Wide Open (4 page)

KURTIS

“…Josh Ramsey. Wide receiver. University of Iowa.”

The room erupts in applause. People whistle and cheer. Music starts pumping excitedly through the speakers as we watch Josh Ramsey strut out of the green room to the commissioner. He shakes his hand. He smiles as he takes his Kodiak jersey. His name isn’t on the back, though. Not yet. It’s a little thing that says a lot. It says he wasn’t the coach’s first choice. It says he was a last minute decision, and a reluctant one at that. And Ramsey knows it.

I remember my Draft day. I was dead calm. Not because I’m like Domata, ice in my veins in any situation, but because I was cocky like Colt. I thought I was infallible. I thought I’d go first round, sign on with a team for millions of dollars, and start my unstoppable career that would skyrocket the rest of my life. I was all ego, but that night I still managed to be right just as much as I was wrong.

I went first round.

I signed on with the Kodiaks for seven million dollars.

Everything else was bullshit.

Most of my teammates are sitting around the room at tables with their families; eating, laughing, drinking. Hollis is here. He’s at a table with Trey and Colt, both of them flanked by their girlfriends. Trey is with Sloane - Colt’s agent, Hollis’ closest friend, and a bombshell of a blond beauty with a sailor’s mouth and balls bigger than mine. Next to Colt is Lilly – a sweet looking brunette with a whole lot of bite. She runs a bakery in town with her best friend, Rona, a girl I had a fling with last year. Lilly likes me as far as I can tell, but she’s never really let the Rona thing go. Her name is always hiding just on the tip of Lilly’s tongue whenever I talk to her. That’s why I do it as little as possible.

There’s a seat next to her saved for me, one that has sat empty most of the night. It’s the only one at the table that’s been vacant all evening.

Until now.

Living your life on the fringe, you learn a thing or two about how to appear and disappear seamlessly, staying out of the way. You also learn how
not
to do it. You do not drunkenly sprint down the side of the room straight past the cameras. You do not trip over a chair, shout curses, and nearly knock down someone’s teenaged daughter sneaking a beer. And you sure as shit don’t wear a messy mask of rage and intent, leaving no secret as to where you’re going or what you’re doing. And yet despite all these mistakes, Tyus Anthony is able to slip from the room undetected by anyone but me.

“Dammit,” I curse, hurrying after him.

He’s running and he’s fast, but he’s drunk. He’s being sloppy. Once I’m out of the main room and clear of anyone’s eye line I’m able to kick it into high gear. My dress shoes slap against the carpet, slipping slightly with every step, and I think how convenient it would be for me if Tyus would just trip and eat shit. He’d be a lot easier to catch.

I get a glimpse of him as he rounds a corner ahead of me, oblivious to the fact that he’s being followed. He’d probably be running faster if he was, and still I contemplate shouting his name to let him know I’m here. The guy is easily four inches shorter than me, probably fifty pounds lighter, but he’s a brawler with a full head of steam. I’m not about to surprise him. I’m not looking to get punched tonight.

I turn the corner leading down to the war room just as the door opens. Tyus is halfway there, well out of my reach, and someone is about to give him an open invitation to humiliation, penalties, fines, and possibly the end of whatever hope he has for salvaging his career.

It’s a woman coming out of the room. Tall and curvaceous, her skin and hair a lustrous black, shockingly dark against her cream tank top and light gray slacks. My heart knows it before my head, slamming fervently in my chest at the sight of her.

It’s Harper.

A flood is unleashed inside me when I see her. It’s confused, conflicted. Hot and cold, angry and excited. I feel a million things but I don’t have a clue what to do with any of them so I stow them with the rest of my shit. With everything else about me that makes no damn sense.

Harper hesitates with her hand on the door, her eyes going wide when she sees us running toward her. She blinks hard when she realizes it’s me. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I need her to stop Tyus from getting inside the war room, and I don’t have a lot of hope she’ll help me. Still, I have to try.

“Close the door!” I shout. “Don’t let him through!”

Tyus looks over his shoulder in surprise. He’s shocked to find me behind him, which goes to show how wasted he is. He couldn’t even hear my feet running behind him. His shock turns to rage, then to surprise as he stumbles. He’s tripped himself up, but his reflexes are tight even if his reasoning has taken a nap.

He rights himself, shouting at Harper, “Get out of my way!”

I expect her to back away. To flatten herself against the wall, excusing herself from our situation. Two men are barreling down on her, yelling at her; the smart thing to do would be to distance herself.

Instead she looks between Tyus and I one last time, her eyes holding mine for a brief moment before her mouth forms a determined line. She reaches inside the door, trips the lock, and slams it solidly shut.

Tyus skids to a halt in front of her. “Open the fucking door.”

“No.”

