The Game Changer (41 page)

“See, this worked out perfect. I have a couple of days off and I get to hang with you guys for a
night in Myrtle Beach. Are you sure you have enough room?” I call out as she gets ready for bed in the bathroom.

“Yeah, our hotel is awesome. We have a huge suite, plus, we brought two air mattresses,” she says excitedly, making her way to the bed.

“Wow. This must seem like crap, huh?” I say, looking around at my drab motel room.

“Actually, this is perfect. Tonight, it’s just me and you. Tomorrow will be like a huge slumber party. We won’t be able to do this...” she whispers as she climbs on top of me.

We end the night just as good as it started, maybe better. I love her more than anything and miss her something terrible when we’re apart. The only good thing about being away from each other is that we spend a good amount of time making up for it once we are together.

***

(Jesse)

Luke and I are enjoying the ride back to South Carolina. The warm air feels nice as we drive along 95 with the windows down and the radio blaring. We had a blast last night. It was just a great night all
around and, at the time, I’m happy I was there. We try talking Mikey into coming with us to Myrtle Beach, but he’s still sore and is in a pissy mood since he didn’t get to play in the game last night.

Just before we hit the tip of South Carolina, we decide to turn off the highway to get gas and grab something quick to eat. Like I said, we’re enjoying the ride, blaring the radio and messing around with each other, not really paying much attention to the road. We take a wrong turn and end up getting lost. We originally think it’s funny. It feels as though we’re going through a maze trying to find our way back to the highway. The last sign we saw read that we are in Jasper County; wherever that is.

The road we are on seems deserted. Hardly any cars pass us and there are no signs directing us towards the highway. Woods surround us for miles and miles. The car begins to sputter and we realize we never did get gas. We putter over to the side of the road. Neither of us has service on our cells. We laugh as we imitate the guy on the commercial as we are walking outside of the car, trying to get a signal, and saying, “Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now?”

Luke remembers passing a bar not far back. We grab an empty gas can from the trunk and head in the direction of the bar, it seems like it’s our only hope to get some help. We
are
in the middle of nowhere with no cell service.

At the end of the dirt path, leading up to the seedy bar, I feel Luke tense up as he reaches for my hand; his hand is sweaty and his grip is tight. He barely speaks as we near the door, his jaw is tightly clenched. He does that when he’s worried about something. He’ll never admit to it, but it’s something I picked up on over the last couple of years. He clenches his jaw so tightly that you can see it pulsing on the side of his cheek. His anxiety is rubbing off on me. I note the parking lot, with a number of beat-up pick-ups and more than a few motorcycles.

As soon as we step inside, I know it’s a bad situation. It seems as if the blaring country music stops cold and all eyes turn to us; something like you would see in a movie. I glance up at Luke and know instantly by the jagged look in his eyes. The bar consists of loud men with long straggly hair, beards and lots of tattoos, along with a couple of girls that pretty much have the same look. The bar is crowded with men. Luke lets go of my hand. His fingers firmly grip around my upper arm as he holds me next to him. His finger-tips turn white as a result. I’ll most likely be bruised later. We make our way to the bartender and Luke explains our situation. The bartender, who fits in well with the crowd, acts as if he doesn’t give a damn, but he does allow Luke to use the phone to call AAA. As he’s on the phone, a bedraggled guy to my left, who doesn’t seem much older than us, maybe late twenties tops, begins to say things to me. I try ignoring him, but it only makes him talk louder, telling me I’m pretty and asking where I’m from. He reeks of alcohol and is slurring. I continue to ignore him and pray to God that he will walk away. Luke is getting directions from the bartender and relaying our location to the guy on the phone. He glances over and sees my uneasiness with the guy leaning over me, talking in my face. 

He calls over his shoulder to him, “Yo, dude, back off.”

“Y'all come in’ our bar and think y'all better than us, is that it?” he is saying to me in a thick southern accent. Again, I ignore him. Luke finally finishes the call and turns to face him. The guy is still sitting next to me, breathing his hot, smelly, alcohol laden breath down my neck as he mumbles incoherently into my ear.

