Page 14 of The Player's Obsession

“Naw. I gotta go. I have a ride waiting outside.”

I swallow a mouthful of soup, wipe my lips, and stand. I walk to him, give him a hug, and say, “I love you. I wish you would get your life together.”

“I gotta go.” He pulls away and opens the door.

Wow. That took a second. It’s one thing to get a text pleading with me and another to see him. He’s been in bad places over the years, but this is the worst he’s ever looked. Mom and Dad cut him off and kicked him out months ago. After that, he showed up here. I don’t have room for him and have no clue where he’s living.

“Be safe, Carlo, I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he replies before scooting. I watch from the door as he crawls into the back seat of a car that is riding too low to the ground. I notice the driver’s hands resting on the steering wheel are covered with tattoos. The passenger has the barrel of a gun tattooed in dark black ink on his hand resting on the car door. Both men are wearing hoodies and look like parolees. The passenger turns to look at me, and we briefly make eye contact. I quickly close my door, lock it, and lean against it.

I’m angry my brother has put me in this position. I’m angry I’ve been sucked in again. I’m angry that I have to work so hard and never have fun. Lucinda is right. I’m too young to be living like this. If it’s a choice between me having a life and my brother getting high, I’m living my life. There is nothing I can do or say that will change him. Ever since he was a teen, he ran with the wrong crowd. Mom and Dad thought he’d outgrow it and never gave him consequences.

His friends scare me. I can’t believe he brought those thugs to my doorstep. Now they know where I live. What was he thinking?

He wasn’t thinking. He’s past the point where he thinks about anything other than his next fix. I take a deep breath and start to cry. I don’t want to lose him. I’m afraid to think about his future or lack of it. I can’t save him. No one can save him. He doesn’t even want to save himself.

The tears roll down my face, and I’ve worked myself up. All the anguish I have swallowed while watching him do this to himself for years is released. It’s a hearty cry as my chest heaves and my nose runs. I find a box of tissues, dab at my puffy eyes, and blow my nose.

I haven’t cried in years. I have to distance myself from my brother if I’m to have a life.

I take a deep breath and sigh. The crying was cathartic. I have to stop thinking about Carlo’s daily struggles and what it must be like to crash in flop houses. I can’t torture myself with this anymore.

This date with Oliver is long overdue. It’s a night out, and I’m committed to moving forward with my life. I need to save money and get ahead too. I need a vacation and to get away for a few days. A change of scenery would be great. I haven’t taken a vacation since college. That was spring break eight years ago. I’m twenty-six, and I’ve never been outside the United States.

I pick up my empty bowl, rinse it, and put it in the dishwasher. I pour the rest of the soup in a container and close the refrigerator door. It’s not going to be easy to give Carlo tough love and consequences. His only chance of getting help is to bottom out and decide he needs to change.

In retrospect, I kick myself for enabling him. He manipulated me into feeling sorry for him. He’s sick and has no idea what I’m going through. Watching a bright kid, who could have been something incredible, throw away every opportunity he’s been given is painful.

I can’t change him.

I have to change me. I have to save myself, and the date tomorrow is a good start.

CHAPTER7

Oliver

Iwake up, looking forward to my first day off in months. Most mornings, I wake up obsessing over my game and running old plays through my mind. Now, the team is taking it easy because we don’t want to get hurt as we are about to roll into the first round of the playoffs.

We got banged up a bit this year, but it was worth it because we won a place in the playoffs. That reward only comes from grinding out the season and doing what it takes, even if it means we’re as elusive as Big Foot on the home front. Now is the time to clear our minds and get ready for the next phase of our journey.

I shower and pull on a pair of distressed jeans. I don’t know if they’re Calvin Klein or Levis. All I care about is that they are comfortable and still look great on me. I layer a T-shirt under my favorite shawl-collar fisherman sweater. While looking over my collection of sneakers, I tug on socks and finally decide on a pair of Nikes because they are adequate for running errands.

I check my look in the mirror. This closet is large enough to accommodate a full-length mirror on a stand. One wall has shelves with built-in lights to show off my shoe collections and shelves for folded clothes like sweaters, jeans, and shorts. Another wall has rows of jackets and shirts, then works down to dress shirts and casual tees. My suit jackets are in a different section with drawers underneath for accessories. The tile is covered with a thick area rug, and an oversized lounge chair holds it in place. This room is so big I could live in here if I wanted to.

There is a side that’s bare, that’s where Melanie had her wardrobe. She had so many clothes she even used the closet in the spare bedroom, judging from the manner in which the shelving was custom fitted.

I am a homebody, but I make an exception for going out with the guys. We get together socially a few times a month. I hate to have my picture taken. Maybe it’s because Mom took so many of us growing up, I have PTSD when I see a camera.

My phone rings.

Lucinda.

“Hi, what’s up?”

“Hello, Mr. Rowe. I’m calling to make sure you are happy with the cleaning job yesterday.”

“Fine. Yes, Penelope is nice. No problems.”

---