“Now!”

“Stop shouting,” she tells him evenly, unafraid.

I slow when I reach them, circling Tyus patiently until I’m standing on his right, his weak side. He glances at me with a sneer on his lips before turning back to Harper.

“Open the door,” he repeats.

She holds her ground. “I won’t.”

“Open it!”

“Not even if I had a key.”

“I’ll pound on that motherfucker until they let me in.”

He makes a move toward the door. Toward Harper.

I slide between them, blocking his path to her.

“Watch yourself, man,” I warn him quietly. “Do you know who she is?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“You should. She’s the director of the documentary. And she’s listening to every word you say.”

Tyus glares over my shoulder at her, murder in his drunken eyes.

“Thanks for that,” Harper mumbles behind me.

I turn my head toward her. “What do you want me to do? Lie? You’re the enemy here. He deserves to know that.”

“’Enemy’ seems a little strong, don’t you think?”

“You and your cameras could ruin his career right now,” I remind her bitingly. “As far as I’m concerned, ‘enemy’ is being polite.”

“I wanna talk to Allen,” Tyus tells me, still staring at Harper.

I shake my head at him. “Think it through, man. What are you gonna do when you get in there? Shout at Coach Allen? Make a scene? Make demands? That’s gonna land you in a worse position than you’re in now. That kid, Ramsey, he’s a hothead. Allen will hate that shit, same way he hated Walker. If you go in there acting like them, you may as well pack your bags tonight ‘cause you’re out.”

Tyus breathes in roughly through is nose, his nostrils flaring angrily. “They brought in that son of a bitch to replace me.”

“We have other wide receivers. You don’t know he’s your replacement.”

“He’s a slot receiver. He’s fast. Almost as fast as me.” He releases a thick breath, running his hand over his face, removing a thin sheen of sweat from his skin. “He’s me five years ago.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re better than him and you’re gonna prove it. But first you’re gonna sober up and calm down.”

“Not until I talk to Coach.”

“Coach Allen isn’t in there,” Harper tells him, her voice smooth as silk. Calm and convincing. “He left before they made the call.”

Tyus shifts on his feet, pointing at her viciously. “I ain’t talkin’ to you. Shut your mouth.”

“Oh, okay,” she says sarcastically.

I glance back at Harper. “Was Coach Allen angry when he left? Was he disappointed?”

“Am I allowed to speak?”

“Jesus Christ, answer the question. Was he upset?”

“Yes,” she snaps back. “He waited for a call, for anything else to happen. Then he gave up and left.”

“You hear that, Tyus? He was looking for an out. He didn’t want Ramsey. You know who probably did?”

“Fucking Wilton.”

I nod slowly in agreement.

He glares up at me. “Then I’ll find Wilton.”

“You’re not gonna go hunting down the General Manager. Not tonight. Not with all of these cameras here and not with your breath stinking of whiskey. Go home. Sober up. Talk to Allen tomorrow. Then, if you still want to, the two of you can go talk to Wilton together. But not like this, because this is suicide.”

Tyus swallows hard. His shoulders loosen, his hands unclenching. He’s sweating again but his breathing evens out. Calms. He lowers his head, mumbling, “I gotta get the hell outta here.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Nah, man, I’ve got my—“

“I’ll drive you home,” I repeat, making it clear I’m not asking. “Give me a second to do some damage control here, alright?”

Tyus turns his back to me but he doesn’t fight me. His hands run over his smooth, shaved head. They lace together tightly around his neck as he walks slowly down the hall away from me. Away from us.

I turn to look at Harper. She’s watching Tyus, her brow pinched in concern.

“Thanks.”

She looks up at me in surprise, like she’s shocked by the sentiment.

That makes two of us.

“For what?”

“For listening to me about the door.”

Her responding smile is so honest, so luscious, it nearly knocks me back a step. “Thanks for not making me regret it.”

“Is he going to regret tonight?”

“Probably. Judging by the smell of him, he’s going to regret tonight in the next hour or so.”

“I don’t mean the alcohol.”

Her smile fades, her face falling serious. “You mean the documentary.”

“It’s why you’re here, right? To gather all the dirt you can get your hands on?”

She doesn’t flinch against my criticism. She’s tougher than that. Smarter. It makes me like her even more, and that pisses me right the hell off.

“You’re doing it again,” she warns me quietly. “You’re looking for allies in your war.”

“So which is it? Are you my ally or my enemy?”

“Did I lock the door or did I let him in with the cameras?” she shoots back.

I shut my mouth because she’s shut me down. Fast and easy.

