Fourth and Inches Read online

  So…I need to force myself to be ready.

  Somehow.

  “Not only has your performance been a joke, but you’ve become a real liability for the team. Showing up drunk more often than not, if you bother to show up at all. Missing meetings, half-assing it at practice.” Coach steeples his fingers, his elbows resting on his desk as he stares at me like he expects me to argue.

  After several minutes of the ticking clock on the wall being the only sound, he breaks the game of chicken first.

  “You don’t have anything to say for yourself? No apology for letting your teammates down? Nothing?”

  I shrug. What the fuck does he expect me to say?

  “I’m surprised, Falls. I truly am. You had all the makings of one of the greats. Everything pointed to your success: your Heisman, your character, your work ethic. Tell me one thing before you likely drink yourself to death during the off-season, since I know you won’t be training at all.”

  I don’t bother fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

  “How does a guy with everything going for him turn out like this? Didn’t we do enough for you? Davis has been trying with you, keeping you under his wing. The owners pay you well. The coaches, the staff, myself included, have pulled out all the stops this season to give you every opportunity to catch up to the next level of football.”

  It’s not about the damn game, but I don’t tell him that.

  The only thing I have going for me these days is the entire world thinking I’m a spoiled-brat Heisman winner, too full of himself to make the effort necessary to succeed at the pro level.

  The truth of the matter is, the precious little energy I have left goes into an entirely different sort of game every night.

  The one where I make a million different choices and don’t end up sitting in this chair, facing a firing squad of one.

  “I hoped you’d show some sort of remorse, but since that’s not happening, I’m going to give it to you straight.” Coach leans back in his chair, pausing long enough to give me time to interject with the expected platitudes.

  I don’t. I know what he’s going to say, and I’m not the least bit sorry.

  “The league reached a verdict on your possible suspension for assaulting that reporter at our last game of the season.”

  I’m honestly surprised it took this long. I shouldn’t have let him bait me the way he did. Normally, when the press pries into my personal life, I walk away.

  “You’re being fined sixty-thousand dollars and suspended for the first three games next season. Until then, you are not permitted to train at this facility, practice with the team in any capacity, including training camp, nor represent the league at any charity functions during the off-season.”

  Shit. There goes the Sing Out summer fundraiser.

  Not that the league gives a damn or would lend much support to a foundation aimed at reducing sexual violence and rape culture on college campuses across the country.

  The usual locker room talk is proof enough of that.

  Still, the organization has been floundering without any real oversight, and now I don’t have any pull to bring in more donations.

  Just another way I’ve let Evie down, I suppose.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Falls. You won’t talk to anyone. Frankly, if it was up to me, I’d cut you. You’re a loose cannon, and I don’t know why. That bothers me. But, the owners aren’t willing to break your contract just yet. They feel this slap on the wrist is the wake-up call you need. My advice to you is to use this time wisely. Get your shit together. Sober up. Next spring, this conversation might have a different ending. Keep that in mind.”

  Yeah. That won’t be too hard.

  A different ending is the only thing on my mind.

  After no less than ten minutes of pounding, of which five are accompanied by random neighbors peeking out of their condos to see what all the ruckus is about, the front door creaks open.

  “Go. Away. I don’t want any Girl Scout cookies.”

  The gravelly, slurred voice takes me aback, but only for a second.

  I’ve done my research through media reports. I saw him at the Albany game. I’ve listened to Patty’s tear-filled stories about her son’s dramatic personality change.

  I know what to expect…somewhat.

  “Then, this is your lucky day. I’ve never been a Girl Scout.”

  The door opens wider to reveal a disgusting slob who bares minimal resemblance to Rob Falls.

  His shirtless state would be more attractive if not for the dark bags under his eyes, the sickly pallor of his skin. The beard he’s been growing has reached recluse mountain man proportions, combined with his wild, too-long hair.

  At the center of this hot mess, my own name stares back at me, still looking as fresh as the day it was inked into his skin.

  That brand digs into my own flesh, so deeply embedded no amount of time or pain can ever remove it.

  This man is, quite simply, my everything.

  My greatest wish and biggest loss.

  The source of my utmost joy and deepest despair.

  My savior, my downfall, my hope, and my curse.

  He’ll always be the love of my life. No one will ever be able to fade his mark on me.

  And I didn’t give him up just to stand by and watch him slowly kill himself.

  Rob stares at me with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. I guess the sight of me standing at his door surprises him as much as his dismal appearance shocks me.

  “Evie?” He fists his eye sockets until I can practically hear them squishing. Gross. “Why are you here?”

  “Well, hello to you, too. It’s good to see you after so long. I’d love to come in, thank you for asking.”

  Not even a hearty serving of sarcasm is enough to snap him out of his haze. He sways on his feet slightly, but other than that…no reaction.

  “Please, don’t strain yourself with niceties on my account.”

  Luckily, the shock of seeing me on his doorstep hasn’t worn off. His stupor is just enough to allow me to push past him into…a wasteland of epic proportions.

