Of course, it might have been because I had fucked one of the alderman’s daughters, and her dad walked in on us.
Whatever.
It was pretty quiet in the lunchroom, and Nicole kept asking if I was pissed at her because she was going to miss my practice. I just shrugged, not really knowing what to say. It wasn't like she was going to tell me anything. She leaned over and kissed the side of my mouth when biology was over, and I felt like a total shit for being such a total shit.
“I just don’t want you to go,” I whispered into her ear.
“I know,” she whispered back. She gave me a small smile before she walked out.
I was already on the field practicing when school let out, so I had a good view of the parking lot as kids starting getting in their cars to head home. I was doing a little ball juggling when I saw a posh Jaguar pull into the lot and drive up next to the main doors. Nicole walked out and got in the passenger side. All I could see of the driver were dark glasses and black hair.
I don't know why that set me off exactly, but it did. I slammed the ball into the goal with my right foot and took off toward the parking lot.
It wasn't difficult to follow them, and I would have stayed right behind them if some asshole hadn’t cut me off and then stopped at the fucking red light as the car Nicole was in kept going. I pounded on the steering wheel and screamed, but there wasn't enough room for me to get around. By the time the light changed, the Jag was out if sight.
Now the township isn't all that big—not even big enough to be a township—so I just drove up to the corporation limits, pulled over for a minute, and added the address for Ron Jones into my GPS. Of course, the maps for the area seriously sucked because the subdivision was so new, and I ended up turning around a half dozen times before I finally noticed the huge, mosaic tiled drive that led to a large ranch house. I wasn't sure if I had the right place or not. There weren’t any other cars, not even in the driveway.
Fuck it.
I parked, went up the porch steps, and banged on the door.
Nicole opened it.
“Thomas?” Her expression quickly moved from shock to seriously ticked off. “What the...?”
Of course, now that I was there, I had no clue what to say or do. Before I came up with anything brilliant, the dark-haired guy walked up and stood behind her, glaring.
“I thought Sophie said you weren't going to say anything to him,” he said, his voice as dark as his hair.
“I didn't,” Nicole responded. She glared at me. “What are you doing here? How did you even get here?”
“In my car,” I replied.
“Don't be a shit!” Nicole yelled back at me.
The guy laughed.
“I saw you leave school...” I started to say, but I trailed off.
“You followed me?” she gasped.
“Not…exactly…” I stammered. “I lost you in town.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“Um…”
Shit.
“Dammit, Thomas!” Nicole yelled. She turned sideways to look at the man and ran her hands through her hair.
“I just want to know what the fuck is going on!” I finally yelled. I wasn’t really mad, just fucking frustrated with all of this shit.
“You don’t belong here,” the dude said, and I was pretty sure he must be Ron Jones. He looked a little familiar, like I might have seen him at a council function. “You aren’t welcome. Get back in your car and go.”
“Ron,” Nicole said softly. “Please—he’s already here…Once he sees…”
Nicole’s voice trailed off as a loud, unearthly wailing sound came from inside the house. It was like nothing I had ever heard before, and I immediately took a step away from the door.
Ron snickered.
“He won’t tell anyone,” Nicole said confidently as she walked back into the house.
“What, out of the goodness of his heart?” Ron didn’t even bother trying to hide is contempt.
“Don’t fucking yell at her!” I really, really didn’t like him talking like that to her. I took a step forward again but then realized I was making a move on a local bigwig. I faltered then heard that insane sound again and cringed.
Nicole disappeared behind the door, and I fought the urge to go in after her. I mean, it’s not like this guy was going to punch me or something to stop me. As a public figure, he knew better than to do something so stupid. Nicole was only gone for a second, and when she came back, she was holding…
…a little kid.
A baby, really.
“Thomas,” she said with her eyes shooting those beautiful blue daggers and her kitten claws set to castrate, “this is Timmy.”
“That's Timmy?” I said, unable to hide my astonishment.
Then my entire body went cold, and my stomach lurched.
The kid wasn't like a newborn, not that I had much experience with babies at all, but he was sitting up in Nicole's arms and looking at me, and I knew that little babies couldn't hold their heads up. He was looking around from face to face like he was trying to figure out what was going on, too.
Timelines started flashing through my head.
Nicole had been partying after her division championship.
Division championships were typically the end of the fall season.
If she…if she got…
Fuck.
“Is he…is he yours?” I looked at her eyes and was in full-blown panic mode. What if this kid was hers? What if she had a baby from one of those fuckheads? What if…what if she was planning to raise a kid when she got out of high school?
What the fuck would I do about that?
I'd fucking help her. That's what I'd do.
Images flashed through my head in rapid succession: Nicole and I with little Timmy on walks in the park with her pushing a stroller; taking picnics on her living room floor with him crawling around us; seeing him get a little older and taking him to the beach; teaching him to kick a ball into a goal.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Nicole shrieked at me. “Of course not! I'm just helping Sophie!”
