Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rakell : I saw the dating game with you and Dwayne. You two make a great couple … Send
Jake : You watched it? Fallon is hysterical! Dwayne is blowing you kisses right now. I told him he can’t kiss me… Send
Rakell : Just pulled it up on YouTube …. it was so funny! Sounds like you two are celebrating … Send
Jake : Janae and Winnie were there but ditched us after the show . We’re at an Irish pub…there are a million people in this place. I wish you were here … Send
The picture (I promised I’d never share) of her with messed hair, eyes squinting, and a grin that stretched her face as she was about to scold me for talking dirty to her popped up on my phone, accompanied by the familiar Dolly Parton song. I answered, nodding to Dwayne to indicate that I needed to walk outside so I could hear. It was a Tuesday night, but this place was packed. “Hey, beautiful g-i-rrrl,” I said, trying to sound crisp, fighting against my tongue, which was not cooperating after a few hours of drinking. My words slurred into a drawl.
“Mmm, mate, someone’s been enjoying New York. What Irish bar are you at?” she asked.
I turned, trying to see a name, but the big guys working the front door scooted me to the side. People were ebbing around me. Their chatter, combined with the city noises, forced me to walk around the corner of the building, seeking a spot with less commotion. I wasn’t sure the noise was much better outside than inside the crowded bar. “Um…tried to find a sign, not sure of the name. Aren’t they all the same? Mac-hoo-lahoos… something like that. There are some Micks in the bar, straight off a boat, buying Dwayne and me beers because Dwayne showed them our Tonight Show clip. Now they think we’re stars. They’re saying shit like we need to save our money for condoms, meaning Dwayne and I are going to be getting after it later.” I heard her laugh against a wind tunnel sound. “Where are you?”
“Sorry,” she said as if she were talking over the noise, and then it was gone. “I’m blow-drying my hair. I have an early morning meeting with the gown designer I told you about, Bespoke. She’s based in London and gaining popularity in Europe, so she’s trying to tap some up-and-coming models…and they make gowns for real bodies.”
“Tell her your boyfriend was just on the Tonight Show , and that your boyfriend said you're not fucking up and coming. You already dang came, and your body is as real as it gets, baby.” I spat out a laugh. It was stupid, but alcohol made stupid shit seem clever. That is, except for the totally sober person hearing it.
“Um Jake, don’t talk to any cameras tonight, not even anyone with a cell phone.” Her tone told me she was teasing, but that was some solid advice.
“Suriussleee…” Shit, that was a lot harder to get out than I expected. “I miss you.”
“Hey, I miss you, too. It’s been a couple of weeks. I thought I would be able to meet you in New York, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.”
“I know, babe, I know, you’re doing…I’m proud of you…you don’t let shit get in your way. But remember meee, because I always remember you.” Damn, that sounded way too sappy. Pull it together, Jake.
“I miss you, too. But you’ll be busy this week with draft day. I know that’s big for you guys. It starts Thursday, right?”
A gaggle of manic giggles came up from behind me. “Oh my GAWD. It’s him, Jake Skyler!!” I heard someone scream from behind me. “He’s just as dreamy in real life. I’d call off the wedding for a night with ‘Pretty Boy’! It’s really him.”
Suddenly, I felt tapping on my back; I turned to find a group of girls surrounding one in a white, almost see-through dress with a banner across her chest that read, “Bride to Be.” The other five were in short, black dresses. I smiled as they surrounded me, snapped pictures; then I heard Rakell.
“I’ll be back in Austin next Sunday. Jake...?”
“Just a second, it’s my girlfriend,” I said to the group, who were frantically tapping at their cell phone screens.
“Forget your girlfriend!” a brunette with black lipstick yelled just before nudging into my side. Another scooted in next to me while the others took pictures. It was a hen party, and I was the feed. In the early days of my career, this was the kind of shit I lived for; I would have played along with it, eaten it up. Ironically, they wouldn’t have recognized me a few years ago.