She watches me like she’s waiting for something. When I don’t give it to her, she sighs. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I’m here to do a job and my job is to look for the truth. I’m not a monster. I’m not from some rag searching for something salacious to print every week. The cameras didn’t catch this and while part of me regrets that because it’s real life and it’s honest, I’m not going to cry about it. I’ll ask Anthony about his reaction to the Draft selection when we have him in the chair, same as the rest of you, but otherwise I consider it off the record because I’m off the clock.”

I stare down at her, surprised and unsure. “You’re here. How are you off the clock?”

“Because I really have to pee,” she tells me bluntly, crossing her arms under her chest. Her full breasts strain the low neckline of her tank top, sending my blood flow hard south. “Monsters take bathroom breaks too, you know.”

“You look pretty human for a monster.”

“I’m hiding my horns in my hair.”

“That’s a hell of a trick. Maybe you’re more devious than I thought.”

She chuckles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Then that’s how I’ll leave it.” I take a step back from her. “It was good to see you again, Harper.”

“Was it, though?”

I steal one last look at her. At her body and her beauty. Her eyes that hold me in place even as I try to turn away.

“I’m not really sure.”

HARPER

May 1st

Gillette Stadium

Foxborough, MA

I lean back in my seat, idly tapping away at the laptop in front of me. It’s streaming Derrick’s footage of the Draft onto the white board across the darkened room, the sound turned off. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing to hear.

“Derrick is making me wait,” I complain into my phone.

Travis grunts distractedly on the other end of the line. “It’s a power play. Ignore it.”

“It’s a pain in the ass is what it is. I’ve been waiting for over thirty minutes.”

“Did anyone offer you anything?”

“Yeah, a chance to waste my Saturday in a dark cell.”

Travis is suddenly on the alert when he demands, “He locked you in?”

“It’s an expression.”

“It’s not funny. Not where he’s concerned.”

“I’m fine. I’m not locked in. I’m just bored and pissed.”

“What else is new?” he mumbles.

“Don’t get bitchy.”

“Don’t scare me.”

“Sorry,” I repent, skipping ahead ten minutes in the video. Nothing. Pure friggin’ nothing. “How’s the schedule coming? Did you get the guys lined up?”

Travis sighs. “No, not all of them. You can talk to Domata tonight when you get back. He’s pretty easy going. Tyus told me to talk to his agent but his agent isn’t answering, so that’s fun. Matthews is a no-go too. You wanted him tomorrow but his agent says he has a photo shoot.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Call the agent back. Find out if we can film it.”

Travis chuckles. “Not likely.”

“Call him anyway.”

“You got it.”

“What about Avery?”

“He said his fiancé is off limits. She doesn’t like publicity any more than Matthews does, but Avery is good to go. Whenever you need him he’s all yours. Those were literally his words. I’d say them in the same tone he used but I’m pretty sure it’d be sexual harassment. Speaking of which, record everything that’s said between you and Derrick. We may need it in court.”

“Calm down.”

“I can’t calm down. Not when you’re there with him.” He pauses in whatever he’s doing, giving me his full attention. His tone is thick with it. “You shouldn’t be there alone. I’ll kill him if he tries anything crazy.”

“And that’s why I came out here and you didn’t. I can’t have you going away to jail again.”

He snorts, the sound cutting the tension in the air between us. I feel myself relax. “I was only held overnight and it was your fault. I’m never carrying your bags again.”

“How was I supposed to know the TSA would think my back massager was a bomb?”

“Back massager. Yeah,” he chuckles darkly. “Stick to that story. We all believe it.”

“It was years ago,” I laugh. “Get over it.”

“I went to jail for your vibrator!”

The door to the room opens suddenly, light spilling in. Shadow swirling with it.

I sit up straight, my smile fading. “I have to go, Travis. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Is he there?”

“Yeah.”

“Call me the second the meeting is over. And I’m serious, record everything.”

“Travis, it’s fine.”

“That’s the problem, Harper,” he tells me irritably. “You don’t get that it’s not.”

I hang up the phone, sliding it impatiently onto the table. “Busy day?” I ask Derrick.

“A little. How are you?” he asks, closing the door behind himself.

“Don’t,” I warn him, my heart leaping into my throat.

Derrick hesitates, his green eyes almost glowing in the low light. “Come on, Harper. Really?”

“I have a flight to catch in three hours. I don’t have time to argue about a door. Leave it open and sit down. Let’s get your team sorted so I can get out of here and back to work.”

“Fine.” He flicks the light on, bathing the room in a bright, yellow glow.

I wince against the sudden brightness, and I know that’s not an accident. It’s another power play. He’s full of them.

I pause the video. “Is this it? Did you get anything workable from the Draft?”

“No,” he replies, taking the seat across from me. He gestures to the washed out image on the board. “What you see is what we got. You?”

