"Hey, I need you to call that contact about your old buddy from Stanford."
I looked up from my computer as Allister stormed into my office. She forced her reading glasses to the top of her head, piercing me with a no-nonsense look. With her blouse half untucked and bare feet (she had abandoned her high heels hours ago), Allie looked harried. But she always did before the Sunday edition.
"I have it on my list of things to do," I replied. I continued typing, because I had too much shit left to pull together before I had to leave for the night. I was supposed to meet Erica downtown at the mission off Bell Street to help serve dinner to homeless women.
I had almost fallen out of bed when Erica told me she had signed up to serve meals at one of Seattle's women's missions. It was admirable and I wanted to support her while she figured out her place in the world.
Nearly every day I had to remind myself that Erica was five years younger than me. Not because she was immature, but because she somehow maintained her innocence. I worried if she saw all the horrors the world contained, she might morph back into the girl I'd caught skulking from the bathroom in Maui.
I knew she was keeping something from me. She had never revealed the circumstances of her arrival Christmas Eve. And although I had tried to bring it up on several occasions, she'd always shot me down. I didn't push the subject, because she seemed to be settling into life with me so seamlessly. I didn't want to create drama where there wasn't any.
"I've got to be out of here by six," I said when Allister perched on my desk. She swung her leg back and forth and tapped her finger on the top of my monitor.
"You have a date with Erica?"
"If you count feeding the homeless as a date."
"You're volunteering at a homeless shelter? Together?"
I stopped typing and leaned back in my chair. "Don't look at me like that."
"I'm sorry, I'm just shocked. I've never seen you invest time in anything other than work and screwing chicks."
"You make me sound like a self-absorbed dick."
She guffawed, a sound that always made me smile. "I take it things are going well with you and Erica?"
"Things are good." I had no idea why I was fronting with one of my best friends. Things were fucking fantastic. I'd never known a relationship could be like this. Even though we saw each other every day, I didn't feel like a noose was strapped around my neck.
Most nights we ended up at my house, because the few times we'd stayed at Damian's had been awkward. Damian tried to pretend it didn't bother him, but the man's feelings were about as transparent as a piece of glass. I had no intention of throwing the fact I was sleeping with his sister in his face.
Thoughts of what Erica and I had done on his kitchen island, with ice, last weekend, had my mind wandering. She needed to find her own place. And soon. If Damian ever caught wind of all the ways we had desecrated his condo, he would kill us both.
"I'm glad you finally pulled your head out of your ass. If I had to listen to you complain about how she wouldn't answer your calls one more time, I was going to fucking kill myself," Allie said, interrupting my musings.
"Wow, I appreciate that."
"What can I say? You're annoying as fuck when you're emotional."
"Is fuck your favorite swear word?"
"Fuck, yeah. I can't believe you even have to ask that."
"I thought so. You say it a lot. Did that bother your husband?" I almost never asked about her dead husband, Greg. But I wondered if not asking was even worse than asking.
She gazed out the window, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, after Finn was born, Greg used to give me shit all the time. He'd tell me that Finn was going to be the foulest-mouthed kid at preschool. I do my best to curb myself around Finn. But fuck... I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not, just because I have a kid."
That was what I loved about my boss. No bullshit. Unfiltered and fearless. "I respect that."
"Well, fuck you if you don't. Seriously, I need you to call your contact about Logan."
"Why are you so convinced he's trying to hide something?"
"He was caught with prostitutes and cocaine. I hate that he tries to hide behind his Southern charm and fancy lawyers."
I stopped typing. Not because Allie was riled up. That happened on an hourly basis. It was the way her cheeks flushed when she talked about my old teammate. She never blushed.
"You're speculating. His nickname is America's Sweetheart for a reason. Logan was one of the nicest guys on the team. It's possible he has no recollection of what happened that night. Like he says."
With pursed lips, she seemed to contemplate this for half a second. "Maybe. But, I don't fucking buy it. He may be America's Sweetheart, but he doesn't fool me."
"All right, Cagney. I'll look into it."
"Thank you," she said, hopping up. After a quick peck on the cheek, Allister darted out the door, then swung back in. "Oh, and don't fucking forget the awards ceremony next Saturday."
"Don't worry. I won't fucking forget. Goodnight boss."
***
I pulled up to my Brownstone building in the Harvard-Belmont Historic District and admired the serene scene. The street was the reason I had picked the complex. Lined by decade-old trees, custom street lamps, and beautiful homes, it was as close to the image I had in my head of where the perfect family would live.
