CHAPTER 5
LIAM
Driving through town last night was a mistake. Stopping in front of the Preston house was an utter lapse in judgment. I was surprised to find that Mr. Preston was awake, let alone willing to come outside and stare down a stranger on a motorcycle, especially one dressed in all black.
The walls of this hotel room are closing in and fast. I should’ve stayed farther out of town where I could at least have a suite with space to move. I need to pace and think. Think about what I’m going to do when I see her. I just want to look. I need to know that she’s okay and happy. That she’s moved on with her life and I’m nothing but a blip on her radar.
Maybe she buys my music because she can say she once knew me, a long time ago. I’ve pictured her many times standing in the line at the grocery store holding People or Rolling Stone when I’m on the cover. I want to think that she’s read the articles and seen me talk about her without actually saying her name. That she’s created a playlist on her iPod of all the songs that are about her, that she knows I’ve never stopped loving her.
I pound my fists into my head. “You’re so stupid, Liam. She doesn’t fucking care about you. You left her and changed your number so you wouldn’t have to listen to her crying on your voicemail.”
I have to get out of this hotel because staying here just reminds me of her and the night we lost our virginity to each other and it’s driving me insane.
With my helmet on before I reach the lobby, I sprint through the door avoiding the day clerk that is working. She’s actually a bit cuter then the night clerk, but not by much. There’s nothing worse than a woman who tries too hard.
I speed through the back roads, taking corners faster than I should, passing cars that are going too slow and blowing by a school bus full of kids. A few horns honk and windows roll down, hands flying out. I don’t bother to look in my mirror to see them flipping the bird. I’ve done it before to whatever jackass thinks he owns these roads.
Mason and I used to own these roads. We were so stupid when we were younger. Always driving too fast or drinking, not to mention the many games of mailbox baseball. Hell, I used to make-out with my girl while driving, letting her straddle me just so I could feel her against me before dropping her off at home.
Hot summer nights spent in the back of my truck looking at the stars, holding her between my legs with my arms wrapped around her. I told her I’d love her forever. I said I love you first and promised to never let her go.
I pull up short and pull over into a parking lot. I need to calm down. Driving like an idiot doesn’t solve anything. The last thing I want is my name in the paper because I was being reckless. I’ve worked hard to keep my image clean. No more mistakes for me.
When I look up I see that I’m at the Allenville Museum, a place dedicated to high school sports. I get off my bike and walk in, paying the five dollar admission. Inside it’s like a shrine. I’m hanging from the ceiling with my record breaking stats displayed under my picture. There’s a picture of Mason and I together. We were supposed to break records at the University of Texas but he wanted to stay close to Katelyn and opted to go to the state school with her. He was the smart one.
A large picture of Mason is front and center in the museum with a black cloth draped over the edges. There is a table next to his picture with more photographs from high school, with a few of him and me and some of the other guys. We’re all so young in our football uniforms, holding up our index finger telling the world that we’re number one. We didn’t have a care in the world, we just wanted to win. One of our championship footballs sits on a stand. I want to touch it, feel the pigskin against my fingers, but I refrain. Those days are gone. I left them all behind when I packed up and left Texas for the bright lights of the big city.
“Do you hear that crowd?” Mason yells at me before we leave the tunnel. This is our last game ever in high school and this year we’ve gone undefeated. We annihilated the competition. Mason is so close to breaking the state record for rushing yards and I broke the record for passing earlier this season. We both signed our letters of intent for the University of Texas this morning.
And now we’re about to play for our fourth state title.
“Yeah man, I hear it. Crazy, right?”
“There has to be more people than last year.”
Of course there is. We are the best.
I slap my girl’s ass as she passes by with her white, gold and red cheerleading skirt flipping up as she runs. She turns around and saunters up to me with that look in her eye. I know what she’s expecting and I plan to deliver.
“You know how sexy I think you are when you bite your lip? You have this look in your eyes, Liam. Do you have plans for us later?” she whispers into my ear. My focus is now solely on her instead of the game as her hand sneaks under my t-shirt. There is nothing better than her skin against mine.
“Knock it off you two,” Mason says as he slaps me in the back of the head. “If you give him a stiffy during the game, some linebacker is going to break his pecker.”
We all start laughing. She kisses me goodbye, telling me to kick ass. She never wishes me good luck, just to kick ass.
I slip on my helmet and run out onto the field. We run through the cheerleaders and the student body. Music is blaring as we are announced onto the field. Parents and fans are on their feet in the stands, yelling loudly.
Mason and I go off to the side and warm-up, always together. We have a routine and we aren’t about to break it now.
