Daylight, page 12
“Well, then it’s settled. We’re celebrating a week early,” he smiles, standing up from his spot at the kitchen table. He limps from one side to the other, making a pit stop to place a kiss on my forehead and an arm around my shoulder. “I’ll take care of all the planning, you won’t have to lift a finger.”
I laugh, grabbing onto the hand he placed on my shoulder. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Alex.”
Chapter Twenty
Alex’s Point of View
We are on week two of the basketball tournament. I’ve been going to the Illinois games with some friends from college, catching up with guys I haven’t seen in a few years. It’s been a good time, and Elle’s been making waves. Obviously, people have connected the dots on us being here—together— but when asked by members of the press she simply dismisses them.
“Why is my personal life relevant to the play of the game?”
I don’t think it’s fair that her own colleagues are ganging up on her, but she says that they’re just doing their jobs and that there’s a story in everything. She doesn’t seem bothered by it, though, and her sharp responses to their subtle jabs seem to prove that.
I’m back in Chicago today, Elle not coming back until tomorrow morning. She’s off for two days, then back in Indy. Lucky for us the commute is short, just about two hours. When we’re not together, I’m working on planning our trip for her birthday. I still haven’t decided where we’re going, but somewhere warm with a beach is definitely a priority. I have a few different spots picked, but nothing finalized. I’m hanging out with Mike tonight, he’s always been a hopeless romantic whether he’ll admit it or not. I’m hoping he has some ideas that will help.
I’ve been cleared for upper body workouts, with my physical therapist hoping that in the next two weeks, I will be able to take my first steps without the brace. It won’t be back to normal immediately, but it’s a huge step in the right direction toward recovery. Finally having been cleared for driving this last week was a miracle, too. I can take myself to and from PT with no problem, no longer having to inconvenience Coach Portwell or Elle as much as I was.
I’m lounging on the couch with my computer when Mike shoots me a text saying he’s on his way over. I lift myself off the couch, having become quite proficient with the crutches. He doesn’t live far from here, so I make my way over to the door to buzz him in. It doesn’t take him long to get from the bottom floor to my floor, once I hear his heavy footsteps barreling down the hall I crack open the door and head back toward the living room.
“Hey, Bradford,” he smiles, opening the front door and stepping inside.
“Mikey,” I nod, watching as he closes the door behind him. “How’ve you been?”
He shrugs, heading toward the kitchen. “Got something strong?” He asks.
“Depends…” I trail off, following him to the kitchen. “Elle has wine in the fridge. Whiskey in the cabinet. What’s the occasion?” He rolls his eyes at the mention of Elle and I feel something tighten in my chest. “Dude, what’s going on?” I ask defensively.
“Can we just not talk about how in love you are for five fucking minutes?” He snaps, reaching up to the cabinet with the liquor.
“Mike, what the fuck?” I ask, genuinely taken aback.
“I called off the engagement with Sabrina,” he states blankly, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the shelf.
“Shit, dude, why didn’t you start with that?” I ask, the initial anger fleeting. His initial words still leave a sour taste in my mouth, but now I can understand the place of his anger and where it came from.
He shrugs, popping the cap off. He pours himself a hefty glass. “I don’t even know why I did it,” He shrugs.
“The wedding-”
“Five weeks. I know,” he states.
I spend the next hour with him, trying to reason with him and get into his head. It’s a lost cause. It’s like his brain is a fortress, and he threw away the key when he decided he no longer wanted to be with his high-school sweetheart. There’s definitely more, something he’s not letting on. I just don’t know what.
He passed out on the couch after drinking half a bottle of Jameson in forty-five minutes, I couldn’t have slowed him down if I tried. I turn on the Gonzaga game that Elle’s doing coverage for tonight, keeping an eye on him while he sleeps.
