Chapter Forty-One
Jake … Dee…I picked up a couple of ribeyes and sausage … Send
I liked referring to him like his dad had whenever I could sneak it in. For the last few weeks, since we beat the Tornadoes in Albuquerque, Dwayne had been acting squirrely. I came upon him and Coach Mark at the team’s family gathering the day after the big parade in Sacramento and overheard Dwayne saying, “Thanks for helping with this. I feel like I’m getting a second chance. Scared as hell but ready.” I kept walking past them because it sounded conspiratorial, some big secret that I wasn’t in on. I kept telling myself, you are so damn lucky to live this life, so be happy about everything . Not to let little things get under my skin, even though I felt like my friend was keeping something from me, or the fact that my girlfriend had to fly back to L.A. the day after we won and couldn’t participate in the parade or any of the Sacramento festivities.
The media outlets had been unrelenting with questions about her absence. I knew she’d see the interviews, so I spoke about her career and how proud I was of her for pursuing her dreams. I laid it on thick, but damn if a part of me wasn’t looking around at my teammates’ wives and girlfriends, wishing that she was with me. If I’m being honest, I had to bury that niggling voice that kept shouting, she should be with you, be by your side .
Dwayne made it clear he wanted it to be just us tonight. We needed to celebrate us. We had been there for each other, even if there’d been a few rough patches where he wanted to slug me because I got up in his shit. We were joined in a way I had never imagined feeling with another guy, truly a brother . I guess I never really thought about the fact that I’d lost a brother before I was born. Dwayne had scooted around my question this morning. “What’s up with you?” I asked, and he responded, “I’m going to tell you tonight. It’s good, and you’re going to be happy. I’ll need some of that Skyler cheerleader shit to see this through.” I swirled a few scenarios in my head but couldn’t settle on what might be happening with him.
I also had something big to confess, which had consumed my being since Thanksgiving. Fuck, it hit me hard; I have to ask Matt . I’d almost forgotten that as I started planning how I was going to roll this out.
Dwayne : Enough with the Dee shit! Almost there…need a gallon of whiskey … Send
I chuckled, catching his text while preparing the marinade for the steaks before slicing avocados and tomatoes and tossing them with some kale I had macerated. I didn’t hide my eye roll when Melissa explained that you had to massage this particular lettuce just to make it edible. Once you did that and chopped it into tiny bits, combining it with avocadoes, tomatoes, and freshly grated parmesan, then coated it with a creamy dressing, this green shit that was supposed to be good for you tasted awesome. Dwayne didn’t like to eat a lot of stuff with meat, so I threw this together to act like we were giving a nod to health when we consumed the ribeye and sausage, as well as my famous garlic bread. It wasn’t special, but I became known for it with the team. I mashed elephant garlic and fresh herbs into olive oil and let it infuse before smothering it on sliced sourdough bread. Then came the key: throwing that bread on the grill for a few seconds. You’d think I deserved a Michelin star for the way the guys horked it down, groaning that it was the best thing they’d ever eaten.
I grabbed two high balls from the cabinet, plopped a large ice cube in each before letting the amber liquid spill over the cube, and filled the glass. I needed this, too; my nerves thrummed just thinking about the box in my pocket.
The door flew open, and there was only one dude who would enter my house like a bull. There was no knock, nothing. He just barged into my living room, his hand out not for me to shake but ready for me to put a drink in it.
I greeted him with, “Honey, I’m glad you're home; how was work?” in a fake high-pitched voice.
He grabbed the glass, shaking his head, his black eyes wild; he tipped the glass back, literally dumping the whiskey down his throat. He grunted, then barked, “Keep them coming.”
“Jesus, what the hell? You look like you just got sideswiped or pulled over or…”
“Or like a guy who finally decided to confront…” His eyes dropped to the floor, and he lowered his chin.
“Dwayne,” I whispered, taking his glass and pouring more of the orangish liquid into it. “Hey bro, Dwayne?”
He looked at me, somberness shifting his usually animated features. “I finally decided to face my dyslexia head-on. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would overly mother me about it. I just needed to do this on my own, fix what teachers and everyone ignored because I could play ball.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about; it had crossed my mind a few times, but I never called him on it. It’s our unsaid code. We don’t confront shit like that unless we know the other wants to open it up. “Okay, proud of you,” I said, trying not to show the emotion pushing against my eyes. I smiled and added, “Really, I mean that…you should be proud of yourself.”
“So you know,” he asked, his tone matter of fact.
“I suspected a few times, but…”
“Yeah, sucks being a grown-ass man who can’t read. Believe me, I tried on my own, but my brain just jumps to the wrong words.”
“Dyslexia, it’s more common than most people realize…” I added.
He sipped his whiskey before dropping into one of the leather chairs next to my couch. “Yeah, like more than ten percent of the population.”
“So you’re getting professional help?” I asked, not an ounce of concern in my voice. I kept my tone flat, like we were talking about a new restaurant or something that didn’t really matter in life. Dwayne gets buggy when I get emotional about anything to do with him.
