False Start: A Football Romance (38 page)

Chapter Eleven

Lucas

I don’t understand why this girl has this effect on me, but she does. I arrive home late this evening from our three-week sprint on the road, and after a hot shower, the only thing I want is my bed. As soon as I lay my head down, I hear her.

Charlee.

She’s weeping across the hall again. The sound of her dry, tearless cries rips me to shreds.

Climbing from the bed, I tap on her door and then let myself in.

“Charlee?”

She doesn’t answer, even though I know she’s awake. I think she is hoping I’ll just go away, but I’m not like the other people in her life. I can’t sit back and watch her hurt and not do something to help her.

“I know you’re awake, Char. I can hear you across the hall.”

“What do you want, Lucas?”

“What’s wrong, Charlee? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying. Just go away and leave me alone.”

“No. No, I won’t just go away. Someone needs to be here. Someone needs to stay by your side and be there when you’re hurting, and since you feel like being a brat to everyone who tries to help you, I guess that means you’re stuck with me.”

“Why do you care, Lucas? Why?” she screams at me.

“What does that matter? Just know that I do, and I’m not going anywhere. Period. So get used to it, buttercup.”

I can physically see the fight leave her body. Her shoulders slump forward, and she releases a shaky breath before collapsing back on her bed. I don’t want to be intrusive, but I also meant what I said, and I refuse to leave her alone to deal with whatever is bothering her.

“Why doesn’t he want her? How can someone not love her?” I don’t have to ask who she is talking about. I already know, and it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself for a while now.

“I have no clue, but I will tell you this. Something is most definitely wrong with him, not her. She is perfect in every way.”

“You’re not just a little biased, are you?”

“Who, me? No. Not at all. Look at her. One look, that’s all it takes to know that he’s a dumbass. Anyone who would willingly not spend every second of his day with her is an idiot.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m serious, Charlee. Speaking of spending time together, let me take you guys somewhere tomorrow. A date. All three of us.”

“You want to go on a date with me and my infant daughter?”

“She is a part of your life now. Any man who wants to date you is going to have to accept that the two of you are a package deal. So yes, I want to take you both somewhere.”

“Okay.”
“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. And I mean it, Charlee. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m right across the hall. Come get me. Talk to me. Please. Don’t do this to yourself anymore. You need to be in the best shape you can be for your daughter, and staying up half the night crying over scum isn’t the way to do that.”

“I will, Lucas. Thank you.”

Chapter Twelve

Charlee

At 9:55 the next morning, there is a knock on my door. I grab my cellphone off the dresser and glance in the mirror one more time before answering the door. I decide to go semi-casual, pairing my favorite skinny jeans with a loose white t-shirt. I finish the look, adding a black blazer and my black ankle boots. My hair falls down my back in soft curls that I masterfully placed with the straightener. I don't add much makeup, just a light, creamy gold eye shadow and some mascara. It all comes together beautifully, in my opinion. I am surprised to not see any dark circles hiding under my eyes today, especially after the restless sleep I got last night. At least this time, it is butterflies in my stomach that kept me awake. I’d take butterflies over my monster any day.

Lucas’s jaw grows slack when I open my bedroom door. I watch nervously as his eyes glance down the length of my body, not stopping anywhere particularly, until he reaches my face once again. And even then, he only speaks one word.

“Wow.”

One word. That's all it takes to make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. I smile, a real smile that bursts from deep within me. I officially can't hold it in anymore. This isn't my first date, but this is already by far my favorite. He holds his hand out toward me, and I instinctively reach for it. The way his palm fits against my own feels natural. I pull the door shut behind me and follow him. Right this moment, I feel like I would willingly follow him anywhere.

I can't explain it. Nothing makes sense to me. My stomach is flipping over itself, and I have to keep reminding myself to breathe, but I don't feel nervous. My palms are not sweaty. I don't feel like puking up my lunch. It’s more like I don't ever want this moment to end. It has been so long since I’ve felt anything other than misery that it takes a moment for me to recognize what I’m feeling. The warmth spreads through me. I grab the diaper bag, and he grabs Everly in her seat as I pull the door shut behind me and follow him.

He leads me to his car, which is parked in the front of our building, and after opening my door, he gently touches the small of my back as I climb in. He places Everly in the back seat, and I notice that the stroller that I had left on the porch must be in the trunk. Moments later, he is opening his own door, and I am once again reminding myself to breathe.

In.

Out.

Repeat.

In.

Out.

He never takes his eyes off the road, but I feel his attention on me the entire drive. I try asking where we’re going about fifteen minutes into the drive, but he doesn't tell me. Instead, he replies cryptically, “My second favorite place in the world.”

