Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Tanner didn’t wake. Waking required sleeping, and the nights when he’d actually slept were well in the past. He usually passed out for a few minutes, then abruptly returned to wakefulness. That was about all he could manage, and that was only when he was tired enough to pass out in the first place. Most nights, he just laid there on his bed, staring at the ceiling until sunrise.
While serving in Iraq, he’d heard tales about government experiments involving torturing people with sleep deprivation. He could certainly testify to its potential effectiveness, based on his own shitload of personal experience. Even though no one was forcing him to remain awake, he certainly felt as if he was pretty fucking close to losing his mind for good.
It was Sunday, and while Sundays were usually peaceful, they were also soul sucking. At least when he was at work during the week, he was distracted from his extreme fatigue. But at home, all alone, with no purpose or plan, he was little more than a puddle of goo. Every fiber of his being was tired. By the time he forced himself off the couch, it was midday, and there were multiple messages on his phone to deal with. Despite his inability to sleep, he always put his phone on silent—because if, by some miracle, he did fall asleep, he refused to get woken up by the damned thing.
There were several messages from his mother and sister. The last one was from the guy selling the old desk. They’d agreed on 2:00 p.m. He sent a quick confirmation, and set one foot, then the other, on the floor. It was time to get moving.
He looked around for things to keep him busy until Lance arrived with the desk. Not an easy task doing domestic chores with one arm strapped to his chest, and one leg about as useful as a tree stump, but at least they were still attached. He was still far better off than any of the other guys he’d deployed with—mainly because they were all very, very dead now.
First, he tackled folding his clean laundry and putting it away. Then he tried to re-pot the basil plant he’d placed near the kitchen window but doing that took two functioning arms. So, that fun project would have to wait until his mother’s next visit. He set the pot on the window ledge and figured all he could do for now was keep it watered. Next, he took a stab at cleaning his fridge, which was mostly empty, since he hadn’t been inspired to buy anything other than beer and frozen meals at the store since he’d moved in. At this point it was almost 2:00, so he kicked back to wait for Lance. He liked to pretend to watch TV, but he had yet to buy one, so—he busied himself by staring at the wall and resting his leg.
Thankfully, right on time, the doorbell rang. He hobbled to the door, his leg aching from his cleaning spree. He pulled the door open, a standard greeting on the tip of his tongue, but it vanished as soon as he caught sight of his visitor. It was like getting slapped across the face by a blast from the past as he took in Lance Kingsley standing right there on his front stoop.
“Holy shit!” Tanner exclaimed, shocked to the soles of his feet.
Clearly, the former quarterback for the Wisconsin Badgers was unaccustomed to greetings like that as he startled and stepped back.
“I’m sorry!” Tanner quickly apologized. “I just—I should have realized with your name, but I didn’t, like connect it to you , until—” he gestured to Lance’s body, feeling IQ points slip away. “Which is fucking stupid because how many Lance Kingsleys are there, right? The last time I saw you was when you won the Gold Bowl in San Jose. I just—I can’t believe you’re here!” Tanner really should have recognized the name much sooner. After all, he’d followed Lance’s career before getting deployed. But he’d been too preoccupied with cleaning his condo to think about the name and was feeling pretty idiotic for not making the connection before now.
“No worries!” Lance replied with a quick laugh. “Just not used to being recognised these days.”
“Really? Aren’t you kind of a legend?” Tanner asked with a surprised look.
Lance snorted and shook his head.
“Not really, no. Lots of other quarterbacks have led the Badgers since then, so I’m not really all that famous anymore. But hey, I did bring the desk you said you wanted. That is, if you’re still interested.” Lance gestured towards his truck in the parking lot.
“Yes! Right! Sure!” Tanner blurted awkwardly, still thrown for a loop. Lance led the way and, thankfully, Tanner managed to navigate the stairwell down to the parking lot without tripping.
Lance’s truck was an old F-150 that had seen a few too many harsh winters. The paint was chipped, and rust spots covered the fenders and wheel wells. However, it had made it across town with the big desk without breaking down, so that’s all that mattered. As they approached the truck, Tanner’s leg was aching more and more with every step. It became increasingly obvious that the two of them weren’t going to get the desk up to the condo with Tanner’s arm in a sling and his bad leg. Stopping next to the truck bed, Lance eyed him doubtfully, not sure how to broach the subject.
“Think we’ll be good with two and a half arms?” Tanner asked with a doubtful smile, feeling like a real dipshit for failing to consider the logistics until now.
Lance just laughed and said, “I know a guy who can help us for a few bucks.”
“Deal,” Tanner said with a sigh of relief, as Lance reached for his phone and called up his friend Martin.
“Nice truck,” Tanner remarked once Lance hung up. He’d heard the tail end of the conversation and knew they had a good ten minutes to wait for Martin. Making small talk wasn’t his favourite thing to do, but it beat staring at each other in silence.
“This old relic?” Lance said, kicking a back tire like an old farmer checking over his tractor. “Should probably get rid of it. Bad for the environment and all that, but—” he gave the side of the truck bed a fond pat and smiled affectionately. “It got me through college, several hookups, and a few heartbreaks, so I can’t seem to let it go,” he said, shrugging. “The engine will probably die one morning, and that will be that, you know. I have a car for work, but holding onto this truck is a sentimental thing.” He gave Tanner a conspiratorial look like he knew he'd understand.
“I get it—” Tanner said. Nodding and giving Lance’s truck a closer look as he examined the truck’s finish. “She needs a fresh paint job and a little love, but she has a few more good years left in her,” he remarked with confidence, even though he had yet to hear the engine turn over.
