*Content subject to change before release.
“Am I going to get the cold shoulder for the rest of the night?”
Evie glares at me, then goes back to typing.
“Look, I didn’t know you were going to miss the last train. I’d drive you down if I could, but I have a meeting first thing in the morning.”
“That’s not why I’m pissed, Michael.”
Oh, shit. She broke out my full name. I’m fucked. It’s times like this being as big as I am becomes a serious problem. I can’t curl myself into a ball for protection, and if she decides to throw something at me, I’m a large, easy to hit target.
On reflex, I try to defuse the situation before she snaps. “I don’t understand why you’re upset. It’s not like you’re sleeping at the train station. You have your own room with a big, comfy bed; there’s plenty of food in the fridge. I even got some of that wine you like from the local place. The Blood Rot?”
“It’s Bloodroot,” she grits through clenched teeth. “And I’m not going to drink any of it.”
“Why not? I bought a whole case of it for you because you raved about it when we visited Saratoga Springs during the summer.”
“Because I have to be up ass early in the morning!” She throws her hands up in the air, but at least graces me with her direct gaze.
On second thought, that might not be a good thing. Her eyes are so icy, I shiver.
“You could have a glass to relax for now. I never suggested drinking a whole bottle.” Please, please, please fucking chill out.
She jumps up from the couch and stomps into the kitchen, banging around in there enough to make a good show of letting me know her anger won’t be so easy to appease tonight.
Bad emotions are contagious. When anyone around me displays signs of anger, discomfort, or unhappiness, anxiety creeps over me. Solving everyone else’s problems is just good business. The people I care about are happy, and I don’t have to deal with unwelcome feelings.
It’s usually a win-win.
Evie’s a tough nut to crack ever since we moved out of our shared apartment at State, though.
Sure, she was here for my first game as an NFL running back, but our relationship isn’t the same as it used to be.
What I wouldn’t give for Mom and the girls to still be here as a distraction. Evie’s always on her best behavior around them, conscious of being a good role model for my younger sisters.
But, they caught an early flight, not even waiting on me to be done with post-game press conferences before they called a taxi to take them to the airport.
The only reason Evie didn’t follow a similar path was because she felt guilty leaving me alone after my first home game. She admitted as much.
And because I insisted on taking her to the after-game party to introduce her to my teammates, she missed the last train.
I feel badly about it, but she needs to move on with her life. I don’t know why she can’t see that’s what I’m trying to help her do.
She reenters the living room, an open wine bottle in one hand and a full glass of the red liquid in the other. Barely resituated on the couch, she takes a healthy gulp. “There? Happy now?”
No, not really. Passive-aggressive behavior never leads to anything happy.
Still, it’s my fault she’s in this mess, so it’s my job to clean it up. “Why don’t you call off tomorrow? Then you won’t have to be up early to catch the first train, and you can wait until my meeting is over for me to drive you back to the city. You’ll only get in a half day of work anyway, and if I drive you, it’ll save you money.”
Since she won’t let me buy her tickets. The girl is independent and stubborn to a fault.
“I can’t call off,” she practically shrieks, making my ear drums throb. “I just started! I don’t want to get fired for being a shitty employee after only two months on the job!”
“You work for Alyssa. She’s not going to fire you.”
“I’m not going to take advantage of our friendship.” She points at me. “Unlike some people.”
Ouch.
“I said I was sorry. I don’t know what else to do to make it up to you.”
Evie’s shoulders deflate on a sigh. “I know. It was my choice to stay. It’s my own fault I missed the train. You didn’t have to leave your party early because of me.”
Parties aren’t really my thing, so leaving early wasn’t an entirely selfless move. Besides, it was easy to see Evie was uncomfortable being there. One too many of my teammates recognized her from her WAG days and asked why she wasn’t at Rob’s debut game. When those same guys insinuated I’d stolen her from him, I’d had enough. It was time to bail before my nasty temper came out to play. I’ll set the guys straight in the locker room this week, and that will be the end of those rumors.
“You want me to turn on SportsCenter? I’m kind of dying to see how Alex did today.” I have no idea where my phone is. I’ve been so busy I haven’t caught up on his stats for the day.
Evie shrugs, but her face lights up with excitement. “Your house, your TV. Watch whatever you want.”
I give her my stink eye, but she’s already typing furiously on her computer, so she doesn’t notice.
“What are you working on over there? Did Alyssa give you homework over the weekend?” I turn on the TV and fumble through the guide to find ESPN. I’m still not used to this new expensive cable. A million and one channels, but only three I’ll ever watch.
