurtis.”

“Except about this,” he corrects, gesturing between the two of us, releasing my hand.

“I don’t even know what
this
is. Great sex and greasy breakfast?”

“What more could you want?”

I lick my lips, taking his flippant response to heart. “That’s a great question.”

We drive for five minutes in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not exactly warm and fuzzy either. There’s a string between us, one so thin I couldn’t see it until now. Not until it started to pull and wind, tugging at my gut in a way I can’t ignore. It’s that question and the answer it implies.

What more could you want? Because you’ll never get it.

It’s not like I’m trying out wedding gowns in my head and naming our unborn children. I’m not insane. We had one night of hot sex, a night I’d repeat if I’m given the chance, but will I be? Should I be? I know what I want but I also know what’s right. What I need to do rather than what I want to do. I let my heart and my body take over last night, but this morning my mind is in control. It’s awake and it’s unhappy. It’s disappointed in the decisions I’ve made.

“I’m actually not feeling that great,” I tell him quietly. “Will you take me home now?”

Kurtis nods without a word. Without looking at me. He waits for me to tell him which way to turn and when, slowly weaving us through the drowsy streets of L.A. The city, she’s tired after the party. She won’t be waking up for an hour or so. She’s hungover and hell bent on hitting that snooze, no matter how high the sun rises. No matter how hot it gets.

No matter how I beg her to turn back time.

KURTIS

July 19th

Charles Windt Stadium

Los Angeles, CA

It’s too damn hot. We’re supposed to forget it and push through it, but it’s hard to ignore. The sun is beating down on the field, gathering inside the bowl. Baking us like an oven set to broil. The water tanks had to be refilled at least once already. Heat stroke is a real concern, especially for these rookies on the field. A few of them aren’t used to playing in the heat. Some are used to the wrong kind of heat; the humid kind. Most just aren’t ready to play on a pro field at all.

We’re still not allowed to be in full pads yet, and we’re definitely not allowed to touch the rooks. They’re delicate and afraid. Baby fawns still finding out how to use their legs. It makes me wonder why we’re even here with them today. All we get to do is run plays with no contact. It’s boring and pointless. Let them get hit. It will knock the fear right out of them. They’ll get comfortable faster, just as soon as they find out what it’s like. When they know they’ll survive it. It’s how I learned.

Ten feet to my left Tyus stands with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched into his face. He’s watching Josh Ramsey fumble every play, over and over again. He’s stuck standing on the sidelines watching his replacement suck it up, and I know it’s killing him. It’s demeaning. But it’s the game. It’s the system, and if he wants any shot at keeping his spot in spite of this kid, he needs to keep his cool.

I have my doubts about how long that’s going to last.

“I want a shot downfield! Catch them running toward the end zone!”

“You got it, boss.”

I glance over my shoulder, watching Alec and Les run down the sideline behind me. Travis is in tow, taking a slower pace. He nods to me from behind dark sunglasses, his face shining with a thin layer of sweat. I give him a nod back, barely paying attention. I’m looking past him, behind him. Harper is there, her phone in her hand and her eyes on the screen. She’s dressed in a light blue tank top and capri leggings that hug her curves, silhouetting her ass.

“They’ll never make it into the end zone,” I warn her quietly as she passes.

She slows without stopping, studiously staring at her phone. Never at me. “No faith in the new recruits, huh?”

“Have you been watching the same practice I have? What’s there to have faith in?”

“That’s a fucker. I really need that end zone shot.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

She lifts her eyes, surprising me with a grin. “Promises, promises.”

“I never make a promise I can’t deliver on.” I smile as I watch her walk away. “I’ll see you under the goal post.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I smirk smugly, making her laugh. She shakes her head as she looks away and some of that awkwardness we parted with fades. It’s replaced by something else, something stronger. A pull between her body and mine that’s hotter than the sun in the sky above me.

“Is it true?”

I jerk to my right, surprised to find Andreas Castillo, our kicker, standing next to me. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“A village south of Guadalajara.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “You?”

“Jersey.”

“Makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“As much as anything in this world. So is it true?”

I fight the urge to look in Harper’s direction. I refuse to play my hand if I don’t have to. “Is what true?”

“You’re coming out of retirement. You’re rejoining the human race.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Avery. Lowry. Anthony.” Andreas levels me in his dark stare, his bronze skin dry as the desert even in this heat. “They say you’re socializing again.”

I chuckle. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think I’m really coming out of retirement. I went to one party.”

“That’s twice as many as I’ve gone to.”

“You’re not missing much.”

“You’re smart to do it,” he continues. His eyes are on the field. On the play being run. “If you keep to yourself too much people get worried. They intervene and suddenly you’ve got the Chaplain on your ass and people dropping by to make sure you’re still breathing.”

I hesitate, not sure what to say. Earlier in the spring Colt and Trey talked to Coach Allen about Andreas, telling him they were worried what the divorce was doing to him. Macie cheated on Andreas with another guy, got knocked up, and told Dre the baby was his. He was ready to raise it, excited to be a dad for the first time, when suddenly she shifted gears and confessed everything. The baby wasn’t his. She didn’t love him anymore. She wanted a divorce. He moved out, her new boyfriend moved in, and Andreas started slipping down. Where he was going, nobody knew. He wasn’t talking much. He was barely eating. Everyone was watching him out of the corner of their eye, waiting for the guy to implode.