Mike’s always been a rational person, never been one to act so impulsively like this. It’s not my place, but I do want to reach out to his— I guess, former,— fiancée, Sabrina. I debate on it, but ultimately decide to leave it be. On the off chance that there is more to the story than he initially let on, I don’t want to step in something I shouldn’t.
Until six o’clock in the morning, I spend the next several hours sleeping very uncomfortably on the couch, waking to check on Mike every so often. He slept like a baby, a luxury not granted to me, the babysitter.
Hoping the smell of coffee will coax him awake, I brew a pot and make myself a bowl of oatmeal. My phone buzzes on the counter, I’m assuming it’s Elle since she said she planned on leaving Indy at seven.
Good morning Alex. I’m about to leave now. My ETA is about nine o’clock. See u soon!
Drive safe, sunshine.
I toss my phone back onto the counter, poking my head over it to see if Mike has stirred from his sleep at all. To my surprise, he has. He’s stretched out, yawning. “Well, good morning Sleeping Beauty,” I joke.
He laughs shortly, obviously tired— and hungover— but gets up. Making his way toward the kitchen, he grabs a clean coffee mug from the cabinet and pours himself a cup. “Do you have creamer?” He asks.
“Maybe,” I shrug. “There might be some in the fridge. I don’t typically use it, though.”
He looks and finds a small bottle of french vanilla creamer. “Score,” he says softly, popping the lid and splashing some in.
“Soooo…” I trail off, looking at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything. “You wanna talk about last night?” I ask.
“I’m sorry if I acted like a jackass,” he says sympathetically.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, bro,” I shake my head. “If you don’t want to talk about it with me, that’s fine. But I think that talking about it with someone wouldn’t hurt.”
“You’re trying to go all therapist on me, now?” He laughs.
“Mike, this is serious shit!” I exclaim, getting angry with him for not seeing my concerns.
“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says, and I can see his tough exterior crumbling. “She’s been hooking up with one of our physical trainers. I just… saying it out loud hurts so fucking badly, Alex.”
“Oh my god,” I sigh, not expecting the admission from Mike. “I’m so sorry, man.”
“I just wish I would’ve seen it coming,” he shakes his head,
“That’s not the kind of thing you tend to see coming, is it?” I ask, defeated.
“No, it’s not,” he sighs, sadness enveloping his words.
We sit there in silence, the two of us processing the information that he just dumped on us. I have a feeling there’s a lot more where that came from, and this is only the beginning.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elle’s Point of View
Once my car is parked in Alex’s garage, I take a sigh of relief. The last twenty-four hours have been nothing short of exhausting. In two days I’ll drive back to Indianapolis and do it again, but for now, I can relax.
Opening the apartment door to the smell of bacon and something sweet, my heart— and stomach— do flips. “Hey,” I say softly, moving toward him. He’s on the phone, but that doesn’t stop me from wrapping my arms around him for a long hug. I’ve missed him these last few days.
He smiles down at me, planting a kiss on my cheek. I can’t hear who’s on the other end of the receiver, but he has a deep look of concern on his face while he listens to them talk. He pulls away from me to flip the bacon, so I go to pour myself a cup of coffee.
When everything is ready, he holds up a finger signaling me to wait. He cuts into the very one-sided phone conversation, as he hasn’t said a word the entire time I’ve been here, “Coach, I’ve got to go. Can I call you back in a bit?” He asks.
After a quick exchange, he hangs up the phone. I turn an eyebrow up at him, looking for more information on the phone call. He doesn’t have to divulge it if he doesn’t want to, but that won’t stop me from being curious.
“Long story. Mike and Sabrina are calling off the engagement. She was cheating on him with someone who works for us. I was calling Coach Portwell to see if there was anything he thought that Mike could do that doesn’t involve his fists,” he says sadly, bringing his hands to his temples.
I frown. “Damn.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna have to call him back later,” he yawns.
“You didn’t have to hang up, just like you didn’t have to cook this,” I smile, digging into a pancake he made. “Thank you, Alex.”
