Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game

  Yeah, I was a bastard.

  Mrs. Nelson’s voice brought me out of my self-deprecating tirade. “Noah, Mr. Nelson, Jonathan, and I have been discussing the funeral plans. We want you to sing Free Bird. It was Jake’s favorite, and we think—well I know—that’s what he’d want.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Sure, I’d sung Free Bird millions of times. I’d even sung it around Jake dozens of times—usually when he was highly inebriated. Course, he never failed to find a cigarette lighter and hold it up throughout the song while slurring through the lyrics with me. It became a competition between him and my old hound dog, Boo Radley, to see who could howl the loudest—Jake usually won.

  But Jake wouldn’t be howling this time. I’d be singing it in front of a packed crowd of mourners at his funeral. Damn, it was such intense thought that for a few seconds I couldn’t find my voice. Finally, I replied, “Um, yeah, sure Mrs. Nelson.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.” She turned to my mom. “I’ve got to get some of Jake’s things together to take down to the funeral home. They said they’d set them up for me before the wake tomorrow. It’s just…”

  Mom and I exchanged a glance when Mrs. Nelson trailed off. Mom squeezed her hand reassuringly. Mrs. Nelson wiped the tears from her eyes. “It’s just I can’t bear to make myself go into his room,” she replied in a pained whisper.

  “You don’t need to do that, Evelyn. I’m sure Martin or one of the boys will do it,” Mom said.

  Mrs. Nelson jerked her head up like a light bulb had gone off in her mind. “Noah, would you mind getting some of Jake’s things together? Jonathan is supposed to go to the airport in a little while to pick up Jason.”

  I glanced over at Jonathan. He momentarily wore an expression of pure relief. When he met my gaze, he quickly wiped it away.

  What was I supposed to say? “No thank you, Mrs. Nelson. I’d prefer to be a self-centered prick today cause, you know, I’m not really feeling the whole ‘going up and rummaging through my dead best friends stuff’ vibe”.

  I didn’t say that. Instead, I tried clearing my throat of the continuous massive lump of emotion that seemed clogged there . “Yeah, I can do that. What exactly do you want?”

  “Just some things to set out around the urn. Things that Jake was interested in,” she replied.

  I fought the urge to reply, “Why don’t we just decorate the table with condoms, lube, and thongs since that was what Jake was mainly interested in?”

  “Like some of his trophies and stuff?” I asked.

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. Anything you think Jake would want. You knew him so much better than I did.”

  I almost choked over the last line. I wasn’t sure if I really ever knew Jake. Have you ever had friends like that? Friends you spent every waking minute with, but when it came down to it if the police asked you deeply personal questions, you might not be able to answer them? Jake and I were guys—we didn’t let a lot people in. When I wracked my brain, there were maybe five or ten times throughout our friendship that I could remember really seeing his guard down. But who knows, maybe that was enough. Maybe that’s all that anybody had with their friends. And maybe Dr. Phil had screwed a whole generation into thinking we had to “think and feel” too much and “say what we meant”. Ugh.

  It was then that Mr. Nelson breezed through the garage door and into the kitchen. He shot an aggravated look at Jonathan. “I thought you would have already left by now. Don’t tell me you’ve managed to forget about picking up Jason?”

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. “No, Dad, I haven’t.”

  Mr. Nelson clenched his jaw back and forth before speaking again. “Hartsfield-Jackson is gonna be a madhouse this time of day. I would hope in a situation like this, you wouldn’t make your brother wait!”

  Jonathan held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’m on my way!” He grabbed his keys off the table and swept past his dad with a scowl on his face. After the garage door slammed, Mr. Nelson merely nodded his head at Mom and me. Finally his face softened a little when he glanced at his wife.

  “Martin, Noah’s going to help you get together some of Jake’s things to take the funeral home,” Mrs. Nelson said.

  “Whatever. I just want to get it over with,” he grumbled. Without another word to me, he stalked out of the kitchen. I practically had to jog to catch up with him at the staircase.

