Chapter Twelve
Shane
"No. He never hit me, and if you tried to drag me to court with you, I'd swear to that. Now it's time to leave me alone."
Julie grins as she pauses the recording on her phone.
"How did you get that?" I ask in amazement.
"Jessica Fletcher," she says.
"Jessica Fletcher?" I ask, confused. "A fictional character helped you?"
"No. She didn't actually help me but watching her did. You reminded me of it when we were on the phone last night."
"So, because I mentioned watching a show with you, you went to a bar and manipulated my ex into admitting she lied about me by pretending I was abusing you?"
"Yes. Jessica's done it like five times. Not that, specifically, but she tricks people into admitting to murders using recordings all the time. I thought I'd give it a try. And it worked."
"It definitely did. Holy shit. I can't believe she just spilled like that. So, what do we do now?"
"I think we need to go talk to Vanessa. Maybe give Kilmer a call, too."
Three days later…
"I'm impressed by your willingness to go above and beyond," Mr. Slidell says to Julie. "It's not every rep who will put themselves out there that like that just to help clear a client's name."
She beams. "Well, like you said, the stakes are pretty high. I want to do everything I can to be as successful with this project as I can be. The accusations against Shane were a big part of the reason his reputation suffered recently. I figured if I could find a way to get rid of those, it would be easier to solve the rest of his issues."
"Those are really good instincts," Mr. Slidell says. "And it seems to have really paid off. Vanessa made a statement to the media retracting everything she said about Shane, and even apologized for making the statements to begin with."
"Yeah," I say. "It seems playing that recording of her and threatening to release it to the media ourselves lit a fire under her ass."
"This is really good for us," he continues. "But it's not enough."
"What do you mean it's not enough?" I ask. "Like you said, Vanessa made that statement. The heat is off me."
"In that situation, yes," he says. "But you were having trouble well before she ever said anything. Her accusations made the entire situation worse, but your reputation and ability were already suffering. You can't expect to fix just one thing and have everything else fall into place. There are a few endorsements that still went to other players when you would have been a better fit for, and the coach told me he's been monitoring the team's social media. Apparently, there are still people making comments about you, they think you got to Vanessa, or still believe you are untrustworthy. You've made some big strides, but it's not enough."
"What are we supposed to do?" I ask. I'm angry, and frustrated. "I've been working my ass off on that field, and when I'm not practicing, Julie and I are trying to figure out ways I can turn around the public’s opinion of me. What else am I supposed to do?”
"I don't know," Mr. Slidell says, "but there's not much time left. You either need to figure something out or accept that this is the best you can do, and hope it works out."
"You want me to just give up? Do you want me to just lay down and admit defeat?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Mr. Slidell says. "I'm not telling you to give up, and that there's nothing that can be done. What I'm saying is that, as of right now, you have some work to do to convince your team that you’re worth the money and effort, and show fans you're worth supporting."
"I think I have an idea," Julie says.
She doesn't sound as enthusiastic as she has with her other ideas. In fact, her eyes flicker to me, almost nervously, when she says it.
"What is it?" I ask.
She shifts in her seat, clasping her hands together on her lap. She's wearing another dress, this one a soft green, with a light sweater over it. She looks confident and poised.
"I don't think I should talk about it yet," she says. "I need to make a few phone calls to make sure it’s even possible. As soon as I know more, I'll let both of you know."
That explanation doesn't inspire the most confidence in me, but she's been right so far. I don't have much of a choice other than to go along with her.
"It will work out," I assure Mr. Slidell. "I still have a few weeks. I'm not giving up until the end."
"I'm glad to hear that. I look forward to hearing about the next step in this process."
Julie and I stand to leave, and I pause to let her go in front of me. Our eyes meet as she passes, and I feel my body begin to respond to her. When we reach the lobby, I take a step closer to her. I want to reach out and take her into my arms. I want to hold her and feel her lush little body up against me again. Not being able to do so is driving me crazy. I have to keep my mind focused, and not let it wander to how she looked stretched out on the bed in the hotel, as she gave herself completely to me, allowing me to touch and discover her in ways no one ever has.
