Wide Open (19 page)

“Then what are you hassling me about it for?!”

“You’re my friend! You have to sanction it or something.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m deliriously tired. Give me a second.” I close my eyes tight, trying to think of a wish.

“Do I have to be here for this part or can I go to the bathroom? I really have to pee.”

“Shhh!”

“You shhh!”

I let my mind go blank, grabbing the first thought that pops into my brain. My first desire. I take hold of it, wrapping my heart around it and sending it into the sky.

I open my eyes, smiling at Travis. “I did it. I made it.”

“Woohoo,” he cheers flatly. “May I pee now?”

“Yes, you may.”

“Thanks a lot. Goodnight again.”

“Goodnight!” I call happily, heading for the door.

The place is deserted. Janitorial staff are making their way down the hall of offices to pick up trash and dust the keyboards. I wave to them as I leave, heading for the elevator. I debate waiting for it, but opt for the stairs instead. There’s no real good option for me here to avoid thoughts of Kurtis. I’ve kissed him everywhere. In supply closets, locker rooms, offices, elevators, stairwells. He’s everywhere and I need to accept that instead of run from it.

The night is balmy when I step outside. The parking lot is almost entirely empty. Travis’s car is obviously still here, along with a bright green sports car and a big gray truck. A white van with a cleaning company logo on it. My little blue Honda with a bouquet of flowers on the hood.

I pick them up gingerly, turning them over in my hand. They’re a gorgeous bouquet of wild flowers in every color. They smell like summer even now in the end of fall. There’s a card that simply says HAPPY BIRTHDAY; printed, not hand written. There are no other words, but with Kurtis there wouldn’t be. Especially not now. And that’s okay, because I don’t need them. The bouquet says everything I wanted to hear. It gives me hope that maybe my birthday wish will come true.

KURTIS

October 14th

Charles Windt Stadium

Los Angeles, CA

The steering wheel is cold under my hands, the air conditioning in the Challenger blowing hard and fast against my knuckles. The windows are tinted well past the legal limit, darkening the all black interior, keeping it icy inside. In the dim light the dials glow red and angry in front of me. I smash the gears at the light, cutting in front of the car next to me. I slide into the parking lot of the stadium in a perfectly timed drift that leaves licorice straps on the pavement. If they’re honking at me, and they probably are, I can’t hear it. The speakers are full of bass and drum and chaos that clouds around me, cocooning me in my seat where the outside world can’t touch me. Where it’s kept carefully distant.

Where it can go fuck itself.

I slide into a parking spot on the far corner of the lot, away from the rest of the team. The quiet is deafening when I cut the engine and the music. It’s consuming and claustrophobic. I’m quick to grab my bag, swing my door open, and hoist myself out onto the pavement. Cars pull into the lot around me. They park far away, close to the entrance, and I make sure to walk slowly to avoid getting caught up in the herd. I don’t want to be roped into talking to anyone. I want to play this game, get this itch out of my system, and go home. I’ll drink a beer, watch crap TV, and fall asleep. Alone.

It’s what I know. It’s what I’m good at.

Colt Avery’s bright red Nissan GTR sits on the farthest edge of the group. His ass is leaning against the trunk, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s eating something idly. Chilling. Waiting. 

I groan audibly when I realize he’s waiting for me.

“’Sup, dude?” he calls with a nod in my direction. He hops down off the back of his car to meet me, blocking my path to the stadium.

I hoist my bag higher on my shoulder impatiently. “Avery.”

“You finally brought the Hellcat out, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Damnit, that car is off its head. I can’t believe you left it in storage this long. I wouldn’t have been able to help myself.”

“I’ve been trying to learn restraint.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got it, man. More than anyone I know. I’ve got a little bit of a boner just looking at it.”

“Please don’t fuck my car, Avery.”

He laughs. “I promise nothing.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder toward his Nissan. “We should race sometime. Friendly quarter mile. Meager wager.”

“I don’t gamble.”

“You used to. From the way Lefao tells it that used to be almost all you did.”

“Restraint, remember?”

“Right. Right. Sorry. We could run it just for fun. Bragging rights.”

“You don’t want to do that,” I warn him.

“You’re that good, huh?”

“Ask anyone on the underground circuit.”

“I don’t know anyone on the circuit.”

“It should be a red flag to you that I do.”

Colt smiles crookedly, dimples in his cheeks. Amusement in his large blue eyes. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Did you need something?”

His smile fades, his eyes searching the parking lot. We’re alone. Everyone else has made their way inside. Still, Colt takes a step closer to me, lowering his voice confidentially. “Yeah, I wanted to say thanks.”