“Same,” I grumble unhappily. “There was a little drama from one of their players when they selected a guy who plays the same position, but it died out quickly and the cameras didn’t catch it.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” I hold out my hand, asking for the folder in his. “So when is the first interview? How many sound men are we seeing today?”

Derrick grins. “Straight to work, huh?”

“It’s why I’m here,” I remind him dispassionately. “To work.”

“You could ask how I’m doing. You could be a little friendly.”

I sigh, folding my arms on the table in front of me. “How are you, Derrick?”

“I’m great, Harper. How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“How’s your mom?”

“Busy. Always busy.”

“I caught a rerun of
Broken Badges
on TV last night. It was the one where she busted the high school teacher selling drugs to students.” He smiles that wide smile of his, the one that can make a grown woman giddy. I’ve gotten so careful about not looking at him, not encouraging him, that I forgot how handsome he is. How charming. “What was the name of it?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. Yes, you do. You know the name of every episode of every show your mom has been in. I’ll give you a hint if you need help.”

“‘Higher Learning’,” I relent, my pride getting in the way.

“I knew you knew,” he laughs. “You can’t lie to me.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“What was the one Dan Aykroyd guest starred in? He was a carnie, wasn’t he?”

“A magician. I got to meet him. He was nice.”

“Who wouldn’t be nice to you?”

“You’d be surprised.” I hold out my hand again. “How many interviews?”

Derrick smiles to himself before sliding the folder across the table to me. “Three. Dimitri picked them out himself. He recommends all of them. He also told me to tell you he’s sorry to bail.”

“He doesn’t have to be sorry,” I mutter, scanning the resumes in the folder. “His wife went into labor. Of course he had to go.”

“He’ll be back after her three-month maternity leave is up.”

“Good. We’ll get by with someone else until then.”

“We always do. How’s California?”

“Sunny. How’s Massachusetts?”

“Lonely.”

I pull the second resume out of the folder. “This one.” I push it toward him. “I like this one.”

He glances at it without touching it. “Me too. He’ll be here soon. Do you want anything while we wait? Maybe some lunch?”

“No, thanks, I’m not hungry. It’s nine in the morning back home.”

“You know where I’d be if I was back home?”

“No.”

“Yes, you do,” he insists playfully.

I bite my lips together hard. “Bagels out Back.”

“You know it.”

I sneer in disgust. “That place is a dive.”

“That place is delicious!”

“It’s a glorified convenience store.”

“But their bagels are on point.” He leans on the table, a loose smile on his lips. “And it’s nice when the atmosphere is right. Don’t you think?”

I glare at him, my throat constricting. “Don’t talk about that day, Derrick. We agreed.”

He pauses, his eyes looking me over slowly. “I was just remembering the way the hair on your arms stood up straight like goosebumps. Like fear and feeling alive. How the walls shook around us while we watched fire cut across the sky.”

I feel that way now; afraid and alive. I somehow forgot that feeling. I always do when I’m away from him long enough, a strange amnesia of rudimentary life that’s as simple as it is dangerous. Like forgetting the tick of a clock or the taste of an apple. That owls are wise and tigers get hungry.

I push aside the rest of the memory that he’s conjuring, and I think that maybe that’s how I forget this uneasy feeling; I force myself to. I try to pick and choose between what I can live with and what I can’t, and I lose everything in the process. I abandon the thought of his apartment and his bed, his lips and his hands, my body soaked in warm rain water, stripped bare and tangled in gray sheets. It was only a matter of minutes before ‘tangled’ turned to ‘tied’ and I lost all sense of right and wrong. Up and down. When he had me so turned around I couldn’t see how fucked I was, in every possible way.

“Stop romanticizing it,” I warn him.

“Anywhere is romantic during a thunderstorm.”

“I can think of three places right now that aggressively prove you wrong.”

“I would love the chance to aggressively prove to you that I’m right.”

My heart goes cold. I’m very aware of him, of how close he is. Of how close I’ve let him get. Of his tiger’s tail swishing happily. All because I’m too proud to ask for help, to admit that maybe, just maybe, I can’t handle this on my own. It’s what got us in trouble in the first place. It’s what Travis was worried about when I left this morning, and I know he’d be furious with me if he were here. I suddenly wish he was.

I suddenly wish Derrick and I weren’t alone.

I stand from the table, heading around the farthest side of it toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Derrick asks, surprised.

I run my hand through my hair, avoiding his mesmerizing eyes. “Bathroom. Too much water on the plane. It just hit me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“The sound guy is going to be here soon.”

“Start without me.”

“Harper, what’s the—“

I don’t hear what he asks. I pull the door closed behind me, shutting him down on the other side of it. I wish I could leave him there forever. I wish I had thought to grab my bag so I could bypass the bathroom and head back to the airport. I wish I was already back in California.

I wish I had never come here.