"What do you have in mind?" I ask.
"I told you, I can't talk about it yet. I'm not sure it's even going to work out. I hope it does, but there's a chance I won't get the cooperation I need, so I don't want to give you any details until I know it's what we're going to do next."
"Do you really think it will work?"
She nods, biting down slightly on her bottom lip.
"If it works out, yes, I really think it will. I'm just not sure I can pull it off."
"Do you want to stop and get some coffee?"
"I can't. I need to make this phone call. This is going to take some convincing."
"That doesn't sound very optimistic."
"I promise, I’ll do the best I can," she says.
"And what happens if it doesn't work out? What are we going to do then?"
Her shoulders drop slightly as she lets out a long breath.
"I don't know, Shane. I'm really not sure. I'll call you later."
She turns and walks out of the building, leaving me standing alone in the lobby. I started this process thinking it was ridiculous, positive it would only be a matter of days before Julie gave up on me, and everything blew over with the team. Now I realize even more than before how serious the situation is. I've watched Julie put everything into this project. I won’t let her fail.
Julie
I pace back and forth in my bedroom a few more times. It's all I've been able to do for the last half hour. That and occasionally pick up my phone as if I'm going to dial it, only to chicken out before ever touching a button. Pacing usually helps relieve my anxiety, but every step is just making me feel more nervous. The voice in the back of my mind tells me this is a crazy idea and won't possibly work out. But I know this is our last shot. This is the last-ditch effort to save Shane – the Hail Mary.
That's a thing, right? I feel like I've heard Joe say that.
Just thinking about his name makes my stomach drop a little further. Finally, I figure that I should just bite the bullet and call him. It can’t possibly be worse than being afraid of it, so I lift my phone up and speed dial him before I can second-guess myself.
"Hey," he says as the call connects. "How are you doing?"
"Good. You?"
"Can't really complain too much. Camp is in full swing now, so I'm out in the sun a lot. This summer's been brutal."
"It's funny you mention your Camp,” I say. “That’s actually why I’m calling you."
Joe laughs.
"What, you want to enroll Shane? See if I can give him a few pointers to improve his game?"
"That's not terribly far off," I say.
His laughter abruptly stops.
"What do you mean?"
"I need you to do something for me," I say. "And please hear me out before you say anything."
"Go ahead."
He doesn't sound like he has any real intention of hearing me out, so I need to talk fast.
"I've been working really hard with Shane trying to clean up his image, and I've made a lot of progress. I don't know if you heard, his ex withdrew her accusations about him."
"I heard."
"And that's great. It's helped. But it's not quite enough. My boss told me today there are still opportunities he's missing out on, and people are still making angry comments. There's not much time left before my deadline, and I have to get him over the bump, or I lose my job. He has to end this summer looking like the all-American sports hero again. The only way he can do that is if he makes a personal connection with his fans."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"I need you to let him come and be a part of your camp."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Trust me, I wish I was. If you can bring him in, even for just a couple of weeks, and let him work with the kids, it will show he hasn't totally forgotten his roots, and still cares about people."
"You want me to not only help the man I haven't even spoken to since he walked out of my life a decade ago, but do it by inviting him to come to the camp I started by myself, so he can take over?"
"I'm not asking you to let him take over, Joe. I'm just asking you to let him be a part of it. I know the high school kids you coach sometimes come to the camp and help you out. Let Shane do the same thing. It might even give the older kids a chance to learn something and work on their skills. Think of it this way, doing this can be a way to get back at him a little. You'll be in charge.”
"Why would I even care?" Joe asks. "Why would I put myself out for him?"