“No,” Evie mumbles, not looking up from her screen.
That’s all she says before the room fills with my surround sound.
Holy shit. I’m on national television. Surreal doesn’t even cover it.
Even though I’ve seen old interviews I gave during my time as an NCAA starter, this is the big leagues. Everything about it seems different. It’s all in my head, but that doesn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face.
“Mike Mitchell, you ran for a hundred and fifty-three yards tonight. If that’s not an amazing debut, I don’t know what is.” The blond reporter places her hand on my arm. It’s such a trip to remember the feel of her lingering touch as I watch it happen in the past. “What else do you have in store for Wolves fans this season?”
My laughter sounds as nervous as I was in the moment. I was still riding the high of one of the best games I’ve ever played, and my ears were ringing. I wasn’t entirely sure what she’d asked me, so I came up with an answer that seemed like it would work for any number of general questions. “This was a great first game. The whole team worked hard in the pre-season. We’ll take it one week at a time from here.”
I vaguely remember being jostled from reporter to reporter. Their faces blurred together. Though I’d been introduced to some of them during the pre-season press junkets, their names vanished from my mind as soon as they started speaking to me. The adrenaline that had pumped through my veins for the previous few hours was wearing off, and I wanted a break from all the action. Mostly, I looked forward to my mom’s big hugs, her soothing voice telling me all my hard work had paid off.
Imagine my surprise when only Evie was waiting for me on the sidelines, her family pass hanging from the lanyard around her neck. She swiped tears from her eyes, smiling at me like it was one of the proudest moments of her life.
My own flesh and blood was nowhere to be found, but my adopted sister wrapped her slender arms around me and told me, “You did it. You’re everything I knew you could be.”
I chance a glance at her, still typing on her computer.
She’s angry now, but we’re siblings. Fighting is how we show we care.
No one puts this much effort into someone who means nothing to them.
If Evie didn’t love me, she wouldn’t be here.
I wish she’d forgive me already, and let the past go.
A familiar voice brings my attention back to the big screen mounted on the wall, but the face I see playing on a new roll of footage looks like a stranger.
None of us appear all that great after hours sweating our asses off and bleeding all over the turf, but Rob looks like absolute hell.
His hair’s a longish mess that falls over his forehead and curls around his ears. A scraggly, unkempt beard hides the movements of his mouth. If he’s going for the lumbersexual look, he missed it by a mile.
“…no comment,” he bites out.
Dammit, I missed what the reporter asked him.
“Do you feel your personal life is interfering with your performance on the field?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck…I scramble for the remote balanced on the arm of my recliner.
“Touch that and die,” Evie hisses.
Eyes wide, I check her reaction as the reporter makes mention of rumors of their split.
She’s chugging the wine from her glass with her eyes trained on the screen.
“If you want to talk football, then we’ll do that. My personal life isn’t up for discussion.”
Holy shit. I’ve never heard Falls speak this way. Maybe he’s finally grown a pair of balls.
Evie leans forward on the couch, refilling her glass to the brim.
So much for not drinking tonight.
“You won the Heisman two years ago. You were the number two pick in the first round of the draft.” The idiot reporter goes on to list well-known stats any idiot could look up. With each word out of the smug guy’s mouth, Rob’s expression turns more and more murderous. “Fans want to know what went wrong tonight. Will your head be in the game next week when the Rushers take on Albuquerque?”
“Guess you’ll have to watch and find out.” With that Rob, walks away.
A pang of regret shoots through my chest. I rub the aching spot, but the pain intensifies.
“Goddammit,” Evie mutters before abandoning her spot on the couch. She storms down the hall. A door slams shortly after.
The clip ends, and the commentators break into a discussion of how this is typical behavior from Heisman winners.
“What do you expect when you give these young guys millions of dollars, celebrity status, and the pressure of turning around the worst team in the league?” a former coach offers. “They’re just kids. It’s a recipe for disaster that turns out the same way nine times out of ten.”
“Then, how do you explain the guys who get it right? Mitchell was on fire tonight. He went in the first round and even came out of State the same year as Falls,” a retired player argues.
Hearing them compare us makes me feel like dirt, but I shake it off. Rob got himself into this mess. The blame lies on his shoulders, not mine.
The host acts as the typical referee for the rowdy bunch of vets, introducing the next clip. “Speaking of first round picks out of State, the Orlando Sharks had quite the brawl against the Columbia Stars today.”
“Evie,” I yell. “Alex is up.”
She returns to her seat, but her shoulders are still tense. Picking up her wine glass, she drains it in three long gulps.