  While the foyer, elevator, and hallways of this undoubtedly pricey high-rise scream opulence, this particular abode is flat-out disgusting.

  Dirty piles of laundry blanket the floor, the stench of ammonia hangs in the air. Garbage and half-full takeout containers dot the landscape in various states of decomposition. The most disturbing sight is all the overturned furniture, the dents in the walls, and the perimeter of the room littered with broken glass.

  I can’t even imagine how lovely this place must have been once upon a time.

  Patch and Felix are nowhere to be found. The thought their bodies might be part of the heady aroma of death in here creates a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

  “Where are the cats?”

  Rob shrugs, then stumbles his way over to the one upright couch in the midst of this chaos. He falls into an indentation that suspiciously envelops his body like he’s been living in that exact space for weeks. “If you’ve come to collect the children, you’re on your own to find them. They eat the food I put out while I’m asleep. I can’t even lure them out of hiding with catnip and promises of a kick-ass game of laser pointer.”

  At least they’re still alive, which is more than I can say for the man lying in his own filth with his eyes closed. “I didn’t come to collect the cats.”

  “Then, why are you here?” He doesn’t bother to move or grace me with his gaze.

  “Because you’re out of control, and everyone’s worried about you. It’s time to get your shit together.”

  My harsh statement causes him to crack an eye open. “Did Shawn send you?”

  “No,” I scoff.

  Rob doesn’t move a muscle. “Coach? Mom? Who sent you?”

  “No one sent me!” I throw my hands in the air, needing an outlet for my frustration. With both of us. I almost prefer his anger to this…zombie-like Rob. The on
ly weapon I have to snap him out of it is the truth, ironically enough. “Shawn kept me in the loop all season. He called to let me know you’d been suspended before the press got wind of it. Then, your mom called and begged me to fly out here since no one’s heard from you in weeks. She’s made the trip three times and been turned away. Even Shawn won’t help her see you. Alyssa’s worried you’re going to be a no-show for the wedding, since she couldn’t talk Jeremy out of including you in the bridal party. But, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

  “Maybe I’d talk to Mom if she didn’t harass me every time she calls. I already told Jeremy to find another groomsman. And, don’t lie for my sake. We both know you don’t want to be here. So, just do what you came to do. Collect the cats and leave.”

  His dismissal stings.

  Another survey of the destroyed living area makes me think this whole situation is beyond help.

  I did all I could to ensure he had a chance at a better life, but it wasn’t enough.

  Love isn’t enough.

  It doesn’t conquer all, it’s not a magical elixir for anyone’s problems.

  If anything, it’s a bandage which only masks reality.

  “What are you doing, Rob?” The rhetorical question slips past my lips, as if I need to hear the disappointment in my own voice to be sure any of this is real.

  “Living the dream,” he responds, my low volume not enough to escape his hearing.

  “What dream is that?” This is a nightmare in my eyes. One I hoped never to add to my growing collection.

  “Oh, you know.” He gestures around in a lazy sweep with an uncoordinated arm. “Just what you suggested I should do to better my life—a change of location, a steady stream of pussy. Remember how I wanted to quit football before? Yep. Did that, too.”

  Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I never suggested this. “You didn’t quit. You were suspended for punching a reporter at your last home game of the season.”

  “Semantics.” He laughs, but there’s something decidedly unhinged about it.

  Patty seems to think I’m the only one who can get through to him. It’s far more likely my presence will only exacerbate the problem. If I’m being completely honest, I count on it. Some sick part of me hopes my visit will anger him enough to pull him out of this funk. To make him want to be better just to spite me.

  But, I’m wrong again.

  He’s ignoring me in his…home.

  Still, I paid money I didn’t have and took time off work I can’t afford to be here because I couldn’t say no to Patty’s begging. The least I can do is clean up the mess.

  There’s so much to tackle, I’m not even sure where to start.

  A single, pristine object through an open doorway catches my eye.

  Rob makes no move to stop me as I slowly walk toward what I’m not entirely certain I want to see.

  Morbid curiosity propels me to override common sense.

  Like the rest of the place, most of this room is trashed. Various holes in the walls are the only artwork. Not a single framed photo rests anywhere. Another open doorway reveals a similar state in the master bathroom. Bottles of shampoo and God knows what else are spilled everywhere. Towels which have to be covered in toxic levels of mold cover every available surface. The large closet in the corner seems to have vomited its contents onto the floor, a mixture of spare blankets, pillows, and men’s and women’s clothing.

  The sight of those feminine articles stops me in my tracks.

  I shouldn’t be in here. I’ll clean everything except this space.

  I managed to avoid seeing any visual evidence of Rob and Julie.

  That’s not a streak I want to break.

  “Rob?” I call. He’s going to need to vacate the couch so I can work out there.

  “What?” he groans back, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

  “Why don’t you come sleep in the bed?” Then, I can close this door and pretend I’m simply a maid, hired to do a job for a stranger. I’ll call his mother when I’m finished, let her know things are under control for now, then hightail it out of here.

  “No,” he mumbles. “I never sleep there. No one’s allowed to sleep there.”