  I gotta say I’ve never been a big fan of Jake’s dad. The main reason being he’s a major asshole. Seriously, he’s a chauvinistic jerk-off. He’s one of those macho douchebags who believes his boys came out the womb playing sports, and he expected perfection on the field and court. As I followed him up the stairs, pictures lined the walls of Jake and his brothers playing baseball, football, and basketball from when they were practically in diapers.

  Back in the day, Mr. Nelson had been an uber-jock, too. He’d gone all the way in basketball until his senior year when he’d busted his knee, and his hopes of the NBA and his scholarship went down the toilet.

  I’ve never thought Mr. Nelson had much use for me since I wasn’t an athlete. He probably considered me a failure to the male species, and I’m sure he harbored questions about my sexuality. To him, I was some artsy-fartsy guitar playing fairy. Like I said, the man was an asshole.

  While Mr. Nelson blew through the door of Jake’s room and started snatching and grabbing, I hesitated. Something just didn’t seem right about going in there without Jake. Mr. Nelson glanced back at me. “Coming?” he asked sarcastically.

  I nodded and stepped through the threshold. I might as well be a pansy and admit that the memories hit me like a ton of bricks. It was like a harsh kick to the gut—or groin for that matter. I’d never been in this room without Jake. It was like his presence was everywhere.

  My stroll down memory lane was interrupted by Mr. Nelson’s gasp. “What the hell?” he demanded.

  Oh, shit! I thought. My mind was flooded with possibilities. He’d stumbled onto Jake’s porn collection. Worse, he’d found Jake’s stash of pot. Jake and I had once joked that if something happened to one of us, the other was supposed to go get rid of anything incriminating in our rooms. Great, I’d let him down.

  I turned around. “What’s wrong?”

  The world slowed to a crawl as Mr. Nelson extended his hand. I drew in a deep breath as he opened his fingers.

  I stared at a small, black box. I exhaled slowly since it wasn’t pot, porn, or anything else shock-worthy. But the look on Mr. Nelson’s face caused my breath to hitch. “What is it?”

  “You don’t know what this is?”

  Duh, would I have asked you if I did, asswipe? I wanted to say, but I managed just to shake my head.

  Mr. Nelson sighed and stalked across the room to me. He thrust the velvet box into my hands. I cracked the box, and the sound echoed through the room. A glittering diamond stared back at me. But it wasn’t just any diamond. It was two carats of commitment in a platinum setting.

  Wow, even I could tell the man-whore had taste. I didn’t know much about diamonds, but I did know it glittered like it cost a fortune. That made me wonder where in the hell Jake had gotten the coins for such a ring. He was probably dealing drugs for all I knew. Mr. Nelson jolted me out of my thoughts.

  “Did Jake have a steady girlfriend?” he asked.

  I gave him a dumbfounded look. The words “Jake” and “relationship” just didn’t mix unless it was combined with multiple sexual relationships.

  I staggered backwards. The mere fact I was standing in the middle of Jake’s bedroom with an engagement ring in my hand made me dizzy.

  “Noah?” Mr. Nelson questioned.

  “I’m fine,” I murmured. He continued staring at me, so I cleared my throat. “No, Jake didn’t have a steady girlfriend. I mean, he and Avery were off and on again, and he and Presley…” I glanced up at Mr. Nelson, and he nodded.

  “What about this? Do you know what it means?”

  He handed me a piece of paper. It was
the song lyrics to You Were Always On My Mind. As I read over the lyrics, I remembered a couple of months ago when I’d gotten into Jake’s truck after one of the basketball games.

  When Jake cranked the car, music came blasting out of the speakers.

  “Dude, what the hell is this shit?” I’d asked.

  “It’s Willie Nelson man,” he replied, turning the heater on.

  “That’s freakin’ fabulous, but why are we listening to it?”

  “Cause I like it.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little hokey?”

  Jake grinned. “I like hokey. Besides, it’s my song.”

  I snorted. “I thought your song was more 50 Cent’s Pimp or JT’s Sexy Back!”