Luke gives him a look, takes my hand and we walk away from the group at the bar to stand at the other end.

“Luke, please stay calm,” I whisper. He nods in agreement. A woman, if that’s what you would call her, walks up to the guy and they begin to argue with each other.

Luke whispers to me, “I don’t think it’s safe here, but AAA said it will probably take about an hour or longer. Do you think we are better off waiting here or should we head back to the car?”

I can feel the group of guys staring us down. They’re saying nasty things and getting rowdy. “Do you think they will try to follow us if we leave?” I ask nervously.

Someone yells, “Hey, why don’t’ cha send the girl back o’er here.” Luke looks over, he is about to say something, but I stop him.

“Luke, don’t be stupid. They are trying to bait you. Just ignore them,” I tell him. He agrees and keeps his mouth shut. We stand there for a few minutes, contemplating the situation. Finally, to my relief, about half of them, including the one that is mumbling to me, head out the door. We watch through the window. It seems as if they have pulled out of the dirt drive. I can sense Luke’s partial relief.

After a few minutes, the bartender yells over to us, “If y'all aren’t goin’ to order somethin’, then y’all need to go.”

Luke looks at me for reassurance. “What do you think?” he asks.

“Let’s go,” I say, not sounding sure of myself, but not comfortable with the remaining crowd.

As soon as we step outside to the left of the bar, three men and a woman stand, one being the guy who was trying to hit on me and the woman he was arguing with inside. They have continued their argument outside, near his truck. The other two guys don’t seem to be affected by their growing violence. One of the guys whistles at me and they start laughing. That sets the woman, who is just as drunk as the guys, off more so. She begins to slap at the guy, who in turn, begins shaking her. I can hardly believe my eyes when he starts slapping her. She fights back, making him angrier; the others stand there, laughing and do nothing.

I’m holding Luke’s arm in a bear grip. He pulls free of me. I remember telling him not to get involved, but everything happens so fast. The girl is crying, but still fighting back, the more she fights him, the harder he strikes her. The guy takes hold of her and pushes her so hard into the side window of his truck that the glass shatters. Luke grabs him by the shirt to stop him. The guy is in a frenzy and begins to wail his arms at Luke. I can see the adrenaline in Luke building as he winds up and punches him in the side of his face. From that point on, everything seems as if it is happening in slow motion. The guy falls backwards, slamming his head into the concrete parking block. His body convulses and goes still. The girl is screaming. The two other men stand there and do nothing.

Luke kneels beside him and picks his head up in his hands, blood seeps through his fingers as he stares down at him. “JJ, go inside, call for help,” he says eerily calm as I stand there frozen in disbelief.

Shaking, I run back in the bar and yell for someone to call for help. I run back outside, the guy still hasn’t moved as Luke continues to cradle his head in his hands and the blood trickles through his fingers. The woman is screaming, crying, yelling at Luke, and accusing him of killing the man. More people spill out into the parking lot from the bar, standing around, watching in disbelief. It seems like forever until the police finally arrive, followed by an ambulance.

Everything becomes a blur, just like the day of my mom’s accident. The EMT’s work on him for a while before placing the cover over his face as they lift him onto the stretcher. The police question everyone. They all blame Luke, including the girl, who was bleeding from getting cut by the shattered glass. Her eye is beginning to swell. They all lie and say it was Luke who broke the window and initiated the fight.

Luke and I, visibly shaken, give the sheriff our version of what actually happened.

“We walked outside, saw him beating her up, Luke stepped in to help. It was an accident,” I say trembling as they question me separately. I can’t make out his reaction, but they don’t seem to believe us. They handcuff Luke and bring us to the station.

By the time we reach the station, I am hysterical. I call Mikey from my cell. 

***

I haven’t seen Luke since they brought us in. I’m alone for hours in this dingy Sheriff’s station. Mikey arrives first and I’m hysterical. I can’t stop shaking. I run to him as soon as he walks through the doors. He tries to soothe me, but he is going crazy with worry himself, trying to get answers. Lucca arrives a while later; he jumped on the first flight he could get. He has also contacted a lawyer who flies out to meet us. They make us wait till Monday before setting his bail.