“Your second favorite? Where is your favorite?” I ask him.

“Anywhere you are.”

Breathe, Charlee.

Breathe.

I don't know what to say to that, so I don't reply. I want to brush it off as simple flirting, but a part of me wonders if he’s feeling the same strange things that I am. I know it sounds strange or make-believe, and let's face it—no part of my life has ever been a fairytale. A horror story, maybe, but no fairytale. I don't think those even really exist, and don't get me started on happily ever afters. What a freaking joke. At one point in my life, when I was on the plane headed home from West Virginia, I thought I was getting my happily ever after, and then I woke up from the fantasy my ten-year-old mind conjured. There was no knight in shining armor, no fairy godmother with a magical wand. Just people. Regular, ordinary people with all their flaws.

Even after I got back from my wondrous vacation—yes, that is sarcasm—with my mother, my life wasn't great. During the time my brother and I were missing, my dad chose to turn to alcohol for comfort. When he wasn't looking for us or working, he was burying his pain in the bottom of a beer can. He had always been a weekend drinker, sipping on a cold beer or two after work, usually while sitting under the shade tree smoking a Boston butt, but that quickly transformed into a twelve-pack, and then a case a day. He no longer just drank on the weekends. Instead, he opened one the moment he rolled from the couch and didn't stop until he landed back on it late in the evening.

I expected to come home to the daddy I left behind. Instead, I entered a filthy house, piled high with empty beer cans and overflowing ashtrays. It didn't take long for me to realize the life I had before was gone. It was kind of fitting, really. I couldn't really go back to the girl I was before anyway. I had seen too much, experienced too many demons. I would never be as innocent as I had been that day in 1993 when she first took us. Even though I wasn't the same, some things would never change.

My brother clings to me when I walk through the door, his tiny arms latching onto me as he soaks my shirt with his snotty tears. I grip him back as tightly as I can, promising to never let him go again. He crawls in my bed that night and every other night that week. I don’t mind, don’t even really question it, but I wonder. Does he just miss me? Does he need to be close to me? After months of being alone, at least emotionally, it’s hard to completely open up again. I try. For him, I would always try. And then one evening, my dad has more than a case of beer, and I understand.

It was late, after two in the morning when he comes in the room, shouting obscenities. The light flips on abruptly, and I’m instantly awake. Aaron curls into a tight ball, trying and failing to make himself as small as possible. I don’t understand what’s going on, but living with Mom has taught me to be prepared for anything.

“Get your sorry fucking asses up! You think you can just waste fucking food in this house and leave your goddamn messes for me to clean up?” Spit flies from his mouth, along with the putrid stench of alcohol. I sit there, clutching the blanket to my chest. Usually, when Frank got drunk, it helped if you ignored him. He would eventually go away.

“Make me tell you again. Get your fucking ass up NOW!” Aaron starts to crawl from the bed. I can feel him shaking. Tears fall from his eyes freely.

“Fucking baby. You want me to give you something to cry about? Dry that shit up.” His words only make Aaron cry harder. He’s hiccupping now, and I’m starting to realize that ignoring him isn’t going to work. I push the blanket down to crawl out of the bed at the same time I see him swing the belt. I lean forward, covering Aaron. The cowhide belt slashes across my back. My skin is on fire, burning where the leather slaps against my skin. My breath catches in my throat as I choke on the pain. He pulls his arm back and lets the thick belt fly again, piercing my skin just below the first mark. A sob breaks free, but I don’t move. Aaron’s entire body shakes below mine. His cries are all I can hear. I focus on him as my dad continues to swing the belt back and forth until he tires himself out.

“Now, get your stupid asses in there and clean up this goddamn house.”

I wait for him to leave the room before I move. My entire body hurts. The oversized t-shirt I’m wearing to bed rubs painfully against my red skin.

We clean the house that night until six the next morning. There are no more empty cans or ashtrays. All the dishes are done and the toilets scrubbed. My dad passed out on the couch shortly after we started, his loud snores piercing the eerie silence of the house, only waking briefly at six to tell us we’re allowed to go get dressed for school. I have never been so happy to see our school bus than I am on that morning.

At least now I can honestly understand the reason Aaron crawled in bed with me every night. He was terrified of the monster our father had become. A tiny part of me wishes I had never left Mom’s house, and then I am overcome with so much guilt for thinking it that I almost puke. I could never stay there knowing what kind of situation my brother was forced to live in at home. How had this happened? Where was the sweet, loving man who gave us piggyback rides on his shoulders and read stories to us every night before bed? Where had he gone? Is he ever going to come back?

“Ok, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Seriously? How can he ask me that? I barely know him. I met him not long ago, and he wants me to trust him? I can tell he sees the panic on my face, because he tries to explain more.