“Anything for you, my dear. I want to hear about your drive, the last few days in Indy,” he nods. “I heard there was some snow a few days ago.”
“Oh my god, don’t even get me fucking started on the snow. It was so bitter, so cold, and I am just so happy to be back in Chicago,” I sigh into my plate, shivering at the thought.
“Tell me how you really feel,” Alex laughs.
“Pft,” I shake my head.
I tell him about the games and what I’m covering when I go back before we wrap up breakfast. With no real plans for the day, we spend the afternoon lounging around, enjoying each other’s company. Alex has physical therapy at four, so he heads out around three leaving me to the house by myself.
I clean up the kitchen, put things away, and run the dishwasher. Looking in the fridge, I’m surprised to find he actually has a decent spread of groceries. I grab some vegetables out to roast and roam through the cabinet looking for something to go with it. Settling on rice, I decide to pair it with salmon I found in the fridge that needs to get used up.
Growing up, I cooked a lot for my grandparents. I saw it as my way to give back to them for everything they’d done for me. My grandma taught me a lot of techniques and recipes, and as I got older I turned a lot of them into my own.
Just as I’m about to put it in the oven, there’s a knock on the door. I peek out the window and while I’d usually ignore it, I head to the door to look through the peephole anyway. I am met with regretful eyes.
“Hey, Mike,” I say softly, opening the door.
“Hey, Elle. Bradford home?” He asks.
“Not for a bit, he’s at PT. You’re welcome to come hang out until he gets back though, it shouldn’t be long,” I nod toward the kitchen. “I’m making some kind of stir-fry thing for dinner.”
“Ah, that’d be cool. I need to talk to him,” he says, coming into the house.
He follows me into the kitchen, taking a seat on the island chair. I continue working about, waiting for him to elaborate if he so chooses. I don’t want to pry.
“Did he say anything to you?” He asks. “About what happened?”
“Just about Sabrina. I’m sorry, by the way,” I say softly.
“Are we off the record right now?” He asks.
“Mike, I’m not that kind of an asshole. We are in my kitchen, I’m cooking dinner. Anything you say is in the confidence of friendship, I wouldn’t turn it around on you,” I shake my head, assuring him.
He frowns. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… Elle, don’t want to be alone right now,” he says, looking up to meet my eyes.
“I totally understand that, Mike. You are more than welcome to stay here with us as long as you need to,” I nod my head.
“You and Bradford are good people. Thank you, Elle,” he smiles softly, bringing his head to his hands and resting it on the counter. He looks at me pensively for a moment, and I nod for him to continue. Clearly there’s more on his mind.“I haven’t really said this to anyone, but I don’t think I can renew my contract here. I need to get away from this city. I don’t want to break my contract, but I think I’m gonna fight to go somewhere else. We just started talks with the Comets, and they were ready to renew me without any second thought. After everything… I just don’t think I can.”
“If that’s what you need to do Mike, then by all means, do it. Don’t stay here miserable because you feel like you have to. If you’re able to get out now, get out now,” I nod. “You don’t even have to give anyone a reason. Try and get more money out of somewhere else, you have the stats for it.”
“You think?” He asks sadly.
“Um, definitely. Know your worth, man. Talk to your agent. Tell him you want more than what Chicago is offering, and because of that, you want out of here. He doesn’t even have to know the real reason if you don’t want him to. You don’t owe it to anyone to justify your feelings, and you shouldn’t have to,” I tell him.
He sits there contemplating my words. I’ve gotten to know Mike over the last several years. He was a year above Alex and me at Illinois, and I met him through Alex. I only ever hung out with him a few times, but always took away that he was a good friend to Alex. He’d give you the shirt off of his back if you needed it.
“Keep this between us, O’Connor?” He asks with a look of despair across his face.
“Of course. Friends look out for each other, right?” I ask, stirring the rice around in the pot of water.