  What the hell? The king-sized bed takes center stage in the middle of the room, covered in an expensive-looking white down comforter and the fluffiest pillows. It’s clearly meant to be the focal point of the master suite, and had to have cost a pretty penny. Why wouldn’t he use it? This bed is fit for a king. And his harem.

  I drag my hand against the fabric, only to recoil in disgust. My fingertips are covered in a fine layer of dust.

  He’s not kidding.

  No one sleeps here. And clearly hasn’t in some time.

  “Don’t touch the bed, Sophia,” he murmurs, his voice garbled, already half-asleep. “That’s my wife’s bed.”

  I sink down into what feels like a cloud, my knees too weak to remain upright.

  My heart squeezes in painful palpitations at his slurred, likely unintentional revelation.

  Swallowing a ball of dread, I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll through until I find the appropriate contact before tapping out a question I need the answer to. Because I’m a masochist.

  Eva: Who’s Sophia?

  Shawn: Who?

  Eva: Sophia. I don’t have a last name.

  Shawn: I have no idea. Why are you asking me this?

  Eva: I’m in Sacramento. At Rob’s. This place is a disaster. I started to clean, but Rob told me not to touch the bed. That it belongs to his wife. He’s drunk and thinks I’m Sophia.

  I jump when my phone rings. “Hello?”

  “Get out of there.” Shawn’s voice is gruff over the line, a constant buzzing in the background not enough to drown out his tone.

  “I can barely hear you.”

  “Get out,” he repeats, louder this time. “Right now.”

  I know I’m not on Rob’s list of favorite people, but Shawn has to know he’d never physically hurt me. “I just got here. His mom’s been trying to get in for weeks, but they refuse her entry. She begged me to try. I guess you weren’t kidding about my name being on the lease because they allowed me up immediately. It’s so much worse than I expected, Shawn. He needs help.”

  “There’s no helping him. He’s a ticking time bomb. If I wasn’t in another time zone, I’d haul your stubborn ass out of there myself. There’s a reason I haven’t let his mother see that place. Or him.”

  “Where are you? What’s that noise?”

  “I’m on a speed boat on Lake Ontario, schmoozing a potential client who probably won’t tank his career the way Falls is. There? You happy? Now, as much as I’d love to chat about your husband’s problems and how to fix them, please get out of there before something bad happens. You can sneak out before he wakes up, and he probably won’t even realize you were there in the first place.”

  That sounds like a pattern Shawn is all too familiar with. “Does he drink like this often?”

  A frustrated sigh carries over the noise of the boat engine. “Yeah. It’s part of that career assassination I mentioned.”

  Alex’s accusation from last year is coming true. Rob is becoming his father.

  Guilt snakes around my throat over how far he’s fallen.

  “Who’s Sophia?” I chew on my nail as I gaze through the bedroom door at the man in question for signs of waking, but he’s out cold. Try as I might to resist, my gaze cuts to all the lacy bras littering the floor.

  Though I have no right to it, jealousy competes with my guilt.

  I’m sure the woman who owns those expensive-looking bras has perfect breasts to tempt the man snoring in the living room.

  “Dammit, Evie. I honestly don’t know. Maybe the cleaning lady I called in, who he fired months ago on the grounds she washed the bed sheets?”

  “Why is he telling the cleaning lady not to touch the bed?” His wife’s bed. My bed.

  Unless he’s referring to someone else as his wife
these days.

  “I really don’t know,” Shawn admits. “Why are we playing twenty questions when I have work to do, and you have a disaster to escape?”

  “Because I need to know what I’m dealing with here.” The last thing I need is a confrontation with his new partner, if she should show up while I’m doing a favor to the woman who cared for me after my assault.

  “I already told you what you’re dealing with. A nuclear meltdown waiting to happen. Get your ass out of there, and cut your losses.”

  “Thanks for the info, Shawn. Good luck landing your next all-star. I’ll let you know how things turn out here.” I end the call before he can argue with me.

  Cut your losses.

  That’s what I tried to get Rob to do before he left for California.

  It seems to me like he’s drowning in loss, even after all this time.

  Loss bound Rob and I together. Irrevocably.

  It can’t possibly break us anymore than it already has.

  My love for Rob has changed over time, but it’s still here. Still a permanent part of me that I can’t bear to part with.

  Where once hopeful butterflies of youth tempted me down a path I was wary of, circumstances beyond our control sculpted those feelings into comfort, understanding, support.

  It might not have been the romantic love I dreamed of as a crush-addled teenager, but it was real, nonetheless.

  Just like our problems.

  I wanted so much better for him.

  Want never matters.

  Reality always seems to get in the way.

  If memories of the good times Rob and I shared are the only things I’ll have to hold onto for the rest of my life, then I can’t walk away until he’s in a better place.

  Knowing I gave him the best possible shot at a happily ever after.

  One of us should get it at least.

  For now, I’m the only one who can get through his erected walls. The irony makes me laugh out loud. I flop back onto the bed, coughing as a fine veil of dust rises from the surface.