For a second, I was disappointed.
Then my higher cognitive functioning kicked in, and I was seriously fucking relieved.
“Nicole, you need to stop talking,” Ron said with his deep, ominous voice.
“Ron, please!” She turned to him, and her eyes begged. “He won't tell anyone. I swear he won't. Will you?”
She turned back to me, and I could only nod as I tried to wrap my head around whatever the fuck was going on. Ron glared at her.
“That's between you and Sophie,” Ron finally said. “But you keep your mouth shut until she gets home.”
Nicole sighed and looked back at me again.
“Go home, Thomas,” she said after a moment. “I am seriously fucking pissed at you, and when I'm done here, I'll be at your house to set some fucking limits. You got it?”
Ron snickered again.
I already hated the fucker.
But I couldn't be too pissed because even though she was obviously really mad at me, she said she was going to come and talk about it. Hopefully, that meant I was at least going to be offered my three shakes.
Or was it time to castle?
Fuck.
How do you play these games when the rules don't make any fucking sense?
At least she wasn’t showing me a red card. Not yet, anyway. I could handle a booking as long as it was just the cautionary yellow.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
Nicole handed the baby back to Ron then placed her hand gently on my chest and pushed me from the doorway onto the porch. She closed the door softly behind her and looked up at me.
Claws still out.
“I'm going to try to work this out,” she seethed, “but you have really, really made this difficult! Why couldn't you just trust me, huh?”
“I trust you,” I replied.
“The hell you do!”
“I do!” I
said more adamantly.
“Then start acting like it! When Sophie gets back from work, I'll talk to you. For now—go!”
She turned around and went back into the house, shutting me out as I stood there on the porch with my mouth hanging open.
I closed it, turned around, and walked slowly back to my car.
For some reason, Shakespeare whispered in my ear the phrase “not so much brain as ear wax.” Somehow, I thought I might have run out of “Get Out of Jail Free” cards in this Monopoly game.
Now, was she going to take my queen?
CHAPTER 19
THE TWELFTH MAN
My phone meowed just as I was pulling out of the driveway.
I had left it on the passenger seat when I went to find Nicole.
Two missed calls.
I checked the number.
Shit, shit, shit.
Before my shaking hand could hit the recall button, the phone was meowing again.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Don’t you ‘Hey Dad’ me! Why the fuck weren’t you at practice?”
“I…um…”
Shit. I was not ready for this.
“Fucking answer me!” he screamed through the phone. “Were you out boning that bitch, because I told you no fucking distractions! Ten days, asshole! Ten days before the Messini brothers come to see you. Ten fucking days!”
“I know, Dad…I was just…”
“Just what?”
I didn’t want to do it, but I only had one card to play that didn’t lead to total disaster.
“Just…not feeling well.”
“Not feeling well?” he repeated. His voice dropped significantly in volume. “You sick?”
“No...um…” Damn! Now I was stammering. “I don’t think so. It’s just…it’s nothing.”
“Tell me what the fuck is wrong with you!” he yelled.
I took a long, audible breath.
“My ribs are really hurting today,” I lied. “I took Motrin, but it just wasn’t taking the edge off. I think I overdid it when I was working out yesterday and maybe pulled it or something.”
He went completely quiet for a minute.
“The prescription is in my bathroom,” he said softly. “Take one, and one only.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks, Dad.”
“No problem. Just get some rest tonight, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You have to be in top shape next week, son. You can’t fuck it up.”
“I won’t, Dad. I swear.”
“That’s my boy.”
He hung up.
I wanted a cigarette.
“Fuck.”
I stopped at the end of the street, rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes for a minute, tried to take some deep cleansing breaths or some such shit, and drove home. The house was dark when I got there since the clouds had thickened and there was even some thunder in the distance. I turned on the lights in the kitchen and the living room just to make it a little brighter. Then I went upstairs and into Dad’s bathroom, dumped one of the pain pills into my hand and then into the toilet.
I knew he counted them.
I went into my room, stood there staring into space for a minute, and tried to figure out what the fuck was happening.
I wasn’t stupid. I’d seen after-school specials. I knew a lot of shit about my life was fucked up: my Mom was gone, my Dad had to deal with being a single parent, and I had no real understanding about what a relationship between a man and a woman was supposed to be beyond tab A into slot B. I knew, when it came right down to it, my Dad shouldn’t fucking hit me.
And I knew that he knew it, too.
I had only ever used his guilt on him once before, when I was fifteen and wanted to go to an all-night party at the beach. He said no way because I had to train the next day, and I sulked around until he finally blew up. Then I told him I was supposed to go the prior weekend, but I hadn’t been able to.
I was too bruised to be seen in public.
He let me go.
I felt like shit then, too.