“Coach Mark set me up with an evaluation at a center that specializes in adults with dyslexia. They have a program designed to ‘unteach’ me all the bad habits I learned so I could fake like I knew how to read. I guess lots of people with dyslexia learn to pretend early, which actually hurts them later on.”
“I never thought about that,” I said, lifting my glass. “It's a big step, and it's good for you.”
“There’s a twist,” he mumbled. “And it’s fucking crazy.”
I sat forward, responding to the earnestness in his voice. “What?”
“The director of the center, the teacher,” he said oddly, over-emphasizing teacher , like there was some hidden meaning, which was weird.
“Who, who, the teacher who oversees the testing,” he resumed with a shocked, jutted cadence.
My ass perched on the edge of the chair, matching the way his torso bent forward as if he were going to tell me he got someone pregnant or something life-changing.
“Yeah, okay, come on,” I goaded, like, let’s get on with this.
“Her name is Dr. Garcia de Martinez,” he said, then stared at me, waggling his eyebrows.
“And?” I pushed. Was this some girl I was supposed to know?
“She wasn’t wearing the engagement ring.”
“What?”
“The teacher who dropped the book on my head in San Antonio is a professor researching adults with dyslexia. She walked into the testing room wearing a tangerine suit, straight-as-hell skirt, and jacket, just rattling off the rules of the first reading test followed by an IQ test. I’m sure I flunked that because I couldn’t speak. I almost forgot my name…” His head dropped between his legs.
I let out a loud guffaw, my eyes growing into saucers. “What the hell, what?” Blowing out a breath, giving my brain a second to put the picture together: the teacher! “The, the teacher, the…”
“Yes, the very same one who left a nice scar…”
“Truthfully, you can’t even see it anymore.” I wasn’t sure why I said that.
“Who cares? The point is, she walked in with a chart on me, repeated my name a couple of times, and then detailed the program, etc., etc.”
“Are you sure it was her? Did she look the same? Did you remind her of who you are? That night?” I blurted out, shock ringing in my voice.
“Nope, she has to know. She knew who I was that night but gave no indication of it today. Again, she was so buttoned up. If she wasn’t so fucking hot, I would think she was a nun working in a Catholic school. Like I said, she had on an orangish straight skirt, but she had the same hairdo I’d seen in San Antonio. Like something you see in old women in black-and-white photos, she has shiny midnight-black hair that matches her eyes. Damn. If I couldn’t stop looking at her lips, with this soft shade that hinted at the orange in her suit. When she asked me to write my name on the top of the test, I looked at her like I didn’t know it. Like I couldn’t remember how to spell my own fucking name. I mean, she’s gorgeous and commanding and smart—but she seems injured. All my pathetic brain could think was, I’m here; your hero is here .”
“Damn, that’s some funny-ass shit. It finally happened to you. Finally!”
“Okay, Skyler, just because my teacher is hot doesn’t mean I’m falling in love…this wouldn’t be the first time I fantasized about a teacher.” He deflected.
Bullshit , I thought but took his cue, asking. “Sure…so how do you think the testing went…”
He cut me off, adding, “Based on that test, I probably have the IQ of a frog. One who’s missed a few lily pads along the way. This is why I hate IQ tests.” He added as if it explained his lack of performance.
“Why is that?” I asked, my forehead creasing.
“’Cause it’s a snapshot in time, and if a kid or, in my case, an adult is tested under stressful situations, they get a number attached to them that doesn’t truly show their capabilities. For example, the woman I’ve been thinking about for almost six months saunters into the testing room; that’s stressful shit; in no way is that score going to be valid. God, I’m supposed to go back next week and two to three times a week until the season starts.”
“Did she ever acknowledge that she’d met you?”
“Nope, not at all, but I know she knew who I was.”
“Why do you think that?”
Dwayne smirked. “She kept moving her bottom lip in and out of her mouth, sort of nervous-like. All I could think was, please, let me bite it! I’ll learn to read if I can bite that fucking lip.” He burst out laughing, and I joined him.
“Dwayne, my friend, I think you got nabbed…” I chortled, taking a long, slow pull off my whiskey. “Welcome to the life of the tormented.”
He shook his head before retorting, “Let’s move on from this. Remember, she didn’t even give me the benefit of recognition.” He arched his eyebrows, wiggling his hips on the chair. “So, big boy, what’s the big news?” His tone was reminiscent of a Hollywood starlet, as if we were lovers.
I took his cue, sparking an idea. I stood and slid in front of him, easing down on one knee. Digging my hand into my pocket, I asked, “Do you think she’ll say yes?” I flipped open the blue velvet box, my eyes absorbing the shock on Dwayne’s face.
He lit up, puckering his lips. “Jesus Christ, what a stunner. I don’t know about her, but for that rock, I’d say yes, then suck your cock.” He stood, yanking me up, enveloping me in his arms.
THE END