  “Yeah, I am kinda a pimp, aren’t I?” Jake mused. Then he laughed. “No man, you’re wrong. This is a song to warm a girl up.”

  I raised my eyebrows skeptically. “Warm one up? I thought all you had to do was look in their direction, and they’d fling their clothes off and fall over.”

  Jake laughed. “Usually…but not this girl. She needs a little work, and trust me, it’s sexy as hell.”

  I had scoffed at the thought and dropped the subject. Funny, how the most ridiculous conversations could have some deep seeded meaning. Now that I looked back, it was a private moment between two friends—one I wasn’t willing to share.

  So, I looked at Mr. Nelson and shook my head.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but the doorbell rang. Mr. Nelson rolled his eyes. “That would be Pastor Dan,” he grumbled.

  Dan Parker was the pastor of the church Mrs. Nelson attended, and the one Jake had been court-appointed to attend after one of his sophomore year stunts. Well, the judge hadn’t actually mandated he attend church—just the rehabilitation program that Pastor Dan ran for wayward teens who did dumbass things like get drunk and drive a lawnmower naked down to the school and mow grass into the shape of a penis on the football field.

  I handed the velvet box back to Mr. Nelson. He glanced at it and then back up at me. “Don’t say a word about the ring to my wife, Noah. Not until we get through all this funeral bullshit.”

  Asshole. “Whatever,” I mumbled.

  As I went out the doorway, I glanced back at Jake’s room one last time, and then I followed Mr. Nelson downstairs.

  Standing in the foyer alongside Pastor Dan was a girl who looked just like an angel. No shit, she was decked in a flowing white summer dress. Only her dark brown hair contrasted against her pale skin and attire.

  I skidded to a stop on the bottom step and stared. It was then I realized she wasn’t really an angel. I’d seen her around school many times before. I may have even had a class or two with her. She’d transferred to Creekview when I was junior. That was the year her family moved to town, and Pastor Dan became the pastor of one of the local churches.

  Mrs. Nelson smiled. “Noah, I’d like to introduce you to, Pastor Dan Parker.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, as I shook his hand.

  “Nice meeting you too, Noah.” Pastor Dan turned to the angel. “This is my daughter, Maddie.”

  At the sound of her name, Maddie dutifully raised her head.

  I reached out and took her hand in mine. “Yeah, I think we know each other from school,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yes, we do.”

  Mrs. Nelson put her arm around Maddie’s waist. “I don’t know what Jake would’ve done without Maddie. She’s been such a help to him this year. Why I doubt he’d earned enough credits to graduate without her.”

  I noticed tears glistened in Maddie’s eyes. She leaned over and hugged Mrs. Nelson, and they both wept. I shuffled back and forth on my feet and glanced over at my mom. She had tears in her eyes, too.

  If there was anyone more uncomfortable with people showing emotion, it was Mr. Nelson. His face darkened. He interrupted his wife and Maddie by thrusting the duffel bag of Jake’s things into Mrs. Nelson’s arms. “Noah and I got the things you asked for.”

  She wiped her eyes. “Thanks, dear,” she replied, pressing the bag against her chest.

  Mom cleared her throat. “Noah, I told Mrs. Nelson you’d be happy to take those items down to the funeral home for her.”

  I shot my mom a look. The last thing on earth I wanted to do was go down to the funeral home. I didn’t like to admit it, but I kinda had this thing about funeral homes.

  “Sure, that’d be fine.”

  Mrs. Nelson smiled and then reached over to hug me. “You’re such a good boy, Noah.”

  Pastor Dan peered out the window. “Uh-oh, if that’s your SUV, we’re blocking you in. Maddie, why don’t you give Noah a lift down to the funeral home real quick?

  Maddie and I both stared at him in disbelief. “W-What?” Maddie stammered.

  Pastor Dan nodded. “Sure. I was going to have to drop off Mr. St. Clare’s eulogy for tomorrow anyway.” He glanced at Mrs. Nelson and smiled. “You know, they’ve got to translate it into French for all those Cajun relatives coming into town.”