We climbed out of my car and Erica practically floated across the sidewalk before spinning around with a smile.
"Thank you for going with me. I know that's not something you would normally do."
"You're welcome. It was eye-opening."
And depressing. The women who stayed at the mission weren't just down on their luck. Some were the victims of abuse, addicted to drugs, or mentally ill. I had felt like an intruder and it had hit too close to home. My mom could have easily ended up in a place like that if it hadn't been for my success on the field.
Erica had handled it like a pro. She was made to work with the downtrodden. She showed empathy when it was due, but wasn't sympathetic to the point of being disingenuous.
"I spoke with the director, Helen, about some of my plans."
"Plans?" I asked as we climbed the steps to my top floor unit. Erica always insisted that we take the steps so that she didn't gain any more weight. Any pounds she'd put on over the last few months had filled out her tits and ass in a way that should have been criminal. If it were up to me, we would have taken the elevator every time.
"Yeah. I told her that I'd like to help out on a more regular basis. Maybe help streamline some of her processes."
"Sounds fantastic." We arrived on the top landing and I unlocked the door. Erica skipped to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. "What did Helen think?"
"She was practically frothing at the mouth."
"That's great. I'm sure you'll do your best to make it happen." I clinked her beer bottle with mine. I loved to see Erica so excited. "So, I have this awards ceremony next Saturday."
"You're getting an award?"
"I got nominated for Sports Writer of the Year. It's not a big deal. I'm not going to win. I don't even know why I'm going." I shuffled to the front room and slumped down onto my leather couch, flicking on the television.
Erica danced in front of me, eyes practically bugging out of her face. She purposely blocked the basketball game.
"It is too a big deal. Why are you just now telling me this?"
"I forgot until Allie mentioned it tonight."
She started pacing. "What am I going to wear? I'm going to have to buy a new dress. Maybe Janice would lend me something. Is it a black-tie event?"
"Yeah, I think so," I said, sucking back a big gulp of my beer. "And you don't have to borrow something from Janice. I'll buy you a fucking dress."
"Oh, okay, Mr. Potty-mouth," she said with one hand on her hip.
"Sorry. I've been spending too much time with Allister."
"This is so exciting. Which article? The bio on the starting quarterback at U-Dub, or the one about the inner-city kid rising to stardom with the Lakers? Or no, no... it's the one about the coach in Bremerton, isn't it?"
I sat up and set my beer down on the coffee table. "You've read all of those articles?"
Her cheeks flushed bright red. With a sigh, she confessed, "I've read everything you've ever published."
"Why?"
She rubbed her foot across the rug and stared at the stain from a party I'd thrown months ago. "I liked reading what you wrote. It was a way to stay connected to you. And you are a really great writer."
Warmth settled deep in my bones. There was something unbelievably satisfying about having Erica as my number one fan. I didn't warrant it though. While I had never suffered from doubts about my abilities as an athlete, most days I felt like a fraud as a reporter. I knew I wasn't an awful writer or Allie never would have hired me, but I wasn't great, either. I was improving every day, though, and maybe that was all that mattered.
"Come here," I ordered. I patted the spot next to me on the couch. With a timid smile, she came over and sat next to me. "You really are quite the little stalker, aren't you?"
She slugged me in the arm, and I burst out laughing, gripping my sides like a fool. "Asshole," she said while she shook her head.
"Hey, hey, I'm kidding," I said, pulling her tight against me when she tried to stand up. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I stalked you too."
"You did?"
"Hell, yes. I stalked your social media profiles daily and got my hands on any photo I could."
"Really?"
"You don't even want to know what I did with the photos from that shoot in Belize." Her mouth dropped open, and she giggled. "Whoever took those shots probably had to jerk off between takes."
It was like I had sucked the wind out of her sails. She deflated right in front of my eyes. With shoulders slumped forward and eyes downcast, she shook her head.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," she said, glancing back at me and trying to smile.
"Erica, what is going on? Something has been eating at you."
"There's nothing going on. I'm just tired. I've been on my feet all day." She pushed out of my arms and stood up. "I'm going to go to bed."
As she walked away, I threw over my shoulder, "You know there is nothing that you could tell me that would ever change how I feel about you?"
She came to a stop, but didn't turn around. "I appreciate that. But you can't possibly know if that's the truth."
And then she disappeared into the darkened bedroom.