"I'm not asking you to do it for him," I say. "I'm asking you to do it for me. This is my last resort. It's all I have left. I didn't want to have to ask you. I was hoping I'd be able to do this on my own, but I can't. I need your help. Please."
Joe lets out a long, tortured sigh.
"You know I would never let you down, Julie. I'll do anything for you. Even this."
Relief floods through me.
"Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me."
"Yeah, well, don't make me regret it. "
"I won't. I'll be there the entire time keeping an eye on him."
"Good. When are you coming?"
"As soon as I can convince him to go." I hesitate. "How much do you know about his past?"
"What do you mean?"
"Something had to make him the way he is. Do you know?"
"No. We never talked much about what happened before we met. I know his parents weren’t around, but he never wanted to get into it with me. He asked me to respect it and move on, so I did."
"OK. Thanks again, brother."
We finish the conversation and hang up. The relief is short-lived. I've gotten Joe onboard, as onboard as I could imagine him being, anyway, but that's only a small part of the battle. Now I have to get Shane back in Virginia and on the same field as my brother again.
Two hours later…
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Shane shouts. "That's your big plan?"
"Yes. Remember at the beginning of all this, when I told you to remember where you came from, and who you used to be?"
"Yes, but I didn't think that meant you actually wanted me to go back there. I didn't think you were that literal."
Shane has taken over pacing for me now, striding back and forth across my living room with footsteps so heavy they're making my collection of knick-knacks dance on their shelf. He's wearing the athletic shorts and T-shirt he usually wears after practice, and I'm struggling to not stare at his powerful thighs beneath the shorts, or the tightening of his back muscles through his shirt.
"Well, I was, and I am. You're going to go and help these kids. You’ll make them into the best players they can possibly be. For once, you aren't just going to be the star they look up to and idolize. You're going to be an actual, real-life role model. Even if it's only for a short time."
"I left all that behind me, Julie. I left the people, the places, and the memories. I'm really not interested in revisiting any of it."
My heart tightens slightly when he mentions the memories. I never asked about his parents, and Joe never talked about them. The fact that Shane was alone was just a part of him, and I always thought it was part of why Joe spent so much time with him. When they were first friends, my brother wanted to be a comfort and support for Shane, offering him company and the feeling that he had someone in the world who cared about him. Later it was because he understood. The bitter reality that they were both young and alone in a world without parents, tied them together. I want to know more about his past. I want to understand what happened to his parents, and who took care of him before he turned eighteen.
"I know you don't want to go back, Shane. But no matter how long you've been gone, or how hard you try and forget about it, or shove it away, you can't change your roots. You can't pretend like you didn't grow up there, or that it isn’t your hometown. This will be a good step. Both for your reputation, and you. Maybe it will humble you a little."
I see Shane's eyes flash defiantly. I know he's angry, but there's pain hidden there, too. This is the last thing he wants to do, but he doesn't resist. Finally, he gives a single nod.
"The last thing I need from that place is to be humbled by it," he growls.
"What do you mean?" I ask cautiously.
I don't mean to push him. I remember Joe telling me he doesn't know much about Shane's past, and I figure if he wouldn't tell his best friend, he must be very defensive about it.
"You wouldn't understand," he finally says after a long pause.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"Because you wouldn't," he snaps. "No one can."
"I can't try to if you won't tell me."
Shane sighs.
"I don't want to see Joe," he admits. "I'm not going to pretend that isn’t part of it. But that's not the main reason I don't want to go back there.”
"What happened?" I ask softly.
He lets out a breath as if to prepare himself.
"My parents were addicts, Julie. The earliest memories I have are of trying to find something to eat because they were passed out after a binge and hadn't come out of the basement in two days."
"How old were you?"
"Four, maybe five."
I feel my chest contract painfully.
"I'm sorry," I say.
Shane shakes his head.