I feel immediately uncomfortable, my shoulders tightening. “For what?”

“Talking Tyus into getting real with me. He told me everything about the concussions and the memory shit. To be honest, I’d noticed it. I was worried but I didn’t know how to ask him about it without sending him off the deep end.”

I feel awkward talking about Tyus’ life with Colt. They’re close but I’m not, not with either of them. Talking about Tyus feels oddly like I’m eavesdropping. Like I’m a third wheel to a brotherhood I have no business in.

“No problem,” I mumble, moving to step around Colt. To end this moment as quickly as possible.

The asshole follows me.

“He doesn’t talk to people about anything,” Colt continues. “Kinda like you. Actually, a lot like you. I guess I’m not surprised he ended up talking to you about it first.”

“I just happened to be there. If Trey had been in the locker room, he would have talked to him.”

“I doubt it. He thinks Trey is a little too… man, how do I say this? Pure, I guess.”

“Trey can be a little too perfect sometimes.”

“Too clean.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“Me too. He’s a good guy, though.”

“Yeah.”

“But, no, I don’t think Tyus would have talked to just anyone. He had plenty of chances to talk to me and he never did. Not until you told him to. You don’t know it, but you’re like a big brother to a lot of us. I don’t know a single one of the younger guys on the O line that doesn’t have a Kurtis Matthews Words of Wisdom story.”

I nod again, not sure what to say. Not sure what he wants to hear. If I knew I’d give it to him so this could stop. I’m not in the mood. It’s rare that I feel particularly talkative to begin with, but right now I want nothing to do with anyone. Or, if I’m honest with myself, I want everything to do with someone, but I can’t have her. I lost her. And that’s a thorn in my side that I can’t get out. It’s a pain I can’t escape no matter how fast my car is or how loud my stereo.

“How are you doing?” Colt asks conversationally.

I glance at him, my brow low. “What do you mean?”

“I mean how are you doing, dude? Are you good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

I stop walking, forcing him to turn and face me. “What?”

He feigns confusion. “What what? What are we talking about? I’m just making conversation.”

“I don’t ‘make conversation’. You know that. So what is it? What are you digging for?”

Colt smiles, admitting defeat. “You’re right. I’m digging.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know if you’re alright. You’ve been weird the last few months. Good weird. Like happy weird. And now you’re
you
again. Distant, quiet. Kinda bitchy. Whatever was making you happy went away and I want to know if you’re okay. It’s a thing friends do. I can understand why you’re confused by it, you haven’t seen it in a while.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Sure we are,” he disagrees amiably. “We’re brothers, Matthews. All of us are. We’re family. You might not sit at the table for dinner every night, but you show up to Christmas sometimes. Sure, it’s to fuck my fiancés friends and never call them again, but—”

“Do you have a point?”

“The point is, I’m worried about you.”

My stomach drops painfully, and I don’t know why. It’s like he’s hit me. Like the fact that he’s noticed my pain makes it that much more real. Visceral and snarling in my ears. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“Okay. I hear you,” he backs off. “But if you want to talk or get a drink or race that green monster of yours, give me a call, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Cool.”

Colt turns to head into the building, leaving me alone in the parking lot with his words and this hurt and this weird sense of relief.

A feeling like I’m not alone.

“Hey, Colt,” I call after him.

He pauses, his hand on the door. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“If you go to Coach Allen about me the way you and Domata did over Andreas, I’ll beat your ass.”

Colt laughs. “I won’t say anything to him, I promise. But he’s a sharp dude. He knows you better than anybody.” He points to the gleaming hood of my Hellcat. “Do you really think he hasn’t noticed?”

HARPER

“Don’t worry about the end zone today,” I tell Les, shouting over the noise on the sidelines. The stadium is packed to bursting, band music blaring and fans shouting, chatting, cheering over nothing. The game hasn’t started yet, but we’re only about an hour out. The guys are warming up on the field. Some are in the locker room listening to music to get focused. Others are in the weight room lifting. Revving up.

Kurtis is nowhere to be seen.

I gesture to the ESPN camera crew under the goal post. “The NFL Network has rights to their footage. We’ll borrow from it to fill any gaps in the game highlights. I want you to get as much player reaction as you can. Stay off the field, don’t get trampled, but get their faces. Go on the other side and get to higher ground if you need to zoom in from across the field, but get. Their. Faces.”

“I’m on it,” he promises.

Les and Alec take off across the field to look for the best angle. They’ve filmed four games so far but every time it’s a different angle. A different mood. This game promises to be higher drama than the others because the Kodiaks are finally facing an opponent that poses a real threat to them and their perfect record. I want their reactions to every play, every heartbreak. I want to catch every emotion.