By the time the four of us arrive back in Jersey, Deanna is home with Maria. I can tell by the swollen faces and puffy eyes, they’ve been crying. My dad comes in shortly after, as soon as I see him, I run to him and begin to bawl my eyes out.

The seven of us sit around as Luke and I go over everything that happened. Lucca makes more calls, making sure Luke has the best defense possible.

Luke is in shock, we both are, but we hold onto each other for support. The lawyer meets with us again. Luke and I relay every detail of what transpired that day. He begins to work on the case immediately.

The next several days we try to go about our day, hoping it’s a terrible nightmare. Luke and I don’t go out of the house except every once in a while, late at night, to sit on the docks. Reporters are calling the house for details, but we’re told by the lawyer not to give a comment or make any statements about that day.

Mikey’s time on the DL has run out and he has to report back to the team in Florida, while Luke is advised to take a leave so that he can focus on clearing his name. Before he leaves Mikey and I have a chance to talk while Luke sleeps soundly on the couch.

“I should have been there, JJ. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Mikey, please. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I should have stayed with my friends, like we planned. It was my idea to go to the game. You know Luke, of course he would agree to it. This is all my fault,” I cry.

“JJ, it was an accident. It’s not your fault, either,” he says, trying to comfort me.

“What’s going to happen to him?” I ask.

“I really don’t know. I think everything will turn out okay. It was an accident,” he repeats. “It has to turn out okay, right?” he asks. It’s the first time I’ve seen Mikey unsure of himself.

We’re all banking on the police investigation, praying they will come to the conclusion that it was a horrible accident. After the lawyer goes back and forth negotiating for a couple of weeks, including, holding his own investigation, he comes to Luke with his options.

He tells us they have a good case against him. “They are all sticking with their story that you initiated the fight, including the girlfriend. She claims he, Dale Cummings, the victim, did not hit her. Even the bartender is claiming that you had an
attitude when you walked into the bar. He says you seemed to be looking for a fight.”

“That’s not true,” Luke says, as I vouch for him.

He tells us it doesn’t matter. There’s no proof. He checks for video footage inside and outside of the bar, hoping to verify our story that the couple were actually fighting with each other, but there are no cameras. I knew that it was a long shot. He investigates the witnesses. One of the guys that witnessed the fight was involved in a previous incident, but it isn’t enough to discredit him. The bartender is another credible witness that the prosecution will use in their favor.

“What am I looking at?” Luke asks as I hold tightly onto his hand while Maria, Lucca and De sit across from us, their faces covered with worry.

“They’re offering a plea deal four to seven years. For provocational manslaughter, that is the lesser of the manslaughter charges. That means that you didn’t intend to kill the person, something happened that made you act in the moment and not think about the consequences.  The other option is going to trial. You may get acquitted, have the charges dropped altogether, but, given the defense testimonies, if the jury chooses to believe them, you could end up with a more serious manslaughter charge, which carries more time. Possibly, ten to fifteen years. It will probably be close to a year before they schedule the trial.”

De abruptly leaves the room, unable to deal with his options. I hear Maria gasp and quietly sob. Luke is ignoring her, staring only at his lawyer. He’s squeezing my hand so tightly; I don’t think he even realizes it. “What’s your recommendation?” he asks his lawyer.

“I’m good. I admit. We could go to trial and hope for the best. You have great character witnesses all around you. There are a lot of people willing to testify on your behalf. I’ve had dozens of letters from reputable people willing to testify. The prosecution is aware of this, that’s why they offered the plea... On the other hand, I’ve seen the girlfriend cleaned up. She’s got a kid, not his, but still, she can come off looking like a sympathetic, poor, single mother trying to raise her child alone. They’ll portray you as a snobby privileged pro athlete, celebrity type that thinks he can get away with anything. You know it’s not true, I know it’s not true, but it’s convincing to the jury. Considering where the trial will be held, you may end up with more people in their shoes, than yours.”