"That's not so bad," he says. "The older I got, the worse they got. Let's just say the people they spent time with weren't the most upstanding of citizens. They couldn't protect me because they were too out of their minds to even take care of themselves. Then, my mother died of an overdose when I was twelve. It seemed like that was a breaking point for my father, like it finally got through to him. He cleaned up, and things actually went well for a little while. We spent time together. I didn't have to constantly worry about him. It felt like I was meeting him for the first time. But it didn't last long. Within a year and a half, that life dragged him back in. I think the clearer his mind got, and the more he tried to act like a real father, the more he realized what he had done, and what had happened to my mother. One thing I can say about him is that he loved her. Even when they were spiraling, they spiraled together. When he tried to get better, it was for her, and when he fell apart again, it was because of her."
"What happened to him?"
"I don't know. One day he was at the house and I found a cocktail of pills and god knows what else spread all over the living room. The next day, I got home from school and he had disappeared. My grandmother was there instead. I still don’t know what happened to him. She wouldn't tell me, even when I asked."
"She was trying to protect you, maybe?"
He shook his head.
"No. She was trying to control me. Grandmother wasn't going to bake me cookies and make me a scarf for Christmas. She didn't believe that what I said about my parents was true. She couldn’t admit that her son could be that kind of person. In her mind, my mother was a horrible woman who cheated on him and ran out on him. She didn't even believe she was dead."
"How could she deny something like that?"
"Because she wanted to. She wanted things to happen exactly how she thought they should.”
"And your father disappearing? What did she say about that?"
"Nothing. Ever. She honestly believed he was a clean-cut, responsible man, and that I must have been an intolerable child to cause him so much difficulty. She never let me forget that, and she never hesitated to find ways to control and punish me, or to allow the friends of hers who would come to the house to do the same. By the time she was there for three months, I knew I wasn't going to be able to handle another four years, so I started working as much as I could. My mother had left me some money, though I don't know how she managed it. For all I know, she forgot it was even in the bank. I know she wasn't always an addict. There was a time when both she and my father were normal people. Not wealthy. Not exceptional. Just normal. That must have been when she started making plans for when I got older. Since I was still underage, I couldn't access it, but then I found out that my grandmother had never been given legal guardianship of me. Since she refused to talk about where my father was, and he wasn't available to give any sort of permission or go to court, she never got that control, which meant she couldn't touch it, either."
"Why didn't she just take it?"
"She couldn't. She didn't even know it was there. The only reason I did was because I had the documentation my father gave me when he cleaned up after she died. I kept it a secret. I worked and saved everything I could."
"How did you work? You were so young."
"When you need to, you find a way. I told her I was getting extra tutoring in the mornings and that my football practices ran later than they did, or that I was staying behind to study. I left at night after she went to bed. I did everything I could. Football was the only thing she approved of, even if reluctantly. I'd go to school, do football, and work when I could, and I got paid in cash. When I did, I hid it in the floorboards of my bedroom."
"Like a pirate."
I want to break the tension, to alleviate some of the heaviness pushing down on us, but it doesn't work.
"Close enough, I guess. As soon as I turned sixteen, I petitioned for emancipation. Since I could show my mother was dead, my father was gone, and my grandmother not only denied both situations but also didn't provide me a safe and supportive home environment, the judge granted it."
"You were emancipated at sixteen?" I ask.
He had truly been alone. It wasn't just that his parents weren't around. He only had himself in the world.
"Yes. I didn't tell anyone, not even Joe. Even then, I knew I didn't want anyone else to have control over me, ever again. I was going to have the life the adults in my life had tried to crush out of me, and never let another person stand over me."
Suddenly, I feel like I'm looking at a different person. I can see the irresistible draw of a football career that promised him the power and wealth he never had. With football, he could be admired and loved by thousands. He could exert control over both himself and others.
"What happened to your grandmother?" I ask.
