Chapter 1 #2
“It’s not that bad.”
Niko may have been a little off the rails, but he’d had some shit going on in his head.
Shit he hadn’t talked to anyone about, because who would he talk to?
AJ wasn’t really the warm and fuzzy type.
His baby sister had enough on her plate, and she’d been the emotional rock for their family for far too long.
Despite being the youngest in the family, she’d been the glue that held everyone together when their dad died while Niko acted out by misbehaving, their mom drowned her devastation in a bottle and depression, and AJ didn’t speak.
He would never add any more on Frankie’s plate.
“Yes, it is,” Jessie maintained. “Over the past few years, you’ve…”
While Jessie listed very stupid, reckless decisions he’d made since turning 28, which was the age his father was when he passed, Niko zoned out.
He knew what he’d done, he didn’t need to hear his fuck-up credentials listed.
Once she was finished lecturing him, he’d take her advice, and she’d fix whatever the issues were.
She was the best at what she did, that’s why he hired her. He knew she’d come up with a plan.
When he no longer heard her speaking, he rejoined the conversation with a half-hearted joke defending his actions. “People love a bad boy.”
“In your twenties it was fine, charming even. You’re in your thirties, and your career is…winding down.”
Her one-second hesitation felt like a knife twisting his heart.
Jessie was the most straightforward, tell-it-like-it-is, no-bullshit, no-sugarcoating person he’d ever met, with the exception of his brother AJ, but that had more to do with his brain chemistry than with a ruthless gene that some people had and others did not, Jessie had it.
The fact that she’d felt the need to soften that blow, to pull that punch, had the opposite effect and felt like a hard uppercut to his solar plexus.
She went full A Few Good Men Jack Nicholson and did not think he could handle the truth.
His career was over. The eight weeks he’d just spent in Germany to repair his shoulder had not been the miracle cure the doctors had been hopeful it would be.
He would not be returning to the Waves next season as a starting pitcher, or as anything at all, he knew that in his heart.
He hadn’t said the words out loud, and neither had his agent, Jessie, or anyone from the Waves organization, at least to him, but he knew that was the truth.
“Looking towards your future, positions such as analyst, commentator, pundit, or sportscaster, at any network those are grown-up, responsible, family-friendly positions. You have the charisma, charm, and looks to be in front of the camera—”
“Jessie, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.
You’re gonna make me blush,” Niko teased, trying to lighten the mood by pretending she was flirting.
She wasn’t. Jessie was a happily married woman to a world-champion boxer, Zach Courtland, who Niko loved.
Not that he was the reason she didn’t flirt, Jessie was the epitome of professionalism years before she met her husband and had zero interest in Niko Costas.
She ignored his comment completely. “If you want executives to put you in front of the camera, you need to show them a grown-up, responsible, family-friendly man.”
Niko tapped on the bar top, indicating he wanted another drink.
“Or do a podcast.” Jessie always added that as an option for Niko if he didn’t want to rebrand. “But even then, Bluewire, Barstool, or Boardroom will all expect some level of professionalism and a toned-down, market-friendly, wholesome image.”
Niko had been a guest on dozens of podcasts, but he could not see himself doing his own. “So you really think posting Yaya’s wedding will help?”
“Second chance at love at their age. Gift-wrapped wholesome romance. You and AJ walking her down the aisle in your sister’s backyard. The copy writes itself.”
“And you have no issues exploiting a ninety-year-old woman?”
“You mean the woman who faked amnesia for three months because she didn’t feel like she was getting enough attention from her husband and family? That’s the woman you think I’m exploiting?”
It was true. Yaya had faked amnesia for three months because she felt like Papou wasn’t giving her enough attention, and when she finally confessed her deception, she managed to gaslight the situation by pointing out just how much more attentive Papou had been and that all of her family who lived out of state had flown in to come and see her, proving her point that if he’d just been treating her that way all along and they’d visit her more often, she wouldn’t have had to go to such lengths just to get her husband to show her the attentiveness and her family the love she deserved, so it was everyone else’s fault but hers.
“I’ll have to clear it with the groom. Mr. Santino is a very…private person.” That was putting it mildly. The man had been a recluse for the first fifteen years he’d lived in Hope Falls, barely speaking to another soul.
He still rarely talked, which made it very surprising to Niko that he and Yaya were getting married because she never stopped talking. Maybe it was true that opposites attract.
“Fine. And be at Brewed Awakenings tomorrow morning at ten.”
“Why?” Niko questioned. He didn’t remember signing up for any fundraiser or event at the local Hope Falls coffee shop.
“To go over strategy.”
“With who?”
“You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?” Jessie’s statement was framed as a question, but she clearly knew the answer.
Shit. She must have mentioned something when he zoned out.
“Brewed Awakenings. Ten. Tomorrow.”
The line disconnected, and Niko downed his second double scotch, set the glass down, and stared at it.
He knew Jessie was right. His behavior over the past four years was not something he was proud of.
It was time for him to grow the fuck up, especially if he wanted to remain in the sports world in some capacity.
Which he thought he might want to do, or maybe not.
He wasn’t sure. But he did know it was better to have options.
His head felt heavy as he lifted it, and an elderly couple caught Niko’s attention and wouldn’t let it go.
They looked like they’d been cut from a bygone era and pasted into this one by hand.
Both looked to be in their eighties with the easy, rhythmic choreography of people who had spent more of their lives together than apart.
The woman wore a pale blue cardigan over a white blouse, her hair a perfect soft helmet of silver, not a strand out of place.
She moved with an unhurried grace, every gesture quick but never rushed, as if she had rehearsed each one for decades and now performed them instinctively.
The man was taller than her by over a head but stooped each time he spoke to her.
He wore a dark green sweater vest over a checked shirt, with pressed khakis and orthotic shoes that made his feet look twice as wide as they probably were.
They settled at a two-top in the farthest corner, where the bank of windows revealed the first intense blue light of winter dusk.
The man pulled out the chair for his wife, and she handed him her purse, which he accepted without hesitation.
He gently placed the strap over the back of the chair, and once she’d lowered down, leaned to press a kiss on her forehead before taking his own seat across from her.
As he walked to his seat, the woman twisted and pulled something out of her purse.
Once the man sat, she reached across the table, handing him a pair of glasses.
He put them on as he read the menu, and she read hers.
Once he was done, he handed his glasses back to her, she placed them back in her purse at the same time the server came over, and the man placed the order with her.
As the server walked away, they both reached across the table, holding hands, and continued the conversation they’d held through the entire choreographed exchange.
It was obvious to Niko that this was something they’d done a hundred times.
A dance they’d perfected. As he watched the two, the man said something, and the woman’s eyes twinkled, and a blush rose on her cheeks.
She glanced around at their immediate surroundings, making sure no one could overhear the inappropriate thing he’d just said as he grinned and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, then brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it.
Watching the two of them filled Niko with a kind of sad peace, a melancholy warmth.
He knew that love like theirs existed. He’d seen it with his Yaya and Papou, and even though his dad died when he was a boy, he’d seen it between his parents.
He remembered walking in on his parents dancing in the kitchen when the kids were supposed to be asleep.
And his dad picking up flowers randomly for his mom and seeing her face light up when he walked through the door with them.
And watching when he would get off his shift and walk into the house through the garage door, his mom would have the radio on while she was doing dishes at the sink, and he’d sneak up behind her, wrap his arms around her, and nuzzle his face into her neck.
Those moments, those little stolen moments, the ones the couple in the corner were sharing, the ones he’d seen his grandparents share, and his parents shared were all Niko ever truly wanted in life, really.
To look at his dating history, no one would ever believe that, but it was the truth.