When the whistle blows, I take center with Mason on my left. The play is for him. He needs only one hundred yards to break the state record for rushing and I’m going to make sure that happens tonight. Our first play is a hand-off to him; he breaks the first tackle for a thirty yard gain.
We do this over and over until his dad holds up a sign showing 100 and I know. I hand Mason the ball and watch him jog it over to his dad. They hug and the fans go nuts. Mason Powell just set the state’s all-time leading rushing record with nine thousand five hundred and two.
I remember that game as if it was yesterday and standing here makes it feel like it was. I can almost smell the concession stand cooking hotdogs and popcorn. I can hear the cheers and feel the vibration from stomping feet on the bleachers.
I can still see Mr. Powell’s face when Mason broke that record. I wanted my dad to look at me like that.
As I walk around I see us everywhere. The four state titles we won in football and two in baseball. Nick Ashford is staring back at me, his smug smile as he holds his most valuable player award. He wanted to be me. When he came to Beaumont he followed me around. He was always hanging out with us like he was our life-long friend, when all he wanted was my girl.
Other than Mason, I don’t know what happened to any of my classmates. I didn’t keep in touch because I had nothing to say and didn’t want to hear what a failure I was for dropping out of college. I had to make the best choice for me and I did even though I know I hurt everyone that I loved, especially her.
When a group of young kids come pouring in I duck into the bathroom. I’m not expecting them to know who I am, but their teachers might and I don’t want to sign autographs or pose for pictures. I just want to be me even if it’s short-lived.
When I come out of the john there’s a young boy standing at the counter with his hands under the water. I look at him through the mirror. He’s crying even though he’s trying to wash away the tears by splashing water on his face.
He’s sort of small and his hair is a bit longer than normal for boys his age. Maybe he’s being bullied and hiding in here. I hate bullies. Mason and I wouldn’t stand for any bullying when we were in school. We made sure of it.
“You okay, bud?” I ask against my better judgment. I don’t want to know because I don’t want the confrontation, but I can’t stand seeing kids cry.
He nods and covers his face. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he says. Smart kid.
“You’re right. I just want to make sure you don’t need your teacher or anything.”
“No, I’m okay.”
“Good deal.” I wash my hands looking back at the boy through the mirror. He’s watching my every move, eying the tattoos on my forearms, probably wondering if I’m going to kidnap him now that he’s spoken to a stranger.
“Hey Mister, I know you.”
I wipe my hands on the paper towel without giving much away. “You do, huh?” I say with no eye contact.
“Yeah, you’re the one kissing my mom in the video I have.”
I think back to my many music videos and don’t remember kissing anyone. “Did you see this on TV?” I ask.
“No, you were in a football uniform.”
I freeze. I’ve only ever kissed one girl while wearing a football uniform. I look at the boy, really look him over. His dark hair and elongated chin and his piercing blue eyes. It can’t be.
There’s no fucking way.
“Oh yeah, who’s your mom?” I ask, playing it off.
“Josie Preston.”
“Is that so?” I ask barely able to make the words come out of my mouth.
He nods and smiles real big showing some missing front teeth. “Did you kiss my mom a lot?”
What do I tell this boy? I can’t exactly tell him the truth, especially not knowing what’s going on. “Yeah, your mom was real beautiful. I bet she still is.”
He nods in agreement. I used to think my mom was the prettiest until I couldn’t stand to look her at her and watch her robotic ways.
“I gotta go. See ya around,” he says. Before I have a chance to respond, he’s out the door.
I run out of the restroom and museum as fast as I can. The boy tried to talk to me as I went by, but I ignored him. I need answers and whether I’m ready or not, she is going to give them to me.
I have to slow down when I hit Main Street. I can’t afford someone getting suspicious or risk being pulled over. I park across from her shop and watch the door for a minute. I’ve known about the florist shop for a few years. When our anniversaries came up or I was homesick, I Googled her like a crazy stalker and found out what she was up to, but nothing I read said anything about a kid.
I drive around until its dark, waiting for closing. I don’t want an audience. I pull up just as she steps out with a short red head. They hug goodbye and she looks at me. Her features are soft and she’s not scared of this stranger on a motorcycle covered in black. She doesn’t know who I am, she’s just being friendly.
I have no game plan as I watch her step back inside. She switches the Open sign to Closed. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it now before she locks the door. Leaving my helmet on, I open the door, the bells alerting her to my presence.
“We’re closing up,” she says from somewhere in the shop. I can’t see her, but I can feel her in the room.
I take off my helmet and pull off my gloves setting them on the counter. She doesn’t see me when she comes around the corner.
“How old is he, Jojo?”