“She?” Lance asked with a smile.
“She has that vibe,” Tanner said, shrugging and feeling slightly self-conscious. To his credit, Lance didn’t mock him for it, merely chuckled and nodded agreeably.
It took less then ten minutes for Martin to arrive, and only another 15 for Lance and Martin to carry the desk up to Tanner’s place. Thank God for elevators. Once that was done, Martin pocketed Tanner’s payment of $20, then took off with a wave and an offer to help with any future moving projects. Tanner got his phone number and promised to keep him in mind.
Alone now in the apartment with Lance, he felt the need to explain his lack of foresight.
“Thank you again for bringing the desk over and for calling Martin. I should have planned this better, but—” he shrugged, looking down at the arm strapped to his chest and sighed. “I’m not used to being limited like this.”
“Recent injury?” Lance guessed, apparently not in any kind of hurry to leave as he casually glanced around the condo.
Tanner wondered what the guy was looking at. There wasn’t much to his living room besides the two couches that took up most of the floor space.
“Yeah—during deployment. I’ve been stateside for about a month.” It was far more information than he normally would have shared, and he wasn’t sure why he was opening up to Lance, but it felt good—right, even. Everywhere he went, people stared at him. He looked like a guy who rode motorcycles a little too fast. And yeah—he could confess that he used to—but in this case, a bike accident wasn’t the culprit. Sure, he was tattooed and—grunge looking, but he hadn’t deserved these injuries. His hothead tendencies had nothing to do with his current predicament.
“Shit, you got injured while overseas? I’m sorry, that’s terrible—” Lance expressed genuine sympathy. Most people did, but Lance’s comment hit him differently, making him feel an unusual warmth in his chest.
“No worries. I’m the asshole who made you come all the way here without a single clue how we’d get that desk into my condo. How about I get you a cold beer for your trouble?” he proposed, already limping his way to the kitchen.
To his relief, Lance gave a quick nod of agreement.
*****
It was a little early in the day for Lance to have a beer, but curiosity won out, so he accepted Tanner’s offer. The thing was, Lance had met his fair share of bros, jocks, and nerds, so he was surprised that he couldn’t get a read on this guy. Tanner looked like the quintessential bad-boy-all-grown-up who should have lived in a cushy bachelor pad and rode a tricked-out motorcycle. He reminded Lance of the skater boys who had used the parking lot behind the football stadium as a skatepark while he’d been in high school. Tanner had an unruly mop of dark brown hair, light hazel eyes, and lots of colorful tattoos showing around the edges of his black muscle shirt that he wore over a pair of loose sweatpants. His face looked a little grey—as if he wasn’t feeling well. Perhaps even nursing a hangover. Yet, despite his disreputable appearance, he lived in an ordinary condominium complex that housed families. His place was perfectly clean, and noticeably lacking in furnishings, but did have a nice balcony facing an empty parcel of land. Not a bad view, all things considered, but there wasn’t any patio furniture. Not even an old broken chair to indicate that he sometimes enjoyed having a beer in the sun. The living room had two identical couches, brand new, based on the distinct lack of give as he sat down, but there were no lamps or decorative pillows or even a coffee table. Just two big couches facing an empty wall. There was no television or stereo either. Like the guy just sat there, staring at the wall. It screamed monk more than it did available bachelor.
“Did you just move in?” Lance asked Tanner when he returned with two beers in his right hand. He accepted his carefully, enjoying how the cold bottle felt against his overheated skin.
“Yeah. Couple of weeks ago,” he said, taking a sip from his beer and sitting on the other couch. “I don’t have all that much furniture yet. Had to start from ground zero.”
“Are you planning on getting anything else?” Lance asked, looking around the mostly empty room. Hell, even the kitchen looked empty. No table, no chairs. How in the hell did Tanner live this way?
“Everything?” Both laughed as they raised their bottles in unison. “I’m a bit behind when it comes to home decor, but—the past several of years have been—well, let’s just say furniture shopping wasn’t too high on my list.”
Lance wanted to know why things had been that way, but he felt it wasn’t his place to ask.
“You should come by my house. My last girlfriend moved out a couple of weeks ago and left a shitload of stuff she doesn’t want. That’s where the desk came from.”
Tanner frowned, not looking too eager to take him up on the invitation. Lance figured it was time to sweeten the deal.
“I’ll give you a great price on whatever you want. Anything to avoid dealing with all those freaks and weirdos answering my ads on Marketplace.” He really wanted Tanner to think he’d be doing him a solid. Which was actually true.
“Freaks and weirdos?” he asked with a slight smile.
“I’m not exaggerating! Dude, I put this one big dresser up for sale last week. Guy messaged me, asking if my dirty underwear came with it. At first, I thought he was kidding, but he wasn’t. Guy offered me an extra $50 if I promised to put a couple of pairs in it.”
Tanner choked on his sip of beer, burst out laughing, and shook his head. “Freaks and weirdos, alright,” he agreed.
“Exactly! So, help me out here. I don’t even need the money. I just want the shit out of my house. When I listed the stuff for free, people thought I was pulling some kind of scam or something.”
Tanner thought about that for a moment, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing before he gave a shrug and a nod. “Alright, then. I’d be a dumbass not to accept. Clearly, I need all the help I can get,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.
With a pleased smile, Lance toasted him on his decision.
As they polished off their beers, they chatted about meeting up again in a day or two. Lance shook his hand and thanked him for being such a good sport about accepting his old, rejected pieces of furniture. Tanner was still laughing as Lance walked out the door.