Finally Colt and Trey were worried enough to take action, but I always wondered if they didn’t move too soon. As one recluse to another, I respected Dre’s privacy and his ability to handle his own shit. He seemed down, yeah, but he never worried me. I understand internalizing everything. Sometimes it feels like the only way to deal. Guys like Colt and Trey, they don’t get that. Maybe that makes them healthier than Dre and I. It wouldn’t surprise me.

“That’s pretty much my nightmare,” I commiserate with him.

“Yeah, mine too. They keep telling me to talk to a shrink. Asking if I’m depressed.”

“Are you?”

“No!” he laughs, shaking his head in disgust. “I’m not depressed. I’m Latino. We brood. We feel things deeply, ache like a motherfucker. Like a man. Then we move on and we love even harder.”

“When are you planning on moving on?”

“I already have.”

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. “Really? With who?”

“Annalise. She’s a hairdresser with a fat ass and a sweet smile.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Spread it around, would you? Get ‘em off my back.”

“You got it.”

“How’s it going for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Moving on,” he answers seriously, turning his almond eyes to mine. “You’re doing it. I can see it. You’re moving on from whatever bitch you were crying over three years ago.”

I stop, staring at him blankly. I don’t say a word and the bitch of it is that I don’t have to. He knows he’s right. There’s no way he knows who she was, but he knows she existed.

“Yeah,” I agree slowly. And I wonder if it’s really true when I say, “I’ve moved on from her.”

Andreas purses his lips, grunting his approval. “Good for you, hermano. This is not a year for looking back. Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The future. It’s everywhere. It’s on this field. It’s in here.” He pounds his chest. His heart. “We mourned our losses, but now we move forward. Together. We love our women, we slay our enemies, and we never look back.”

I study him closely. “Are you high?”

He laughs, throwing his head back in a show of emotion that feels alien after the nothing he’s been mired in for months. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? You don’t feel it yet?”

“No. Sorry,” I apologize with a grin. “I don’t feel the future.”

“I think you do. I think you feel it but you don’t know it. Maybe you’re trying to ignore it.”

“That’s probably true.”

“Offense up!” Coach Allen calls from the middle of the field. He waves us forward, sending men rushing by him in a wave onto the field.

I pull my helmet on, wishing again that we were in full pads today. I slap Andreas on the back before running onto the field to join the forming huddle. I feel him watch me go, and I wonder if he’s really as healed as he seems.

I feel Harper watching me from the end zone, and I wonder if I’m really as damaged as I believe.

Trey is waiting in the huddle, talking to the two rookies he’s trying to work into the offense. One of them I recognize as Josh Ramsey, Tyus Anthony’s back up. I scan the sidelines but Tyus is nowhere to be found.

“Red sixty-six,” Trey tells them clearly, looking to everyone to see if they understand him.

They’ve been trained on the playbook, taking classes at the end of their day, but so far it doesn’t seem like it’s sticking. Nerves, that’s what it comes down to. They need to shake it off.

“Do you guys know what I’m talking about?” Trey asks patiently.

They look at each other. Blank stares.

Trey’s patience starts to crack.

“Run blue forty-two,” I suggest. “Give them a break. They’ve been at the eye of the storm all day. Let them watch a play completed without the pressure.”

Trey looks relieved. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good. You got that? Blue forty-two. On my count.”

Helmets bob in agreement as Trey claps his hands, dismissing the huddle. He slaps me on the back as I run past him. “Thanks, man. I need to complete a throw or I’ll go fucking crazy.”

“You got it.”

I take my position on the right of the line. Even though we’re playing touch football without our pads, we’ve still got a good chance of completing this play. The defense will be expecting us to throw to the rookies. They won’t see me coming.

I wait for the snap, push through the weirdly gentle throng of the defense, and run my route on the outside down the sideline. I hit my mark dead on, turning just in time to take the pass from Trey. He’s an incredible quarterback. He’s able to drop the ball almost directly into my waiting hands with pinpoint accuracy that leaves me plenty of time to keep on with my route. I barely miss a step dodging an oncoming ‘tackle’, breaking free from the small crowd collapsing on me and running for the end zone. I see her there; Harper. Her hair is piled high on her head, her eyes uncovered by sunglasses. They’re wide open, watching me. A small, knowing smile is on her lips.

I kick it into gear, blowing by the last of the defense coming after me. My body is flying. My heart pounding with my footfalls. I feel wild and alive. Excited in a way I haven’t felt in forever. A way I’d forgotten. But my body, it remembers. It remembers everything. Especially Harper.

When I’m two steps from the end zone I launch into the air, flipping forward with the ball tucked into my chest. I tuck and roll onto my shoulders, my back, and use my momentum to roll back up onto my feet. I come to a stop three feet from Harper, tossing her the ball.

She catches it, a look of surprise on her face.

“I always deliver,” I remind her.

She’s smiling when I walk away. I step straight into the embrace of the offense, their arms going around me. Mauling me. Hugging me. Holding me. It feels good and familiar. So does the rush in my chest when I glance back at Harper, finding her eyes still on me. I know that look. I love that look. It’s a look that says no matter how wrong it may be, how many reservations she has about me, I’ll see her soon. All of her. Because this thing between us, it has legs now. It knows how to run and it doesn’t want to stop. Neither do I.

I feel like I’m flying, like I’m still going at full speed with the wind at my back and Harper’s smile waiting for me on the other side. It feels good. It feels old and new at the same time, and I wonder if this is what Andreas meant.

I wonder if this is what the future feels like.