Page 95 of Memories of Me

Forgotten Dreams

THE SOCCER STADIUMat UC Berkeley looked impressive in person. I admired the freshly cut grass, inhaling the damp air as the evening fog rolled in.

“Soccer players don’t stop to smell the grass, Reilly. Get out there. You’re CM. Show us what you’ve got,” Coach Reynolds yelled from across the field.

Central Midfielder. I guess my reputation preceded me even after all these years.

“Old guy, let’s go!” Coach continued shouting.

The rest of the California Golden Bears soccer team jogged onto the field, bumping me as they passed. They had been practicing together all summer, so not only was I the ripe old age of twenty-one, but I was also the new guy. I knew I would be taking a lot of crap from the team until I proved myself, and Coach making me CM right out the gate wasn’t going to sit well with them. CM was a coveted position that only the most athletic and agile could master. I knew I was more than capable, but the team didn’t know that yet. I had been off the radar for three years, so to them, I was a rookie.

Tragedy had hit like a tsunami this past year, taking from me every last breath of life. I was suffocating in Cliffside with my brother, Brandt, and his wife, Baylor. God, I loved them, but I needed to get as far away from home as possible. I knew I was running, but I didn’t give a crap. Who wouldn’t run from a past like mine? I don’t remember my dad, because he died in a freak hunting accident when I was only four, and I lost my mom and Tessa, the woman I had planned on spending the rest of my life with, to a horrific train accident less than a year ago. So, hell yeah, I was running. I drowned myself in alcohol to numb the sting, but reality kept coming back every time I saw Baylor’s face. She was a spitting image of her sister, Tessa, and I had falsely fallen in love with the idea of Baylor—of having a piece of Tessa back by being with her. How screwed up was that? Falling in love with my brother’s wife? That was when I knew I had hit rock bottom. So I left, leaving behind a decimated past and a string of lies to fool everyone into thinking I was moving on. The only truth I left them with was accepting a soccer scholarship to UC Berkeley. I was still indulging in liquid therapy, which was much easier now that it was legal for me to buy. And I was still in love with my dead girlfriend. And my brother’s wife.

“Show us what you got,” the team captain, Lucas, challenged as I stood toe to toe with him. There were twenty-five on the roster, and we were starting practice with a scrimmage. Lucas and I were both CMs on the same team, and from his tone I sensed he wasn’t happy about it.

“Okay,” I said nonchalantly, not hiding the threatening smirk that crept onto my face.

The coach blew the whistle. Instead of passing to Lucas, I performed a scissor move between one of the opposing center backs, Steven, and then chipped by Jaxon, who was pressuring me at center forward, added a little spin for effect, and made a perfect shot into the goal.

Coach blew the whistle. “What the hell was that, Reilly?” he shouted.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“You got your point across. Now play like you’re on a team,” he spat out.

“Sure thing, Coach.” I shot Lucas a challenging grin across the field.

“Dude, that scissor move was sick,” Steven praised as he slapped my back. “Will you show me how to do that during skills?”

I smiled. “Yeah, man.”

A few of the guys came over to commend me on my footwork. Lucas huffed by the coach, arms crossed over his chest. He’d come around once he let his pride go.

Coach blew the whistle again. “Reset and do it again. This time, pass the ball, Reilly.”

The guys lightened up by the end of practice. It didn’t take long for me to prove I was worthy of being on the team. Some of them were going to a party close by my apartment in Rochdale Village and invited me along. Who was I to refuse my team—or alcohol?

The party was being thrown in an area called The Flats that was on the backside of the building across from my apartment. I had rolled into town late afternoon yesterday and quickly realized the weekends here would not be quiet. I got an apartment, hoping for some privacy when I wasn’t on campus, but it seemed Rochdale Village ran more like a dormitory minus university restrictions. Last night was the Friday before classes officially began, and everyone was out in masses around the complex, drinking, getting high, and getting to know each other on a very intimate and public basis. Tessa had had a wild side, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by some of the behavior, but I had this preconceived notion that college would be less like high school.

Man, was I wrong.

I threw open the door to my apartment, tossing my soccer bag onto the couch. Baylor had ordered all my furniture and had it delivered before I arrived. She knew I would have settled for a table to eat on, a recliner, and a bed. She had gone overboard, of course. I about fell on the floor when I got here. I was the proud owner of a set of black leather couches, a bar table for four, a bedroom set, and this morning’s delivery held towels and kitchen appliances, some I had no idea what their purpose was. She even had groceries delivered from the local supermarket. That was what made it so easy to fall in love with her after Tessa died. She became a crutch.

I jumped in the shower, exhausted from the three-hour practice. I was used to surfing for hours on end, but that consisted of more resting than actual surfing, especially when the sets were lacking. San Diego wasn’t exactly known for great waves. I debated on skipping the party altogether, but one look in the fridge absent of beer changed my mind. I made myself a turkey sandwich and tossed down a soda before heading out.

When I opened the front door, I instantly heard a crowd of voices echoing through the hallways. This was going to be a long year if I didn’t find another apartment building. I made a mental note to look on the internet tomorrow. The click of the neighboring door caught my attention and out fell a girl. And I mean fell, literally.

“Ow,” she whimpered.

“Are you okay?” I asked as I leaned over to help her.

“No, not really,” she huffed as she pushed herself up onto her knees. “These stupid heels are the problem.” She yanked them off and tossed them through her open apartment door.

I chuckled.

“Are you laughing at me?” She glared.

I covered my mouth with my hand and coughed back another laugh. “Ummm, no,” I tried to say with a straight face.

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