Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (19 page)

“Thanks, Duff, but I gotta run.”

I bumped fists with him and started towards the stands, but I was waylaid a second time. Armstrong rammed his chest against mine and threw his arms around me in a bear hug. Even in all his gear, he was suffocating me with the spicy ass cologne he rolled around in this morning.

“Bro, that shit was insane!” Armstrong cried when he finally released me. “That's it – I'm throwing a party in your honor tonight –”

“Cool, bro, sounds good.” I craned my neck to the side, looking around him. “Listen, I gotta be somewhere. I'll hit you up in a minute.”

I skirted around him and raced towards the stands. But when I looked back at the crowd, Brooklyn's seat was empty. I slowed down to a jog and cupped a hand over my forehead. I swung around in a full 360, scanning every face in the stands and staircases, but there was no sign of her.

She was gone.

“Damn it,” I muttered, shaking my head.

As I turned my back to the crowd, my phone started ringing in my hands. I took one glance at the “Private Number” flashing on my screen and snuck away from the team. The team was still so drunk on victory, I didn't think they even noticed that I was gone.

I slipped into the player tunnel and answered the call.

“Warner.”

“
I've made some...dare I say – interesting progress since our last meeting. But of course, it's best not to discuss this over the phone. Shall I set up a meeting – say, tomorrow afternoon, at 5?
”

“You got it. See you then.”

Chapter Four:
Brooklyn

2016

I tapped the ash of my cigarette over my balcony railing. As a thin trail of smoke floated out of my pursed lips, the ash broke up into bits of gray and rained down the 4 floors below me. Next to me, the girlish voice of classic Madonna drifted into the open air from the speakers hooked up to my phone.

I wasn't sure what possessed me to drive all the way down to East Rutherford, New Jersey. I sat in the parking lot of the stadium, spacing out for about half an hour until that hawker came knocking at the passenger window. Before I knew it, I was wading amongst the crowd streaming into the stadium with my ticket in hand.

In all the 2 years I'd been with Xavier, this was the first time I'd actually stepped foot into the MetLife stadium. I was a fish out of water, made even clearer with my lack of fanwear, snacks, or team spirit. Still, something planted my butt firmly in that seat.

With everything that was going on, the last thing I expected was to see number “15” on the field. Yet there he was, the unmistakable “WARNER” in skinny white letters slapped across his back. And when he vaulted over the Steelers lineman and landed on the end zone, I nearly fell onto the startled man on the seat below me.

I saw him looking back at me. All I wanted to do was shove my way past the crowd and fly into his arms, but I stayed in place. I gazed back at him, saying all I needed to say with my eyes.

But the moment I lifted my gaze to the display board, my body went numb with crippling guilt. Jonathan Whitaker's face was splashed in crisp high-def across the 30-ft screens on all four sides of the seating bowl. With the crowd still in mid-celebration, I waded back out the throng of rabid fans and made my way back to the parking lot.

“
Don't go for second best, baby,

Put your love to the test.

You know, you know, you've got to

Make him express how he feels,

And maybe then you'll know your love is real...
”

I finished off the last off my coffee, smashing my cigarette against the ceramic heart on my patio table. Singing along to the perky tune, I got up to get myself another cup of coffee. But as I reached for the handle of the glass door, I spotted the unlikely pair coming up the walkway of the building entrance.

Curious, I set down my cup and peered through the slits of the balcony railing. Aiden and Thumper walked alongside each other. Their heads were bowed in deep conversation. Even from up here, I recognized Aiden in his hooded striped jacket and Thumper's stringy, dark locs and LeBron jersey.

Seeing the 2 of them together put a bittersweet smile on my face. I never expected to see them hanging out, as I've never seen Aiden talking to him – or anyone else, for that matter – in the studio. But whatever it was, it was wonderful seeing Aiden finally reaching out to someone. Even if that someone wasn't me.

Honestly, a part of me was thankful that Aiden hadn't brought up what he “knew” about Whitaker's death yet. For one thing, I wasn't even sure if I could take him seriously. I mean, Aiden was only 17 after all, and teenagers often came up with the most absurd theories sometimes, mostly due to the misguided belief that they knew it all. Even if Aiden really did know something, there was that unremitting fear living inside of me that Ace's name would come out of his mouth.

I jerked my head to the right. Madonna's vocals were interrupted by the loud beep of a text message. Reaching for my phone, I paused the track and opened the message. As my eyes darted back and forth across the screen, my eyes rounded.

“
I'm in Manhattan. I need to see you. Can you meet me at Central Park in about half an hour? – Ace.
”

My thumb hovered over the “Reply” button tentatively. The thoughts in my mind were hurtling back and forth at what felt like a thousand miles a minute. But I held my breath, typed in a quick reply, and hit “Send.”

As Aiden and Thumper gave each other a quick hug by the doorstep, I headed back into my apartment. I slipped on a loose cardigan, snatched up my purse, and headed out the door. But when the elevators opened the doors to the lobby, I crinkled my nose like a spooked skunk had just scurried past me.

“Hey, Brooky-bear.”

Xavier was waiting for me next to the doorman's desk. He sported a dashing black blazer he wore over a navy-blue vest, and his wavy dark hair was freshly cut and gelled back. My eyes fell from his camera-ready smile to the 500 purple hyacinths and pink roses in his arms.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” I groaned under my breath, trudging out of the elevator.

“I've waited out here for you all morning.” Xavier looked at me with wide, puppy eyes.

