Chapter 10 TJ
The end of the game was absolutely nuts. There’s speculation about whether Brandon Nix will be fired or if he’ll just have a massive financial penalty. Any other time, if you’d asked me about Brandon, I’d have said he was a loose cannon and a major asshole.
His actions today, beating Seamus O’Marra to the ground, were totally reasonable. We all saw what O’Marra did to Andi Nichols. He probably deserved worse.
I’m sure it’s all over social media. My fingers twitch, jonesing to check ClikClak.
I spent the break between Soccer for Sibs and the game posting my videos from the event.
As much as I’m tempted to open the app, my family is waiting for me.
Win or lose, unless there are extenuating circumstances, we go out for ice cream after games.
They make the effort to come to the games, driving almost an hour each way.
The least I can do is debrief with them for a few minutes after.
It keeps Ma happy, and that’s all that really matters.
I check my phone for the confirmation text.
Because most ice cream places close before the end of the game, Ma or Dad calls ahead and asks them to stay open.
We pay the staff handsomely, of course. Most are accommodating, and they love the social media exposure I give them.
With approximately seventeen home games, we’ve found a list of nearby places that we rotate through.
Improving the local economy one ice cream sundae at a time.
Tonight’s location is Three Pugs Creamery, located about four miles from the stadium. I don’t even need to look at the menu to know that I’ll be ordering The Enzo, which is a hot fudge sundae built on chocolate chip cookies. My mouth salivates in anticipation.
Once showered, I head for my car and drive to the ice cream shop. I see Dad’s Jeep Compass parked next to Joey’s Dodge Charger. Nick rode down with one of them. There are two other cars in the parking lot. They must have two workers staying for us tonight.
Probably fans who want details about the fight at the game.
If I’m lucky, Ma will have ordered my sundae already. When I get home, I’ll heat up leftovers for dinner. I’d prefer to get my protein in before I fill up on fats and sugars, but some traditions are worth messing up my macros.
It wouldn’t feel like a game day was complete without this.
As I walk in, I’m immediately confused. There isn’t a lot of table space inside to begin with, but there are more people here than should be. No one will ever accuse me of being a math wizard, but even I know there are five people here when there should be four. I look closer.
It’s the woman from Soccer for Sibs!
"What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?" The words come flying out of my mouth before I can stop them. Okay, probably not the nicest thing to say, but what else am I supposed to think? I’ve never needed security before, but I might have to look into it. How’d she connect with my family? How’d she even know they are my family?
"Tyler, don’t be rude! I invited Rachel." My mom stands up and whacks me on the back of the head.
Rachel’s mouth hangs open, her eyes equally wide. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was truly surprised to see me. Instead, I think she’s a fantastic actress. I grab her elbow and pull her up to standing. "That’s it. Time to go."
"Wha—" she manages to splutter before Joey jumps in.
"Ty, let go of her." He pries my fingers off her arm and shoves me back. I’m not expecting that—partially because I’m two inches taller than Joey, but also because we’re grown-ass adults, not little kids who fight over their favorite toy.
It gets even worse when Nicky joins, and the two of them drag me across the shop, pushing me into a chair.
It’s a teeny shop, so it’s not that far.
And for the record, I’m way more muscular than either one of them, so if I’d been prepared, I could have kicked both their asses.
Nicky still views me as a threat, so he sits on me. That’s right. Mr. Harvard himself sits on me.
"Ma!" I shout. "Tell Nicky to get off of me." I thrash to get out from underneath him. I almost manage to buck him off, but then Joey comes and sits on top of Nicky, and there’s no way I can thrust 400 lbs. off of me. I should have worked harder on leg day.
"Oh, the baby’s crying to Mommy again. We’re gonna sit here like this until you can remember what it’s like to be a human being," Joey says.
I feel like I’m six.
I cannot believe my brothers are sitting on me for punishment, and my parents are allowing it to happen.
No matter how humiliated I might be, I still have to protect my family. "Ma, you don’t understand. I think she’s stalking me."
"Oh honey, no. Rachel’s not like that. She wasn’t at the game for you."
I peek out around the sides of my brothers to see Rachel’s gaze drop to the floor. I point in triumph. "See! Look at her. She’s lying to you. She was at the game because of me."
Her gaze slowly returns to mine. Her cheeks are bright red. Her big brown eyes remind me of the hot fudge on the sundae I’m not currently eating. "I … I was kind of there because of him."
With that admission, my two brothers, whom I’m about to disown, stand up.
