Page 43 of Mr. Charming

After we got home and were lying in bed, I knew I had to tell Tedi why I didn’t want to get the tattoo at first. She was curled up on her side, turned away from me, and I was staring at the ceiling with a hand resting behind my head when I took the plunge.

“My dad has five different women’s names tattooed on him,” I said.

Tedi didn’t turn around, but I knew she was listening. And I knew the demons I was still haunted by were chipping away at our relationship once again. She was probably so tired of my shit.

“My mom wasn’t the first tattoo, and she wasn’t the last. He never got one removed and would make these awful jokes that he still loved them all.” I took a deep breath to fight against the tightness in my chest. “I swore to myself I’d never get a woman’s name tattooed on me because it’s not romantic. There’s nothing romantic about how my dad made them feel special, then went on to steal from them, beat them, or leave them. He fooled so many women and left a sea of broken hearts behind. I wanted to carve my mom’s name off his skin, hoping it would free her of him.”

I had such a hard time talking to anyone but my therapist about my issues with a drug-addicted dad who couldn’t get his shit together. A man who was supposed to lead by example but would come in and out of my life without a care for my well-being. The first time I opened up to Tedi about him, she gave me that pitying look I hate, but I was okay with it. But I didn’t tell her all of it. I didn’t want her to see how fucked up I was and have her run away and leave me.

She rolled over and tucked her hands under her chin, staring at me. “You didn’t have to do it.”

I gave her a look because I’m not usually a guy who feels pressured to do anything I don’t want to do, but with her, sometimes I feel as if I’m disappointing her. So for her, I did it.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

I cradled her cheek with my palm, running my thumb under her eye. “I like it, though. And I know it’s not your name, but to me it might as well be.”

“I think I got caught up in the whole thing.”

I smiled at her because I did too. “I don’t want you to think I don’t like it or that I regret it. I love that you’re my girl. I love that you understand me and get me, and I’m honored that I get to be the guy who tattoos your initials on me. But I don’t want you looking at it and thinking that I didn’t want it. I might not have at first, but I was wrong. I’m not my dad, and sometimes I have to take a step back and remember that fact.”

She scooted closer to me, and I wrapped my arms around her, careful of her tattoo.

“I love you, Tedi. So fucking much. And this tattoo is just a symbol of what you mean to me. Of our unbreakable bond and how you’ll always be my girl.”

She nodded into my chest. “I love you so much.”

It turned out to be a great decision. Maybe I need to hang around Cory more.

Twenty-Two

Tedi

I’m in the bench area, instructing Fletcher, the cameraman who’s been assigned to me, on what shots to get at practice this morning since Coach Buford said he was fine with me getting some raw shots and videos. I’ve planned a photoshoot next week to replace the shots Gill got.

After the other night at Peeper’s, I’m really trying to have a better attitude when it comes to Tweetie. All this animosity between us isn’t good for the team or for me. I don’t really hate him, and I do want to see him succeed. It’s just a struggle when there are so many deep and hurt feelings between us.

“He’s got limited time left,” someone says behind me.

I stop directing Fletcher where to shoot, wanting to hear whoever it is since I’m fairly sure they’re talking about Tweetie.

“His contract is up this year. What are you going to do?” someone else says.

“Last week I was ready to send him packing, but his hat trick this week was promising. We’ll see how he does this season.”

I recognize the one voice now. Bud Caldron. Slimy asshole.

The man has no shame. Openly talking about one of his players within earshot of other people. Bringing his mistress to dinner. When I asked some of the guys at dinner about it, they told me he’s always been that way. Apparently the rumor is that his wife knows about his cheating and just turns a blind eye. Even so, just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

“He’s all over the blogs and socials. The fans love him after that game,” the other guy says, and I can’t place that voice.

I fight my urge to turn around and give them both a piece of my mind. Tweetie is the best left wing in the league, and they’d be fools not to sign him to another contract.

“He’s inconsistent. Which is why I came down here today to have a look. He’ll have one good game, then three bad ones.”

God, I fucking hate Bud.

Fletcher eyes me because he must hear them too. I really wish their conversation would be held somewhere more private and not feet away from the person they’re judging.

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