“Right,” he nods, his voice cracking.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex’s Point of View
The last two weeks have been physically and mentally exhausting. Dealing with Mike’s shit show of a situation, re-learning how to walk without crutches, and all while planning Elle’s birthday getaway has proven to be no small feat.
But tonight, it all gets put behind us. I’m taking Elle to the beach for a week of no responsibilities in the sun. She just wrapped up the tournament a few days ago and is back in New York until tonight.
I haven’t had time to notice her absence as much as I would’ve, as I’ve been helping Mike through his mid-life crisis every day.
My physical therapist gave me exercises I can do on my own over the next couple of days since I won’t have PT while we’re on vacation, which will be a nice break. I’ve had it pretty much every day since I was two weeks post-op with the exception of a day or two. Getting to take a break and go at my own pace will be nice.
I check my bags to make sure I have everything I need for the trip. Elle’s birthday present sits snuggly in the pocket of my backpack, I haven’t decided when I’m going to give it to her. I want to give it to her over the trip, I don’t want to wait until her birthday the following week.
A few weeks ago she’d mentioned how funny it would be to have something subtle to wear that showed support for me during the season, so I took care of it.
I’m meeting Elle at the airport where we’re chartering a private flight. I wanted to go above and beyond for her, this being her golden birthday. We have to celebrate a week early because the NFL Draft is two days before her birthday, starting on the 23rd and she needs to be in Cleveland for the press on the 21st.
I’m not sure what kind of moves the team will be making. It’s better for me to not worry about what I can’t control, I’ll hear about who we drafted once it’s done and congratulate the kids who are joining accordingly.
I just hope that we are able to salvage the first few games of our season. I likely will not be cleared until week five, or week four if things go perfectly with no setbacks, but as late as week nine if I take the full allotted recovery time. We’ll see how it all falls, though. But, I don’t want to worry about any of this right now.
I have to leave for the airport in about an hour to meet Elle. I’m taking her to a house I rented just south of Naples, Florida. It’s pretty secluded, on its own private strip of beach. It’s going to be perfect, no one knows we’re coming out here so there will be no paparazzi, no gawkers, and eight days of peace, quiet, and Elle. As I round up the last of my belongings, my phone rings in my pocket. “Hello?” I answer.
“I’m just calling to let you know your order has been shipped, Alexander.” A familiar voice comes through the line.
I laugh. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Myers. Everything go smoothly?”
“Yup, it’ll be there in the morning.”
“Awesome, you’re the best,” I smile. “A former frequent flier at your bakery will be ecstatic.”
“Yeah, I imagine so. I wondered if you were ever going to go after her.” I can practically hear the smile in her voice.
I stifle a laugh as I throw my bags into the car. “Oh, Mrs. Myers. Thank you for rushing the order.”
“Anything for the pride and joy of Illinois!” She exclaims. “Send me a picture of the birthday girl and her cake and we’ll call it even.”
“Deal,” I laugh. “I’ve gotta let you go, but thank you again.”
“Not a problem, enjoy your vacation,” she says. “Bye, now.”
Delaney Myers owns one of the best bakeries on campus, one that every hungover student in Champaign has been to a time, or ten. It’s Elle’s absolute favorite, so I called down there a week ago asking what she could in such short time. I got an array of Elle’s favorite pastries and a funfetti cake with vanilla frosting— her favorite— and Mrs. Myers is over-nighting it to Naples. She is one of the best things in that city.
She catered a lot of football functions, so I knew her through that. She loves the community and even more than that, loves serving people through acts of sweet treats, so she didn’t even bat an eye when I asked if it was possible to ship some things from Illinois to Florida.
After locking up the house I hop into the car, ready to roll out of here. I don’t live terribly far from the airport, the drive is just over a half an hour. I don’t hit any major traffic or anything, so I make pretty good time. I arrive twenty minutes after Elle’s flight landed, so she’s just de-boarding. Someone will be waiting for her at the baggage claim to take her out to the private boarding, where she’ll meet me on the plane.