My quads, already sore from the game, are screaming.
I’m going to need to visit the massage therapist first thing in the morning.
Gingerly, I get to my feet. "And her name isn’t actually Rachel.
It’s—" I can’t remember what she had me write.
And there I was, feeling bad because I can’t spell, when it was all a lie.
"She made up some cock-and-bull story about a sick sister, and it was her sister who likes soccer, not her. All while she’s at an event for siblings of sick kids.
And then she just so happens to end up—wait, how is she even here? How did this all come about?"
"Rachel was sitting next to us at the game," my mom supplies, looking from me to Rachel and back again. I can see her wheels are turning.
"Yeah, and how did that happen?" I ask.
Every eye in the place turns to Rachel. Or whatever her name is.
"Tho … Those were the seats they gave me with the tickets for the event," she stammers. "I didn’t pick them. I didn’t even know who I was sitting next to."
Nicky volunteers, "She didn’t even watch the game. She was reading a book."
A book? People still read books? "Who comes to a professional soccer game and reads a book?" I shout. I don’t know if I’m more shocked or offended.
She shrugs. "Someone who doesn’t care about soccer. But also someone who paid $250 for that stupid event and tickets just to fulfill my sister’s dying wish." With that, she walks out the door.
That shuts me up fast.
She did say her sister was the fan.
Was.
Past tense. Shit. I truly am an idiot.
Which my brothers promptly remind me of the minute the door closes with Rachel on the other side. Even my mom chides me. "Tyler Jeremiah, I did not raise you to be rude like that. You should go apologize to that poor young lady."
I nod. I should.
"Jesus, Tyler, go!" my dad barks. He’s a man of few words, so when he speaks, I tend to listen. I hightail it out to the parking lot, reaching her Honda Civic just as the engine roars to life. Well, as much as the engine of a Honda Civic can roar. I’m waving frantically.
It must look foolish enough to get her attention because she rolls down the window.
"Let the record show that you approached me, lest you accuse me of stalking and forcing this interaction," she says with her mouth pulled into a tight line.
"You a lawyer?" I ask. I hold my hands up as if in surrender.
"I don’t feel like talking about my shitty job. Can you just say what you have to say so I can go home? It’s been a long day."
Right. Now what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. That. "Um." I look at my feet and kick some of the gravel in the parking lot. "I … uh … I mean, your sister. The one who wants to meet me …" If I phrase it that way, she can correct me, and I don’t have to ask directly.
"Wanted."
Her solitary word hits me like a punch to the gut. For as much as I want to kill my brothers most of the time—like right now—I cannot imagine a world without them in it. "I’m sorry." I don’t know what else to say.
Her gaze drops, and sadness wafts off her.
It envelops her. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.
"And I’m guessing my mom basically forced herself into your space and then demanded you go out for ice cream in such a way that you felt you had no choice.
She’s a very pushy woman. Don’t let her small stature fool you. I’m scared shitless of her."
A tiny smile cracks through, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I’m on a roll. Might as well continue. "And you thought this would be what your sister would want you to do, to hang out with me."
The smile’s gone, and she shakes her head in a vehement denial. "I had no idea who I was sitting next to. Your mom said they were meeting up with Tyler."
"That’s my name."
"Yeah, but I only know you as TJ. That’s what Richie put on her list, and that’s what your ClikClak handle says. I didn’t do a deep dive."
Interesting, if she’s telling the truth. "She left you a list?"
Rachel shrugs. "Pretty much. There’s not much on it I can actually accomplish, except for meeting you. And now I have and can cross it off. Good enough." Her window begins to roll up.
Good enough? That can’t be her response. Her sister had to have reasons for putting these things on the list. Like me. Why was I on her list? "Is there anything I can do to help fulfill this experience?" The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Why am I so invested?
Her nose crinkles as if someone farted. I hope it wasn’t me. "No, and what’s it to you anyway?"
"I don’t know. It’s just … interesting." It’s like watching a ClikClak in real life. I can spend hours watching other people live their lives. It fascinates me.
Plus, you learn all sorts of cool shit. Except how to do magic tricks. I still can’t figure those out.
"Well, glad I could entertain you. Now, if you don’t mind stepping back so I don’t run you over, I’ll be off."
Again, I hold up my hands and step back. I watch her taillights until I can’t see them anymore in the dark September night. I wish she would come back because there’s something I want to know.
What could her sister have possibly found so interesting in me that meeting me became her dying wish?