I pushed the phone flat against my ear, hoping Rakell couldn’t hear what they were saying. “Hey guys…please…my girlfriend.”
Rakell let out an audible sigh. “I need to go, Jake. Sounds like you have your hands full.”
“Noo,” I hushed out, twisting my torso, trying to get space from the bodies flanking my sides.
“Yes, go take care of your fans. I need…” She started to say something, then clipped her sentence. “Bye, talk soon.”
The girl with black lipstick kept pulling my arm, pleading with me to go with them. I excused myself, more like begged off, saying I had to go back in, then slipped into the bar, pushing back on their numerous invitations, but not before they took God knows how many pictures of me. Shit, and maybe some videos as well. I felt the beers, not to mention the two whiskey shots I’d consumed. Last night, we had dinner with my sister and Winnie before turning in early, so I promised Dwayne that tonight would be our New York party night. I had to admit the interview went really well. Dwayne and I had been in sync, and the audience ate it up. Jimmy Fallon was easy to connect to, and the gameshow bit, they explained, harkened back to The Newlywed Game , a hit in the seventies. Their setup for Dwayne and me as a newlywed couple had us rolling, and the audience loved it.
Dwayne clapped my shoulder as I slid onto the barstool next to him. “I love this city!” he exclaimed.
Rakell : I hope you are safe from the females of NY. Tell Dwayne that based on the game show, he knows you better than I do. I’ll call tomorrow … Send
Jake : Safe and sound. I’m back with my date, but I guarantee you, he doesn’t know me the way you do … Send
Rakell : So, you love anything lemon? Cake, chicken, muffins, etc. That’s important information if I’m going to make a run at this girlfriend thing… Send
Jake : The girlfriend thing is a lock. Just need to see you more… Send
Rakell : ?? See you soon … Send
My house was crawling with folks. Melissa had helped set up catering for the night, a taco and fajita bar, and hired a bartender. I thought about making my ribs and brisket, but the list of people who said they’d show up kept expanding. Plus, Dwayne was going in on this party, and he’d demanded that we have the jalapeno cream sauce and queso from Chuy’s, so it was easier to get the whole setup from them. I took a picture of the spread, homing in on the large bowl of queso. I wasn’t sure what she was doing right now, but I could hardly look at Chuy’s queso and not remember her words, playful and sultry, from the night we’d discussed her past and, of course, mine, too. Her comment had made us both chuckle in the middle of a discussion otherwise wrought with tension. “ I’d probably do you for some Chuy’s queso.”
Jake : (Picture) What would you do for this ?... Send
Rakell : YOU!! But I’m literally in the middle of measurements, so I can’t even think about queso … Send
Jake : Well, I can’t look at queso and not think about you! ... Send
Rakell : Fingers crossed tonight goes well for the team … Send
Jake : See you Sunday! Can’t wait … Send
Draft pick day was always like a perpetual first date: the teams’ and the players’, not to mention the fans’ anticipation would be frenetic, but everyone had to act cool because as much as you plan to do your due diligence, you couldn’t count on everything aligning. Especially with us; since we had won the Super Bowl, we would go last in the first-round of the draft. Coach Easton clarified that if Jaxton were still available when the Condors’ pick came up, we would nab him, and he should be invited to The Green Room. That invite was usually only for the guys who they knew would go in the first-round. I hadn’t been invited to the Green Room coming out of UT-Austin because my senior year had started off quite rocky. Still, Rodger had told me it’s almost more nerve-racking than being home with family because the cameras are on you through the whole thing. If you don’t go in the first round, it’s mortifying to be sitting there, left in The Green Room at the end of the night. But we knew that we would be taking Jaxton, and Coach Easton wanted him to have the experience of getting dressed up, staying in a nice hotel, and being with all the other first-round draft picks. Coach liked players to feel special, especially guys who came from difficult circumstances, and Jaxton may have had one of the most troubled pasts, not of his own doing, of any player we’d ever drafted.
