Page 94 of Roughing the Player
I’m starving and the dish really does smell delicious, but I have no plates, no forks and no knives. So I drop the casserole on the bottom shelf of the fridge and head out to eat. When I get back, I fetch the air mattress from the car and inflate it. Not the most comfortable accommodation, but it will do for the night. Somehow, I manage to get eight hours of sleep.
The next couple of days bring the king-sized bed I ordered and more women dropping by. Pretty soon my fridge’s stocked with mac and cheese, beef stroganoff, and a really tasty chicken and rice. I’d bought some plastic knives and forks and a set of paper plates. So one thing for sure, I won’t be starving any time soon. After heating the chicken dish in the built-in microwave, I serve a sizable portion. But the fragrant food reminds me of Ellie’s, and two bites in, I lose my appetite. Damn it, I can’t go through life being this miserable. I’m going to have to let go. Yeah. Like that’s happening anytime soon.
For the umpteenth time since I arrived, I dial her number. But just like the last hundred times, she doesn’t pick up.
I bow my head in misery. I should be fucking happy. After all, I’m the starting quarterback for an up-and-coming team. My contract’s one of the best in the league, and this house is everything I’ve ever wanted. Six bedrooms with plenty of room and a huge backyard. I’d bought it thinking of Ellie. And Kaylee. And Butch. I’d pictured Ellie and me on matching rocking chairs, eating slices of apple pie, watching our children play. Yeah, children. I’d imagined more than one. Kaylee, of course. A tow-headed boy who looked just like me. Another boy and girl. But none of that’s gonna happen. Not after I fucked things up.
When I saw that bonus check and the ‘For extraordinary services rendered,’ I saw red. She was getting that money not only because she’d moved in but agreed to ‘babysit’ me. She could have said no. I certainly would have. I certainly wouldn’t have allowed Marty to browbeat me.
Except.
She’s not me, is she? She’s a single mother who held a mortgage and owed thousands of dollars for school loans. For years, she’d endured so much hardship, tried so hard to make ends meet. Ellie’s scholarship had covered tuition, but not room and board. So she’d borrowed to keep the wolf from the door. But from something Ruth said, it hadn’t been enough. Sometimes the cupboard went bare. So Ruth and her husband made regular trips to bring Ellie and Kaylee food. It must have been hard for Ellie to accept that charity, even if it came from her own mother. But she would have swallowed her pride for Kaylee’s sake.
God knows I didn’t endure those hardships. My parents may have ignored me, but I never had to worry about food or having a roof over my head. So who the fuck am I to judge what she did? She gave in to Marty’s demands because her job depended on it and the extra money would have paid off some bills.
But the thing that set me off wasn’t her moving in, or even babysitting me. It was the thought that she’d gone beyond what Marty had asked. That she’d spread her legs to get that money.
But would she have done such a thing? That’s the real question, isn’t it? I refused to believe her when she tried to explain. How could I? My whole life people have wanted me for what I could bring them—fame for my teammates, sex for the groupies, money for everyone else. Nobody has ever loved me for me.
But Ellie never demanded a thing from me, even when she had the best reason in the world—child support for Kaylee. No, she never asked for a dime. So why would she all of a sudden do something for money? The truth is blindingly obvious. She wouldn’t have.
God, what an idiot I’ve been.
She’d tried to explain, hadn’t she? But I hadn’t listened. Instead, I’d denied her, insulted her. And I’d hurt so much the last time we made love I’d stopped her from saying a word. Because I’m a selfish bastard, and all I can think about is my needs, my hunger, my pain. So if I’m fucking alone, it’s my own damn fault. I have no one to blame but myself.
The days crawl by, slowly, painfully. Every day, once a day, I dial her number, even though I know she won’t pick up. But it makes me happy to hear her recorded voice. When the loneliness gets to be too much, I watch that baking show she likes so much on my phone and make-believe she’s right by my side.
A week later, my stuff arrives along with a raging thunderstorm. Somehow, the thunder and lightning suit my dark mood. These movers, unlike the clowns in Chicago, are true professionals, carefully handling the boxes and the furniture, including the bed of sin. Minus the restraints, of course. I had enough smarts to remove them before I arranged the move. After they leave, I unpack the bare necessities—the coffeemaker and toaster in the kitchen. My everyday clothes. The rest I leave tucked away until I have the heart to empty them out.
During the long spring days, I meet with the coaches, train at the facility, make the media rounds. Everyone wants to know when my family will join me. I tell them Kaylee’s not finished with school yet. Which is the truth. But by June, I no longer have that excuse, and the media smells blood in the water. Rumors spread about the collapse of my marriage, although no one has the balls to ask me right out. Soon headlines pop up all over the place. One rag writes a particularly nasty article about the women who show up at my door. How on earth they found out, I have no idea. The vicious headline reads, ‘Is Brock Parker cheating on his bride?’ Bastards.
A week after the rag hits the stands, my phone rings. Ellie. My heart soars before crashing right back to earth. She never called before. Has something happened?
“Is everything okay? How’s Kaylee? And Butch?” I ask, panic in my voice.
“She’s fine. Everyone’s fine, including Butch.”
Thank the fuck.
“So you’re all settled in now?”
“Yes.” She called for a reason, but I don’t want to rush her. I’m happy just to hear her voice.
“Kaylee wants to come down for a visit.”
“She does?” Joy spears through me. I’d hoped this would happen. So much so, that I’d hired a Charleston family law attorney to establish visitation rights. She’d drawn up the papers and sent them to me. I never returned them. Because it would make my separation from Ellie more real than I could stand. But this phone call means Ellie trusts me with our daughter. And that means everything to me.
“Yes. She saw some interview on one of the sports channels. When they asked about your family, she got upset. Apparently, they hinted at our separation. So, she thought she’d come down and spend some time with you to squelch the gossip. Would it be okay for her to come down?”
“Absolutely.” I’m grinning like a kid at Christmas time.
“You sure? I mean I wouldn’t want her to cramp your style.”
“Cramp my what?” I yell. Idiot. If I want any chance of winning her back, I can’t be screaming at her. I take a deep breath and, in a more reasonable tone, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard rumors of women dropping by your house at all hours, day and night.”
“Fuck the rumors.” So much for staying calm. “I’m married to you. I’m not screwing anyone else.”