“Just close your eyes, Charlee. I don't want to ruin the surprise.”

Ok, fine. I shut my eyes tightly and fight the urge to peek. I feel us make several turns, and I try to guess where on earth he is taking me, but I have no idea. He makes one more turn, slowing down a lot before bringing the car to a full stop and cutting off the engine. I wiggle in my seat, waiting for him to tell me to open them. I'm not scared, even though I think technically I should be, considering I have no idea where I am. The butterflies are back, fluttering around wildly in my stomach. They had been somewhat calm during the drive, knowing that he couldn't look at me, but now I feel his stare. My face flushes red hot. Finally, he tells me to look, and I peel my eyelids open. I don't recognize anything. I crane my neck around, searching for something, anything familiar, and spot a sign in the distance.

“The Zoo?” I ask.

“Um. Yeah. I hope that's ok. I haven't been here in a while, even though it's my favorite place, and I really wanted to share it with you.” His voice trails off, unsure now. I can tell my question has made him insecure about his choice, so I hurry to let him know it is great.

“It's great! I've never been to the zoo before.”

“Really? Come on!”

I can't believe he brought me to the zoo. When I got dressed for today, every date I had seen on TV and every movie I had ever watched flashed in my mind. I expected the movies, or dinner, a picnic or even the carnival, but never would I have guessed the zoo. I’m not disappointed. Not even a little bit. Actually, the fact that he wants to share his favorite place with me fills me with so much . . . joy? Happiness? I don't know what the feelings floating around inside of me are, but I like them—a lot.

He buys our tickets, and we enter one of the circular gate things that only one person can fit in at a time. It clicks and clicks until it expels me on the other side, where I wait for him. He grabs me by the arm and practically drags me through the whole place. We see monkeys and birds, enormous lizards called komodo dragons, and an entire habitat of snakes before he takes me to the other end of the zoo that holds the really big animals.

I take my blazer off halfway through the day and wrap it loosely around my waist and then pull my hair up into a low side ponytail. It’s proving to be a blistering day. Emitters are placed along every gazebo, casting a soft fog of cool air on passersby. I make a point to walk under every one we come close to. Dozens of kids surround the small ice cream shack, waiting their turn for some sweet goodness. Lucas offers to get me something—he probably sees the way my eyes are eating it up—but I decline. There are several things you shouldn't attempt to eat on a first date, and I firmly believe ice cream is one of them, right alongside pickles and hamburgers. Seriously. You try to open your mouth wide enough to bite into a burger. Besides, I'm really excited to see the elephants and rhinos.

Thirteen years earlier...

We leave our motel room the next day after Mom’s face had a run-in with Sam’s fist. I would say I felt bad, looking at her now, but I don’t. I’m old enough to understand exactly what she was offering Sam when she told him to take me instead. How a mother could do that to her child is beyond me. I want to go home so bad it hurts.

Mom says it's time to move on, to find someplace more permanent, but I know the truth. I heard Sam when he told her he had better never see her again. I glance at her from my seat in the back of the car. I can see her face in the rearview mirror. It's bruised, her eyes almost completely swollen shut. She still has dried blood crusted on the side of her face near her hairline.

The sun rises across the distant horizon, casting an eerie orange glow around everything its brilliant rays touch. The car is stuffy and smells like a wet ashtray mixed with stinky socks. I wonder silently how much longer we have to ride, but I don't dare ask. It's not worth it. My stomach growls loudly, cutting through the silence. I swallow a few gulps of lukewarm water from a nearly empty bottle and try to hush it. The water tastes sour, and I barely choke it down. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth as it burns down my throat. I cough into my hand and fight the urge to puke. Frank takes pity on me and pulls off the next exit. A few turns later, we are sitting at a rundown, hole in the wall gas station. I glance around, trying to get my bearings. Behind us, I see a square green sign with the words
Huntington 33 miles
.

Frank pulls the lever beside his seat and it falls forward, making enough room for me to escape. I climb out and stretch my arms as high and wide as they will go. A tired yawn escapes, even though I’m not actually sleepy. I bend over and touch my toes, loosening the cramped muscles in my thighs. I don't know how long we have been driving, but according to my body, it's been a while, which, depending on certain conditions, could mean anywhere from five hours to five days. I’m leaning more toward five days at the moment, but that could just be a result of the constricting conditions I’m forced to ride in.

Mom didn't have time to pack this time, deciding it was best to leave as soon as possible. Frank had dropped me off at the motel, and after strict instructions to lock the door, he left, returning thirty minutes later with my mother in tow. The first look at her beaten face left me standing there, jaw agape. I felt a small satisfaction and then quickly chastised myself for feeling that way.