CHAPTER ONE
Pax
I sat back on the sofa, aimlessly flipping through the channels. Lounging, I spread my arms along the backrest, stretching my legs out.
“Wanna beer?” asked my brother.
“Sure,” I grunted and wordlessly Peyton tossed me a Coors.
Yeah, we’re not fancy dudes. Even with NFL contracts we’re still simple guys, a can of beer hits the spot, no need for a magnum of Dom. Not that we’d pass on the champagne, it’s just there was no need to be P. Diddy. No way I’d be caught in an all-white get-up, white shoes, white shirt, white suit, although traveling by helicopter is pretty sweet.
So it was with a grunt that I lay back on the couch, thinking back to our last game. It’d been a blow-out, the Chargers rolling over the Dolphins like a bunch of high school girls. That was how bad the Dolphs were, their defense pathetic, their offense even worse. I wouldn’t be surprised if their head coach was fired, it was downright embarrassing to score absolutely nothing in a game.
But now, time for relaxation. I flicked through channels randomly, bored by most things. Reality TV, Jeopardy, the Real Housewives, damn this sucked. No way was I watching some middle-aged hags screaming at each other over the latest designer bag, I’d rather claw my eyes out first.
So I flicked to what always got my goat going. A re-play of last Sunday’s game, pro football dissected in endless slow-mo, pundits opining on each move, camera zooms from every angle. It was so sweet, the green grass leaping to life, the perfectly manicured field, the players like little men on the screen, banging and getting banged, knocked over like so many toy soldiers. I knew how it felt.
And Peyton grunted as we watched a quarterback get sacked, hitting the turf face first as a dude the size of a tractor plowed him. The poor sucker was going to have more than grass stains on that uniform, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was now covered in a massive, full-body bruise.
But that’s what they pay us the big bucks for, right? Not everyone can do this job and my bro and I were picked because of our speed, size, strength, coordination, and smarts. At this level, you can’t just be some loser with fancy feet. You’ve got to be able to psych out the opponent, memorize hundreds of plays, all balanced with an innate feel for the ball, for the field, for the talents of your teammates.
I scrutinized the play carefully, my mind whirring, only to sit up straight when the camera flashed to an announcer. It’s something, or rather someone, who’s been on our mind for a while now, the face on-screen familiar and yet totally strange.
Because it was our stepsister Ana. Or Stacey, as she’s called now, with the long, blonde hair and perfect Crest smile. Our little sister, who’d burst into our lives when we were eighteen.
It’d been a surprise. Back in the day, my dad was a real hound dog. Ever since our mom died, he’d dated like a man with a mission, taking out two, three women per week. And trust me, it’s not easy to accomplish in suburban White Plains, known more for its family atmosphere than a hotbed of available singles.
But Gordon Jones was like a tomcat gone wild, howling after every female with his hormones on fire, sniffing like a hungry horndog. He dated old women, young women, heck even girls who looked like they were in their teens, everyone desperate to get a piece of Gordy.
And it wasn’t because he was particularly rich or successful, it was that he was available. In a small town like White Plains, there aren’t that many unmarried guys, so women threw themselves at our dad left and right, clamoring for attention. It was insane. Who would have guessed a mid-level manager could get more dates than Johnny Depp? But if you’re a decent guy in a small town with limited options, it’s all about supply and demand.
Anyways, Pey and I didn’t have much to say about it. We were already on the cusp of becoming men and guys don’t talk about feelings, especially not when you’re eighteen year-old bruisers. Better let my dad run his own life, we didn’t want to know.
Besides football had always been our obsesssion, our first love, the source of satisfaction, release, triumph, everything for us. So we just threw ourselves into game after game, thinking of nothing but the next play, the next move, how to improve, how to bring the opposition down, grind them into the dirt.
That is, until Ana showed up in our lives. We were at breakfast one morning, eating our usual meal of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, juice, more scrambled eggs, all of it topped off with a carton of orange juice. It takes a lot to maintain muscle mass, and Peyton and I were going at it like starving men, wolfing down plate after plate after our morning work-out.
“Boys,” said my dad, putting down his fork. “I have news.”
“Mmmph,” I grunted, my mouth full. Man, these waffles were tasty, it just needed more butter and more syrup. Yeah, that’d do the trick.
“I’ve met someone,” announced my dad.
Silence except for chewing noises and the crackle of bacon browning on the griddle. My dad met new women each week, this was nothing new. But he pressed on.
“She’s really special, I hope you’ll welcome her with open arms.”
At this, Peyton looked up.
“Sure Dad, no prob,” he tossed off between bites of food. We weren’t worried. After all, he dated like a madman, this woman probably wasn’t any different from the others.
“And she’s moving in,” continued my dad. “Next week.”
At that, we looked up. What the? My mind whirred furiously. Had he brought someone by who was particularly pretty? I tried to remember but there was merely a blur of faces, no one stood out especially. Oh, there was that one woman who cackled when she laughed, she got on my nerves, but whatevs. It wasn’t permanent or anything.
“What do you mean, moving in?” I asked slowly, finally opening my mouth. “Why?”
“Because that’s what people in love do,” said my dad simply. “In fact, Virginia and I have been dating for three months.”
I rolled my eyes. My point exactly, it’d only been three months. That was hardly enough time to get to know each other, much less move in. But my dad pressed on.
“Virginia’s the one,” he said in a rush. “And we’re getting married!”
This time, my brother and I choked, food flying from my mouth as I spat out a mouthful of scrambled egg.
“What?” I gagged. “Why? When?”
“Really Pax, do you have to ask why? We’re in love,” he said airily. I guess even old people fell in love, anything was possible. But Gordy continued. “Virginia’s the one, I hope you’ll welcome her with open arms.”
“But why?” demanded Peyton ruthlessly. Like peas in a pod, my twin and I. “What the hell is this about?”
My dad shot him a warning glance.
“It’s about life,” he stated. “I’ve been lonely since your mom passed, it’s time I found someone to take care of, to take care of me. We all need a companion.”
“Hmmph,” grunted my twin.
My dad just sighed and looked around the kitchen. Okay, it wasn’t exactly clean, not like when our mom had been alive. In fact, the place was downright sloppy, dishes in the sink, dirt caked on the floor, a wet dishrag on the ground. But that stuff could be solved by hiring a cleaner, not marrying a wife.
“You boys need it,” announced my dad. “And I need it too,” he hinted darkly.
That made me sit back, realization suddenly dawning. Could it be? Did my dad need to get laid and this chick Virginia was the answer? I shared a glance with my twin and could see that he was thinking along the same lines. Oh yeah, dear old dad needed a bed buddy, and he probably couldn’t afford to keep taking women out on countless dates. So marriage it was. Holy cow, we didn’t realize dating and relationships were so complicated.
“When are you getting married?” I asked, more curious now than anything. If he needed to blow his load on a regular basis, the sooner the better as far as we were concerned.
“This weekend,” Dad replied simply. “Virginia’s handling the details, you guys just need to show up.”
I shook my head, it was happening so fast. But you know what? I didn’t blame Gordon. The need for food, water, shelter and sex are commandments, and if that’s what would float his boat, get his goat … then so be it.