"Obviously she was less than pleased when she found out I had filed, and she tried to make herself look like a sweet little granny when she went to talk to the judge, so she could keep her claws in me. When the judge granted my emancipation, I immediately had access to everything left to me by my mother, and the ability to make legal decisions for myself. That meant I could negotiate with the landlord to keep the lease to the house. Since I'd learned to scavenge for money around the house and skim my parents' paychecks when they managed to bring them home so I could pay the rent, he was fine letting me carry on. I forced her to leave, and I haven't seen her since."
"Your parents worked?"
I don't mean to ask the question. It just falls out of me. No matter what he's told me about the way they treated him, they were still his parents. I shouldn't have let the stereotypes even begin to form in my mind.
"As much as they could. Nothing professional or anything, but if they weren't at home or with their friends using, they could function well enough to hold down basic jobs. Fast food. Convenience stores. Sometimes they'd do seasonal work at the farms, or my father would do construction or other manual labor. It was enough. At least it was when I learned to take the cash as soon as I saw it and hide it. Most of the time they were so strung out they just accepted they'd forgotten how much they'd spent."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know any of that."
"No one does," he reiterates. "It's not something I've ever wanted to advertise. I clawed my way out of that life and took what I wanted. I have it, now. Telling people the reason why wouldn't do me any good."
"After you got emancipated, why did you stay in school? Why didn't you just leave then?"
"Emancipated minors can't quit school. You have to prove you've gotten a diploma or you're in school. Even if I could have, I probably wouldn’t have dropped out. Quitting school would have also meant quitting football, and that wasn't an option. Football was everything. I worked as hard as I could to get scholarships, so I could go to college and keep playing." He takes a step back from me. "I'm going to go."
I want him to stay. I want him to sit down beside me on the couch and wait for Mrs. Livingston to bring over another incorrectly delivered pizza. Old shows would break the tension and make me feel more optimistic. In the world where those shows exist, everything has already happened. Everything worked out fine for them, so maybe watching them will make us feel like everything's going to work out fine for us, too.
But that's not going to happen. He's too raw right now. Without another word, he turns and stalks out of my apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Shane
I can't believe Julie's doing this to me.
As I drive away from her apartment toward my home, I'm so angry I can barely see. It never crossed my mind that there was a possibility she would suggest I go back to Virginia. Nothing would have made me think she would even begin to see that as a good idea. It's been a decade since I left home, and I never intended to go back. I never wanted to see that place again. It took everything I had in me to get away and create the life I have now. I don't need reminders of what I left behind.
But now she's not only telling me I have to go back, but I also have to accept help from a person who would probably just as soon skin me alive and to use as his football for field goal practice. Joe doesn’t know why I had so much resistance to going home. I never wanted him to know. He knew I was alone, but never why. He was my best friend. The only true friend I had. I didn't want him to judge me on my past and not be there anymore. Doing that, though, meant I was the one who left him behind.
No matter how angry I am about it, I know I'm going to do it. It may not be something I would ever have volunteered to do, but I see how it can be an effective goodwill gesture. What matters more, however, is that it'll make Julie happy.
The next day…
"I am never going on a road trip with you ever again," Julie says as soon as she jumps out of the car.
Seeing her feisty again is far better than the sympathy I saw in her eyes yesterday. I don't want sympathy from anyone. Especially Julie.
"What was wrong with that road trip?" I ask. "Other than the fact that it was a road trip and not a flight. We could have been here hours ago if you had let us take a plane."
"If we flew, we wouldn't have been able to pack your equipment or the memorabilia you're supposed to display at the camp. Besides, it looks more like a humble visit home if you drive into town rather than flying and driving around in a rented car. Speaking of cars – what do you have against stopping for gas? You have this fancy, expensive car, but you don’t seem to understand the function of gas in it."
"Is that the issue you're having? I didn't stop for gas frequently enough?
"It's the issue I've been having since I started telling you to stop for gas one hundred miles into the trip."
