ERIC

Up the old stone staircase I run and don’t slow until I hit the entrance for the Botanical Gardens. Families, tourists and couples dressed in nice, casual clothing mill about, either leaving the shop after a day here or purchasing tickets, excited to see the beauty.

Ethan runs up to me, way sweatier than I am, sneakers stomping the pavement as he tries to stop. “I hate you,” he gasps, grabbing his knees and looking like he might puke.

I pat his hunched back. “Probably shouldn’t spend so much time behind a computer, smart guy.”

He smacks my shin. “You be the jock, I’ll be the rich genius with the hot wife and gorgeous daughter.” Rising up, he presses the heels of his hands into his lower back and groans, “I fuckin’ hate you.”

People are watching us, trying not to be obvious. My face is pretty hard to hide. Seems like it’s everywhere this time of year. Bars have me and my high-profile teammates posted in their windows or by their TV sets. I’m sponsored by a couple athletic products so there are life sized cut-outs of me in stores throughout Lennox Mall and probably the one in Roswell, too. Haven’t been up there in a while. Nice place—but now that I live in the Highlands the farthest I go up is Buckhead for my family. Especially since this fuck and my sister are now neighbors.

“Ya hear that? My own brother hates me!” I call out to the interested spectators. “Can you believe it?”

The people smile, happy I’m not an asshole. You never know with celebrities. I met a stand-up comic once at a party with a lot of other big names, went up to the guy and introduced myself as a fan. Fuckin’ dick shined me on like I was foot fungus. He had a really big opinion of himself and I wanted to knock it down to size. Promised I wouldn’t let the notoriety get to me as my career progressed, like it did him. So I opt for making people laugh.

Ethan’s grinning and shaking his head, calling out in his defense to anyone listening, “Did you see that ninety-nine yard touchdown my brother scored in Miami? Wasn’t that insane? And then you know what he does?” Comedic pause before his finger jabs at me. “He challenges me to a race! Sir, sir, hear me out, do you have any brothers or sisters?”

The man nods with a knowing smile, holding his son’s hand, the boy gaping at me in recognition. “Sure do, three of ‘em.”

“You can’t turn down a challenge like that, can you?”

“No you cannot!” he laughs while his son gapes at with recognition.

I shake hands with his dad first. “I’m Eric.”

“Oh I know who you are. Mickey Jones, nice to meet you.”

Squatting, I smile at his boy who can’t be more than nine years old. “I’m Eric Cocker.” I extend my hand. “What’s your name?”

Star-struck he slides his dark fingers onto my golden ones, dwarfed by the size of my grip. “Gabe.”

“Oh yeah? We’ve got a cousin named Gabriel, don’t we, Ethan?”

My brother nods, red faced as he crosses his arms. “Is your full name Gabriel?”

The boy shakes his head.

I ask him, “You like sports?”

“Yes!”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Golf.”

My eyebrows shoot up and I exchange an amused glance with his father, rising up. “And here I thought he recognized me.”

“Oh he did, but he plays golf. Football isn’t real to him yet.”

“Ah, makes sense. You any good, Gabe?”

His head bobs like crazy. “I got a hole in one once!”

“I’ve never done that, so kudos to you my friend.” I offer him a high five and he smacks my hand, grinning with pride. Seeing kids high-five is the cutest fucking thing.

“It was nice meeting you,” Mickey grins as he leads his son to the ticket booth. Gabe waves at me, his whole arm engaged in the action.

Now that it’s just Ethan and I again, he runs a hand through his hair and asks, “You have to do that everywhere you go, huh?”

“Have to? I love that shit.”

“Yeah?”

As we walk into the parking lot, roof level with the sun beating down on us, I tell him, “Fuck yeah. The fans are what it’s all about. We’re out there playin’ on the field and they’re taking hours out of their lives to cheer for us. When we fail, they try to boost us up. When we win they win. It’s loyalty of the best kind. They wear the jerseys, show their pride, shout in the stands, or from their couches, or at the bars like O’Neal’s where Wren works. She was nice, huh?” Distracted I glance to the blinding asphalt and add, “I love my fans. This is me here.”

Ethan mutters, “I know what Jeep is yours, dipshit. I didn’t know you felt that way about it all—that’s pretty amazing when you put it like that.”

“Why are you surprised? You know me. Know our family. Loyalty is number one. Why wouldn’t that translate over to how I view my sport?”

My brother and sister both got the same color eyes, warm chestnut. And right now his look lighter, the sun making them glow as he stares into the distance, thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I just…I dunno.”

After a few seconds of silence I prod him, “You just…what? Didn’t think I’d care as much as I do? Of course I care. Why do you think I work so hard?”

He looks at me. “Truth? You’re my little brother. I always think of you as this goofy kid who followed me around everywhere. Hearing you just now, I don’t know. You’re all grown up, Eric.”

“Thanks, Ethan. I really appreciate that.”

We stare at each other a second. He smacks my arm and brings me in. “Come here.”

“Sweatiest hug you’ll ever get,” I laugh, embracing him. As we pull apart I mutter, “Take that back. You just gave me the sweatiest one. Gross.” I pull out my keys. As he heads away I stop him. “Hey, what’d you think of Wren?”