After several interviews, Alex’s smiling face fills the screen. I spot his family in the background. A stab of jealousy snakes through my gut.
“You earned your starting position tonight,” the smiling reporter exclaims. “Two touchdown catches for fifty-six yards during your debut game. How are you feeling?”
I cringe, expecting him to answer with something along the lines of “horny.”
He winks at the attractive reporter, but thankfully his response is professional. “I’m pretty pleased with my play today, but we’re away in Albany next week, so I’m ready to get to work tomorrow to prepare for that.”
“Not going to take the night off to celebrate?” she leads.
“I’ll probably have a bit of fun tonight, but not too much.” He looks directly at the camera. “I’m coming for you, Mitchell. Be prepared to lose.”
I laugh out loud. The fucker already texted me a bet on next week’s outcome.
“Are you really going to pay up if you lose?” Evie has a smirk on her face as she watches the end of Alex’s interview.
“I’m not going to lose.”
She raises her eyebrow in disbelief, but doesn’t say anything else.
By the time SportsCenter ends, her head rests against the back of the couch and her eyes are half-lidded. In all fairness, it’s after midnight. I’m tired and sore as fuck.
“You ready for bed, little sister?”
She nods and rises from the couch, swaying a bit on her feet.
“You’re drunk.” I laugh as she holds onto the end table for support. “That’s it. You sleep in. I’m driving you back to New York when I get home. I’ll text Alyssa if you want.”
She flips me the bird, then makes her way back to her bedroom.
“Evie,” I call after her. “You forgot—”
The sound of her bedroom door slamming cuts me off.
“…your laptop.”
It’s still open on the coffee table, and my curiosity overrides any sense of privacy. She refused to tell me what she was working on all night, so I peek at the screen.
Surprisingly, her email is still open for anyone to read. She must not care if I look.
There’s only one unread message at the top of the list. An undeliverable error.
I click the link and immediately see the issue.
Instead of “.com,” she’d typed “, com” in her buzzed state.
That’s not surprising. The email address she was trying to reach is.
Rob’s personal account.
I can’t pretend I’m not already involved in this mess, so even though a part of me knows I shouldn’t, I read the message she’d tried to send.
It’s not nearly enough words to account for how long she spent typing it up.
Rob,
You probably won’t read this, but I’m going to send it anyway.
I wanted you to know I’m proud of you. Anyone watching could see you gave it your all.
You always take losses hard, but it was a rough game. Shake it off, and concentrate on next week. Remember, it’s an 11-man offense. You can’t win alone. Work on routes this week in practice. Your WR’s were consistently out of range. Adjust your arm for their speed, and buy more time in the pocket. It seemed like you were throwing before you were ready. The o-line could use some work, but that’s out of your control. Be the best quarterback you can be. You didn’t win a Heisman for nothing.
My money’s still on you.
Love,
Evie
How the fuck does she know any of this? Sure, we saw the highlights tonight, but this message makes it sound like she actually watched the game. There’s no way. She was at my new stadium all afternoon, then came to the party for the team with me.
I reread the email several times.
Each time, I get hung up on one little word. Love.
The rest of the short letter could be from any random fan. It’s basic advice and maybe the lamest pep talk I’ve ever seen. The way she signed it doesn’t sit well with me. Though she hasn’t forgiven me for spilling her little secret to him, Rob is never a topic of discussion between us. I don’t even know if they’re divorced, and we’re not at a place yet where I feel comfortable asking. Surely if she’d moved on, she wouldn’t have signed her email this way.
While we were still sharing an apartment on campus, Evie accused me of not being over Chelsie. She couldn’t have been more wrong. I didn’t want to see it at the time, but Alex was right. I think I knew Chelsie wasn’t the right woman for me, but I didn’t want to be the first to let go.
She taught me a lot in the three years we were together.
I know I can be a better man than my father.
I know I want more out of life than what my mom had.
I won’t ever admit it to Evie, but before she and Rob imploded, I was ready to give a relationship another try.
Now, I’m not so sure.
I’ve achieved everything I ever wanted in life. Today was my debut game in the NFL. I have a huge house, more money than I know what to do with, the car of my dreams, and my family will be well provided for.
Do I really want to rock the boat by getting involved in something that isn’t meant to last?
As I click on the drafts folder that has fifteen messages Evie canned before deciding on the final one she wanted to send to Rob, I have my answer.
Pages and pages of pouring her heart out, begging forgiveness, apologizing for things that weren’t totally her fault stab my eyes.
The only reason I adopted Evie as my sister is because we both come from broken homes.
Nothing lasts forever.
Evie and I both took a chance, and look where it got us.