I knew why he acted that way because ultimately, whether he should be doing it or not, whatever pain he inflicted on me was nothing like the mental anguish I had inflicted on him when I killed his wife—the only person he had ever loved. I thought I knew what that was like for him before, since I lost her too, but now that Nicole was around…well, the very idea of anything happening to her was just…unthinkable.
I’d freak out.
I’d go insane.
I’d implode.
I’d probably punch and kick and destroy anyone who came into contact with me, and if I got a hold of the person responsible for hurting her…well, whatever happened wouldn’t be pretty, that was for sure.
I went into the kitchen, thought about eating something, but just grabbed a Gatorade instead. I needed to go to the store; I was almost out of the blue ones. I tilted my head a little so I could see the bottom of the fridge, and it did look a lot better. It reminded me that Nicole was going to come over at some point, and she was going to string me up by my balls.
I lost my train of thought as I imagined Nicole’s hands on my balls.
I shook my head, went into the living room, and played a little FIFA on the Wii. I was Germany and creamed the Spanish team, the way the last World Cup should have been. When I was done, I tossed the controller back in its drawer and looked at the pouring rain out the window. It was getting dark, and I hadn’t heard from Nicole.
Was she still coming?
Did she have to stay later than she thought?
Was she making Greg dinner? Had she forgotten about me?
Did she get in a…in a…
Shit.
Fuck.
My chest tightened up again, and I had to fight the bile trying to rise up my throat. I swallowed hard and washed it down with a big gulp of blue Gatorade.
It had started to rain harder. What if she was hurt? What if Ron had shitty eyesight, and he hit something trying to drive in the dark? What if a lamppost or something got hit by lightning right in front of them?
I felt like the twelfth man on a team, just waiting on the sidelines but unable to actually do anything about the play. All I could do was try to come up with some chant to spur on the team.
My stomach clenched again, and I tried telling myself I was just hungry, but the idea of food made me want to vomit. I looked down at my shaking hands and realized I was starting to hyperventilate.
I couldn’t stand it. I had to go find her.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door. Just as I got there, I saw headlights coming up the drive.
Thank fuck.
I didn’t care if she yelled at me, slapped me in the face, or told me she never wanted to see me again. She was okay, and at the moment, that was all that mattered. As soon as she started running from the car to the front door, I was out on the porch, grabbing her into my arms and holding her against my chest.
She was real.
She was okay.
My hand went up her back and came to rest on the back of her head, tangled in her wet hair. I tucked my head against her shoulder and inhaled the scent of her.
“Thomas, I’m getting drenched!”
Oops.
I pulled her inside, kissed her forehead, and told her to wait while I ran upstairs for towels. I gently dried her arms then her face and her hair. I ran back upstairs and grabbed a clean jersey, some sweats that were too small for me, and a pair of dry socks. I ran them all back down to her and then ran the wet towels into the laundry room to get them washed. Once they were going, I raced back to Nicole, realized I had left her hair sticking out all over the place after the rubdown, and ran back up to my bathroom to find a comb.
When I got back, she was holding in giggles.
“What?” I asked.
“You!” she said as she finally lost her hold on her mouth and started chuckling. “You just made fifteen laps around the house.”
&
nbsp; I smiled a little sheepishly.
She reached out and put her hand on my cheek.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I just…was starting to…worry, I guess.”
“Did you think I wasn’t coming?”
“Maybe.” I didn’t want to admit I was practically having a panic attack worrying about her. I reached out, lay my hands on her sides, and pulled her close again. It was good to feel her against me.
“I’m still mad,” she informed me.
“I know,” I mumbled. I tried to look properly chastised, but I wasn’t sure it was working. Well, she hadn’t really started yelling at me yet, so the look was probably a little premature. I straightened up, un-pouted my lip, and waited for the shit-storm.
“How did you find me?” she asked. “Did you follow me or not?”
“Well, I—”
She suddenly leaned forward and grabbed hold of my chin.
“And don’t you dare lie to me, Malone!” she snapped.
Meow.
“I tried to follow you,” I admitted, “but I lost you.”
“You said that,” she reminded me. “How did you get to Ron’s house?”
“My GPS…and a little luck.”
“Thomas!” she yelled, obviously exasperated.
I sighed and gave up. I reached out for her hand, and she let me lead her to the couch.
“I’ve got a…friend,” I told her. “He’s a skip-tracer. He can find out almost anything about anybody. I called him, and he got me the address.”
Nicole looked into my eyes for a long, long time. Her expression remained guarded and thoughtful all at the same time. When she finally spoke, I jumped a little.
“Spill it,” she said simply.
“Huh?”
“Everything you had this guy find out about me. Everything.”
“Um…well…”
Okay, this was not going swimmingly right at the moment.
“Out with it!”
“Okay!” I ran a hand through my hair. “He did a little background search on you but nothing too detailed, okay? All I wanted then was your phone number, really.”