"I didn't need gas then. I also didn't need it a hundred miles later. Or even a hundred miles after that. I know my car, and I had just filled the tank before I picked you up. The gas mileage on that thing is one of the main reasons I bought it. Hopping out of the car to get gas isn't fun when you're as recognizable as I am, especially recently.”
Are we seriously standing here having an argument about gas mileage? We came almost three hundred miles to fight over me not stopping for gas on the way from Pennsylvania?
"And what about staying at the speed limit? Or passing people? Or following any of the various laws you broke while we were barreling down the highway?"
"I guess we can agree our next vacation will start on a plane," I say.
"This isn't a vacation," she snaps. She takes several stomping steps toward the restaurant, then whips around to face me. "And there isn't going to be a next one!"
I can't help but laugh. Even though we're only a few miles away from our hometown, and my dread is increasing with each passing minute, Julie is too cute when she's flustered to not appreciate it for at least a few seconds.
Ten minutes later we're sitting at a table. This is a spot that used to be popular for dates when I was a teenager, but now it seems subdued, almost like it's been forgotten. The result is a somewhat faded version of what I remember like I've stepped into a memory. It's one of the few from my younger years that I don't mind drifting through my mind. Julie's twirling her straw around in a glass of sweet tea so saturated with sugar it could be a long-lost relative of the Dead Sea. She leans down for a sip, and my eyes fixate on the neckline of her T-shirt.
"Are you sure you're going to be OK at Joe's house?" I ask.
She told me before we left that she'll be staying with her brother while I’m put up at a nearby hotel.
She looks at me questioningly.
"It's my house, too," she points out. "I'll be sleeping in the bedroom that was once my nursery."
"I mean, since you don't have your car here."
"Only because you insisted on not driving alone. I'm pretty sure you did it just to see how much you could torment me on the road."
Wrong. I did it so I could have her to myself for a few hours.
"I'll be fine. Joe has his car. I can use that if I have to. But I'm guessing most of the time we'll ride together." She hesitates slightly. "If that's OK with you."
"Of course."
"Are you sure you're going to be OK at a hotel?" she asks, turning my question around at me.
"Definitely. It's not like I can bunk at your house."
"Yeah, I don’t think Joe would go along with that,” she says with a laugh.
"That's pretty much what I figured."
Our lunch comes, and we fall into silence as we eat. I drag out every bite to make the meal last longer before we pile back into the car and head the rest of the way home.
That night…
"Well, that was an epic fucking disaster."
"It wasn't that bad."
I turn around to glare at Julie.
"He introduced me as 'somebody you might have heard of once,' and those were the only words he said to or about me the entire afternoon."
"At least he spoke in your general direction. That's better than I thought it was going to go. I thought he'd need at least a day to warm up to you being here before he'd acknowledge your existence."
I let out a growl of exasperation.
"This was a stupid idea. We never should have come here."
"It wasn't a stupid idea," Julie argues. "Did you see how excited those kids were when they saw you? They couldn't get enough of you, even when you were just standing there."
"Just standing there handing out drinks because your brother made you tell me I was going to be waterboy today."
"Look at the bright side, he didn't make me pass you a note."
She shoots me a feeble smile, but I just shake my head at her. I'm not even close to being in the mood to laugh. The first day of the camp went worse than I ever imagined it would. The players did seem excited I was there, but more than once I noticed them slide nervous eyes toward Joe, as if they recognized how he felt about me being there and wanted to make sure paying any attention to me wasn't hurting his feelings.
"OK. I know you're upset," Julie says. "This wasn't the best day ever. But being here doesn't have to just be about Shane and the camp. Don't you want to see anything or go anywhere? Now that you're back, is there anything you want to do?"
I think about her question for a few seconds. She's staring at me with a touch of a smile on her full, sweet lips, and I suddenly don’t want to just stay in the hotel the rest of the night. I know she has her mind set on healing me while we're here, but right now, that’s the last thing on my mind.
"There is somewhere I want to go," I tell her.
"Good. Where?"