Page 73 of False Start
He carries me over to our friend so that I don’t step on glass. I check him out to make sure he’s breathing, and then I get him a trash can, water, and aspirin. Ben is such a great guy, and I can only hope Wendy knows and cherishes him as Zina would. I’m glad he had the time of his life tonight. Every guy and girl should have their night out on the town with friends before they tie the knot. Bryant and I never had parties because we rushed to Vegas to elope, and I never missed what I didn’t know. But someone in a more traditional type of ceremony should definitely enjoy an evening all about them.
“How is he?” I ask Bryant when the house is quiet and the players begin to split off to the guest rooms.
“I don’t know, babe. Couldn’t get a read on him all night. He doesn’t seem like himself though.”
“I’ve yet to break the news to Zina,” I admit, and the thought of it causes anxiety to fill my chest.
As we crawl into bed, him reeking of Bourbon, he tells me, “She’ll be okay. It’s what she wanted.”
I’m not so sure my sister knows what she wanted two years ago. I think she was scared of losing him to the league like so many college girlfriends do. And Bryant doesn’t understand it because he’s not a woman.
“Night baby.”
“Night, Quarterback.”
— 25 —
Then
“IT SEEMS LIKE THE longer we live in Los Angeles, the more party invitations we receive.”
“What are we invited to this time?” Bryant asks as he pulls the vehicle away from the mailbox and curb.
I open the envelope to discover an elegant black script on a shimmery gold invitation. Beautiful. Someone dropped a mint on the invites. “We are cordially invited to a fundraiser for the Los Angeles County Special Olympics. Awww. You should do this.”
“Weshould. I hate going to those things without you.” I usually have to push him out the door so I can study while he plays the football star.
“I can’t go. It’s the night of my study group.”
“You can’t skip your group this one time?” he whines.
I giggle at his inability to be by himself. “This close to my boards?”
He reaches over and squeezes my thigh. “You’re right, babe. I’m sorry. Just hate going without you.”
“No, you don’t like being by yourself.”
“No, I don’t like being without you. I feel better in your company. I always have.”
I turn and smile at him. “You’re perfect. You know that?”
THE NIGHT BEFORE MY boards, I crawl into bed without Bryant again. Since the season has ended, he’s been going out to events more and arriving home late smelling of liquor. His star has really risen in the last year in the league due to the numbers he put up this past season. He didn’t win a ring, but he was only one game shy of entering the Super Bowl as a contender. Plus, he’s young and gorgeous, and he’s been gracing covers of style magazines in his recent outings to fundraisers and other events. Bryant always comes home to me, if slightly inebriated, but he comes home to his wife. So I climb into bed with my phone on the nightstand, in case he calls in need of a ride, and I close my eyes to find rest.
The next morning, I scoot across the bed to Bryant’s chest to snuggle for a minute for good luck on my boards, but his side of the bed is cold. I turn over and find it empty. The sheet was never pulled back on his side.
What the hell?
I roll over and pluck my phone from the nightstand, but I don’t find his usual text message telling me he’s on his way home. He always messages to tell me he’s on his way home. Maybe he forgot. I get up and put my robe on and then search the house for him, but I come up empty. I call his phone.
He picks up immediately, and I can tell he’s just woken up. “Hello?” he croaks.
“Where are you?”
“What?”
I look at my phone in frustration and then put it back to my ear. “Where in the fuck are you?”
“Baby?”