  “Oh that’s right,” Mrs. Nelson replied.

  He reached in his briefcase and pulled out a large envelope.

  Maddie reluctantly took it from his hand and started for the door. I followed close on her heels.

  I slid into the silver Camry still clutching the bag. Without a word, Maddie cranked the car. Christian Worship music blared out of the radio. She flushed a little and quickly turned it off. We started down the road as an uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I checked her out. I was a guy—I couldn’t help it. I started thinking about why I’d never really noticed her—you know the way a guy was supposed to notice a girl, especially one as beautiful she was. Then it hit me. Maddie didn’t wear low cut shirts and tank tops with her jacked up cleavage winking at the free world, and she didn’t have her ass cheeks hanging out of her shorts and skirts. She kept herself covered.

  But it took just one glance at her long legs wrapped underneath the steering wheel to make me imagine them in short skirts. With my eyes roving upward, I realized she was also hiding a fabulous rack underneath her dress. Damn, what a waste.

  My below-the-belt thoughts along with being in close quarters made me blurt out the first thing that came to my mind—after her amazing legs and Double D’s. “You smell nice.” The moment the words left my lips, I cringed. Way to be an utter lameass, Noah!

  “It’s Noa,” she murmured.

  “What about me?” I asked.

  A smile tugged at her lips. “No, the perfume’s name is Noa.”

  “Oh, I get it,” I laughed.

  Maddie’s smiled widened. “Jake really liked it, too. He used to joke about it being a biblical experience or something silly like that.”

  “Yeah, I’d forgotten you were Jake’s tutor,” I said.

  She glanced over at me. A dark look flashed in her eyes. “I was his friend.”

  “Yeah, I know.” The truth was Jake had mentioned her to me before, but I’d never really paid attention. Not to mention he and I were both going in such crazy directions senior year. I had just taken it as one of those random “Jake” comments—the kind I’d blow off and then wait until he moved on to something else. But the more I thought about it, he never moved on to anything else. I remembered him stopping to say hey to her in the hallway or at lunch. Hell, when we were with him, we all said hello to her because everyone in the group knew better than to say something bad about her or tease her. If they did, Jake would have kicked our ass.

  Maddie brought me out of my ramblings with the tone of her next question. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure of what?”

  “That you knew Jake and I were friends,” she replied, an edginess creeping into her voice.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “You know.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Um, no I don’t, so why don’t you give me a hint or something.”

  She sighed. “I know I’m not
part of the in-crowd or one of Jake’s usual conquests. And I’m sure you don’t know how it’s possible for someone like Jake to have given someone like me the time of day, but he did. He was always a sweet and perfect gentleman to me.”

  I thought about the way she’d been crying at Jake’s house. She’d really cared about him. “I’m sorry. I really don’t think that, I promise. Jake was…complicated. Even our friendship was complicated sometimes,” I said.

  Maddie looked at me in surprise. “Yeah, I guess he was a little complicated,” she agreed, softly.

  She didn’t say anything else, and thankfully, we pulled into the parking lot of Whitfield Funeral Home.

  When we got to the door, I balked. The last time I’d been there was when my grandfather had died. Suddenly, my mind tripped out, and I was flooded with memories. I was afraid the moment I opened that door, I would smell the sickening sweet aroma of funeral flowers. Worst of all, I would see my grandfather’s chalky dead face the way it had looked the last time I’d seen him in the casket.

  Maddie turned back to me in confusion. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I muttered.

  Her face flooded with concern. She reached out and touched my arm. “Oh, I’m sorry. If I’d known you had some sorta phobia about funeral homes, you could’ve waited in the car.”

  Okay, I didn’t the like the way she was able to see through me so well. There were only two women in the world who could do that, my mom and my Grammy. I quickly got a hold of myself. “I don’t have a phobia, Dr. Phil.”

  Maddie raised her eyebrows. “Well, by the look on your face and your tone, one could only assume you have some sort of fear. If you do, it’s perfectly fine because-”

  “Don’t you know what they say about making assumptions?”