Today’s filming is not about action. It’s all about heart.

“Now is when it gets interesting,” Coach Allen says, appearing at my side. He’s looking at the field, watching his players prepare. His face is stoic. Perfectly unruffled. He’s been doing this for decades. I imagine he’s either learned to mask his nerves or he’s overcome them entirely. It’s a hell of a feat, one I wish he could teach me.

“Travis tells me Kansas City is a strong opponent.”

Coach Allen nods slowly. “They are that. I wish we had a loss under our belts to ease the tension.”

“Really?” I ask dubiously. “You wish you had a loss on your record?”

“Defending a perfect season is an impossible task. No one goes undefeated. It’s unheard of. We’re bound to lose, but to lose today will shake their confidence.”

“But you said the Chiefs are a tough team. Isn’t it better to lose to a strong opponent than a weaker one?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But, no. It isn’t. Losing to a lesser team is a surprise. It lights a fire in you to redeem yourself. Losing to someone well matched to you, that feels like a real loss. Like you deserved it. They didn’t get lucky, they were better than you. Plain and simple. Your ego is taken down a peg, and in this game ego is everything.”

“Do you think they’ll win today?”

He grins, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “I always think we’ll win. Ego, remember?”

I smile. “Right. Of course.”

“Kurtis!”

I jump at the sound of his name. Coach Allen has spotted him across the field and is waving him over to us. I look for somewhere to go, anywhere else to be, but there’s nowhere. Or, more accurately, there’s too much empty space around me. There are too many places to go. If I move, it’ll be obvious I’m avoiding him. That I’m running. I’ll look and feel like a coward, and my pride can’t take it.

So I stand with my feet planted, my clipboard clenched in my sweating hands, and I remember to breathe. My blood is humming in my ears. Pulsing and pounding until my head aches and my eyes squint against the pressure building inside me with every step he takes. I avoid looking at the beauty that is Kurtis in his uniform, his body made bigger by his pads under the tight uniform that tapers at his waist. His dark hair, his tan skin. His hesitant eyes holding mine.

I look away, unravelling myself from his gaze and focusing on the words on my clipboard. They swim aimlessly in my vision. They mean nothing. How can they when he’s here? How can anything compete for my attention when he’s so close? When he’s so, so far away.

“What’s up, Coach?” his voice vibrates deeply.

“I want you to talk to Ramsey. Throw some passes with him. Get him comfortable if you can.”

“Shouldn’t Domata be doing that?”

“Domata
has
done it. He’s tried. Ramsey isn’t clicking with him. See if you can calm him down. The kid is like a puppy who keeps pissing the floor every time there’s a loud noise.”

“He wasn’t like that in college, was he?”

“If he had been I wouldn’t have picked him up. No, this is new. It’s the pressure, it’s getting to him. See what you can do with him.”

Kurtis searches the field. “Where is he?”

“Probably in the locker room with his head in a trash can. That’s his ritual. He vomits before every game.” Coach Allen glances at me. “You haven’t gotten that on camera have you?”

I wince apologetically. “Once. Yeah.”

“Perfect.”

“You want me to go look for him?” Kurtis asks, already sidestepping away.

Coach Allen grabs his arm. “No, no. I’ll find him. I’ll send him out to meet up with you. Wait here.”

“I can run in and—”

“Keep Ms. White company. I have it.”

I shake my head. “He really doesn’t have to do that.”

Allen waves over his shoulder, no longer listening. He heads toward the tunnel, his thin body so small in the crowd of athletes. It makes me nervous, like any one of them could knock him over and break him.

“I can go if you want,” Kurtis offers quietly.

I shake myself, turning my attention to him. To his eyes that are watching me attentively. I force a smile. “No, it’s alright. Better do as he says.”

“Right.”

He stands in front of me looking over my head, surveying the crowd. He doesn’t speak and neither do I because, seriously, what is there to say?

“New car?” I ask conversationally, feeling like an idiot.

He looks down at me with a shake of his head. “Old car. I bought it when I first signed up with the NFL. It’s been in storage since I left.”

“I saw you pull into the parking lot with it. I like it. It’s shiny. And loud.”

“And fast.”

“I bet,” I chuckle nervously. “Do you do a lot of racing in it?”

“I used to.”

I falter, surprised. “Really? I was kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“You really race it? Like street racing?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

“That’s illegal.”

“So is betting on it, but that never stopped me.”

His words throw a wrench in my gears, gumming up my brain. This is a new puzzle piece, one I can’t find a way to make fit with the picture I’ve been building of him. It seems like it should. It fits almost all the criteria for the piece I’m missing about his past, but it doesn’t quite work. It refuses to lie down and be good.