“I'm sorry, Ms. Cunningham,” Mr. Emanuel piped up from behind his desk apologetically. “I've asked him again and again to leave, but he wouldn't –”

“That's okay, Mr. Emanuel.” I nodded back at him with a small smile. “I got this. Thanks.”

Mr. Emanuel shuffled off to the front doors to give us some privacy. I turned back to Xavier. He tried to hand me the bouquet, but I took a step back from him. The beam on his face wavered.

“Xavier, I'm sorry, but I can't accept those.” My tone was short, but civil. “I don't want things to stay like this between us forever –”

“Good, baby, because I can't take any more of this –”

“Let me finish. What I meant was – all this hostility and bad blood between us now – I'm hoping we can both move past this one day. Maybe even stay friends in the future, but this isn't the way to –”

“No,” said Xavier simply. He stared at me unblinkingly.

“No?” My upper lip twitched. “What do you mean, no?”

“I –”

But when I spotted the hooded figure slouching through the doorway, I called out to him over Xavier's shoulder.

“Hey, Aiden! I'm heading out for a little bit – not sure when I'll be back, but there's still some of that beef stew I made last night in the fridge. Heat it up when you get hungry.”

Aiden gave me a halfhearted wave, not even bothering to look back at me. His face was still hidden in his hood. Instead of waiting for the elevators, he pushed his way through the door of the emergency exit and galloped up the stairs 3 steps at a time.

“Who the fuck was that?”

“What?” I hissed, shaking my head. “None of your business, that's who –”

Aiden swung the flowers around wildly as he ranted at me, showering the marble floors with floating petals.

“Is that why you wouldn't move in with me?”

“Uh, no –”

But Xavier raged on with his diatribe, his bulging eyes flashing with fire.

“I should've seen this coming – you were waiting on that little fuckboy to move in with you. Your fuckboy's a little pussy bitch, too – don't even got the balls to show his face. Christ, Brooklyn, I didn't think you were such a slut –”

“Okay, we're done here.” I wiggled my fingers and strode away from him, my chin up and my shoulders pushed back.

“No, we're just getting started–”

And as I marched out the front door, I made sure to add with a voice loud enough for Xavier to hear:

“Next time you see him on the premises, Mr. Emanuel, please don't hesitate to call the authorities.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Cunningham. You have a good day now.”

Chapter Five:
Brooklyn

2016

“I'll have another snow cone, thanks.”

I exchanged a 5-dollar bill with the vendor, wandering away from the ice cream truck with a rainbow snow cone in hand.

As I licked the syrupy, icy treat, I glanced at my watch for the fourth time. It was 3:15 in the afternoon. Ace was an hour and 15 minutes late.

I hadn't arrived until 2:10 myself, thinking I was the one running late. I expected to see him posted up on a bench somewhere. However, halfway in to my 3
^rd
circle around the park, Ace was still nowhere to be found. I'd been blowing up his phone with text messages and calling him up nonstop, too, but the only thing giving me any time of the day was his voicemail.

I trotted off to find the nearest bench, plopping down next to a nice old man in a puffy vest. He reached into his pockets continuously, sprinkling an assortment of breadcrumbs and seeds for the 6 pigeons pecking away at his feet. But the longer I sat around the musical coos of the happy birds, my pursed lips started to relax.

With all the chaos and sudden changes that's been going on lately, I'd been on a short fuse. I'd been quicker to snap at those around me, quicker to get frustrated when even the simplest things weren't going my way. It wasn't just exhausting – Tabitha was right. The kids were starting to feel it, too, and that was the last thing I wanted. But now that I'm sitting here, grinning like an idiot as more birds came hopping towards us, their soft, fluffy feathers grazing against my exposed toes, I knew Tabitha was right again. There really was some magic behind fresh air.

I took out my compact mirror from my purse and checked out the blue and violet stripes stained on my tongue. But as I wagged it around, something in the reflection of the round mirror snagged my attention. I closed my mirror and stuffed it back into my purse, turning around slowly.

Across the street lay a manicured grassy courtyard behind a tall, iron-wrought fence. Men and women dawdled out the doors of the lemon-yellow building. They set up in the shades of the maple trees with cool drinks and ice cream swirls. Some whipped out decks of cards, board games, and colorful books. Others flipped open their sketchbooks and went to work with an array of crayons. A few in wheelchairs were wheeled out by staff in matching sky-blue polos and khakis. Another handful of men and women in uniforms roamed the courtyard with their arms behind their backs.

My eyes swiveled to the entrance. When I saw the familiar face walking out of the front gate, I rose to my feet. I chucked the rest of my snow cone into the trash and jogged across the street, flailing an arm as I caught up to him.

“Daymond!”

Daymond stopped in his tracks. He swung around in his brown leather Guccis, his eyebrow arched. Behind him, the copper sign of the building winked under the sunlight – “
Lemon Pines Group Homes.
”

“Hey, Brooklyn.” He licked his lips, stepping off the curb. “What brings you to this part of the city?”

“I was supposed to meet up with a friend, but I'm pretty sure he's not coming.” I ripped my eyes away from the sign and flashed him a rueful smile. “Were you here to see your br –”

“A friend.” Daymond cleared his throat, forcing a stiff smile. “I was here to see a friend. Anyway, since we're both here – wanna grab some coffee?”

“Um.” I checked my watch again and peeked over my shoulder. “Yeah, you know what. Sure. Let's do that.”

Daymond and I walked into the first coffee shop we came across and grabbed a table next to the window with a clear view of the park.

“So.” Daymond rested his arms against the table, leaning over with a low voice. “About that day at the bistro – I just realized I never got a chance to apologize –”

“That's okay. You ran into me at a bad time. Let's just start over.”