“The racing has nothing to do with why I left California,” he tells me, putting me out of my misery.

“Of course it doesn’t,” I reply blandly.

“I was trying to make conversation. I wasn’t trying to bait you.”

“Your Blazer is still in front of my apartment,” I tell him quickly, escaping the subject.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m not asking you to apologize. I was just… I guess I don’t know what I was trying to do. Pointing it out, is all. Reminding you.”

“I remember,” he says, his voice full of meaning. Strangely full of emotion, and suddenly I’m in that moment again. I’m there where he left me. It’s dark and it’s late and it’s lonely. And he’s not coming back.

“Me too,” I mumble. My lips feel thick, my tongue heavy. My eyes hot and stinging. I take a deep breath, mustering another smile for him. For us. “Thank you for the flowers.”

Kurtis frowns. It’s not the reaction I expected. “I didn’t give you flowers.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. When would I have given you flowers?”

“On my birthday there was a bouquet on the hood of my car. Your car, the green car, it was there when I found them. You’re saying that wasn’t you?”

“I don’t know when your birthday is.”

My shoulders slump, my chest deflating. “That’s right, you don’t.”

“When was it?”

“What?”

I’m barely paying attention. I’m doing the math, running the numbers. The dates. The times. The odds.

“Your birthday,” Kurtis repeats. “When was it?”

“The thirteenth. The day after we… It was the thirteenth.”

His face contorts in irritation. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Please, stop apologizing,” I implore, my attention snapping back to him. “I don’t really celebrate them. I barely remember them. Travis and the guys had to remind me. They bought me a cake. It was nice. I had a good day.”

“I’m glad.”

“Are you…” I hate what I’m thinking, but I have to know. I have to ask. “Are you having good days?”

He looks at me for a long time, his face blank. But then he clears it, he opens it to me, and I see the pain there. The fatigue that I feel. The sorrow I can taste on my tongue that sours everything I eat. The loss that took more from me than I imagined possible.

“No, not really,” Kurtis answers reluctantly, his voice so low I can barely hear it.

My chest pinches painfully and I regret the question. I wanted to know but I didn’t. I wanted him to hurt like I do, but now that I know he does it kills me. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I wish—“

“Let’s not do that,” he interrupts, shuttering his expression. Closing himself off again. “It’s better if we don’t.”

“Right.” I chastise myself for reopening the wound. “You’re right. It doesn’t change anything.”

My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out, frowning at the screen before silencing it.

“Is that him?” Kurtis asks cautiously.

“Who? Derrick?”

“Yeah.”

“No. It’s not him. It’s Sean. He’s on Derrick’s crew. I’ll call him back later.”

“Is Derrick still harassing you?”

“It’s under control.”

“So that’s a yes.”

I cast him a sharp look, feeling my vanity kick in. I refuse to look weak. I will not show fear. “Yes, he’s still calling.”

“You told him to stop and he hasn’t. What he’s doing is the definition of harassment, Harper. I know you’re smart enough to know that.”

“And you’re smart enough to know when something concerns you and when it doesn’t.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s silent as the stars. I lick my lips, tasting salt and sweat that’s as bitter as my words, and I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take it all back, everything, but I can’t. I can’t ever undo what’s been done the same way I can’t turn off how I feel about him. How badly I want to touch him. To kiss him. I can’t escape how badly I want him to hold me. How desperately I want him to chase the pain away.

“If you ever needed me, I’d be there,” he vows deeply, his eyes on mine. “I’d cross oceans. I’d move mountains. Tomorrow or ten years from now, if you call, I’ll answer.”

My heart trips erratically. It falls at my feet and it weeps. It swells until it aches, until it bursts, and tears are trailing my cheeks.

I inhale sharply, gathering myself. My fingers swipe at my eyes to clear them as I cough roughly. “Thank you.”

“Harper.”

“I heard you, Kurtis.”

“But are you listening to me?”

I blink, sending a fresh tear down my cheek. Kurtis sees it, his eyes tracking it, and I catch his hand twitch at his side. He thinks about wiping it away. He thinks about touching me. But then he thinks better of it and I’m grateful.

“I’m listening,” I whisper.

“Matthews!” Josh Ramsey calls from the thirty yard line. He waves to him impatiently. “You ready, man?”

Kurtis holds my eyes for a second longer before tearing his away. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

I turn away, heading for the other side of the stadium where Les and Alec are setting up camp. I walk quickly with my head down and my heart in my throat. I feel it when Kurtis turns back to me. I feel him watch me walk away. I feel him fade farther and farther from me, and the thread between us twists tightly. Painfully.

And still it refuses to break.