My knees buckled slightly from the jolt that came barreling into my calves; at that same moment, I heard, “JAAAA.” Hitching forward, I knew exactly who the mini-tackler was. I swung around, lifting him in my arms. “Cameron, Uncle J missed you.”
“Sss…ii-im, wim…” he jutted out a few times, making a swimming motion with his arms.
His interpreter interjected before I could respond. “No swimming today. Today, we watch the TV,” Cassie instructed, speaking definitively, adding a few non-verbal gestures while looking up at us both. “Uncle J, please show him the ice cream he gets when the clock shows eight. Mom says he’s not going to school tomorrow.” Then she lowered her voice to a whisper, exasperation dominating her tone. “It’s because they have a field trip, and the teachers say he can’t go unless he has an adult chaperone since he runs off. Mom can’t go tomorrow because a big client is coming to town, and, of course,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Dad is in Dallas, so Cameron has to stay home with a babysitter and doesn’t get to go to the science museum.”
I noticed a few friends looking our way, so I crouched down, still holding Cameron. He laid his head on my shoulder. “Eye cream, eye cream,” he repeated. I could see he was trying hard to get his words out. I rubbed his back, placing my fingers on either side of his spine, applying some pressure. Melissa told me his occupational therapist said that calmed him. It seemed to work. Hell, I think that would work on anybody.
“Cassie, maybe your dad has to work, too, and…”
Her hands went to her hips as she cocked her head, her stern expression aging her face well beyond her seven years. “Nope, not having it, Uncle J. He just doesn’t want to be a dad to…” When she pointed furtively toward Cameron’s back, my chest constricted, and a searing jolt of rage shot through me. My face contorted, and Cassie registered it before I could soften my expression.
Cassie’s mouth twisted as she observed me. “Uncle J, I promise Mom’s trying to make it better. It’s just that…”
“Hey, Cassie, I should talk to your mom.”
“Noooo,” she hushed, her eyes swimming with concern. “Noo, please, Uncle J. I’m not supposed to talk about Mom and Dad. I just get sad sometimes when I see how stupid adults are. I thought growing up made you smarter.” She stated, resignation twinging her voice as if she already knew that wasn’t the case.
It struck me as I listened to Cassie that she was not much older than Melissa had been when our brother, her twin, died. I hadn’t been born yet, and I’d never asked Melissa about it because, in my head, she was too young to have really processed it. Shit, knowing how much Cassie was observing made me wonder about Melissa at the same age and how much she might have absorbed around our brother’s death.
Cameron wiggled in my arms. “Not always. Just because someone’s an adult doesn’t mean they don’t do stupid things or make mistakes,” I murmured, for lack of a better explanation. “I won’t say anything. I would love to go on the field trip with Cameron, so I’ll ask your mom about that.”
As I was assuring Cassie, Dwayne offered me a beer, and I shook my head no. I was going to be getting up early tomorrow. A drinking night with my UT buddies, Dwayne, and some other friends would make tomorrow miserable. The last thing I wanted was to be hung over with a bunch of preschoolers, but damn, if it didn’t irk me that this little guy was being excluded from experiences because he didn’t have someone to be his chaperone. Weren’t there teachers’ aides who helped with stuff like that?
After I talked to Melissa, she told Cameron the news, pairing her words with sign language and pictures on her phone to make sure he understood. I think he got it because he squealed, though it might have been a reaction to seeing my parents walk in.
Coach Mark came up behind me. “Fingers crossed, we get our guy. I’m going to get Coach Easton and the crew on Zoom so we can try to do this as a group. They’re at the stadium. Even the Condors owners, Mateo and Nick, flew into Sacramento for draft day. So, Jake, the Sacramento Condors are no longer just a tax write-off for our playboy owners Mateo and Nick. These guys were hoteliers with more money than God. They counted on us losing money for the tax write-off. It made me giddy that wasn’t the case anymore. We’d shown them. They’re suddenly invested. I suppose that’s what winning a Super Bowl does.”
The city of Sacramento had really rallied around us, so our ticket sales were steadily increasing. Actually, Rakell cheering me on in the San Antonio owner's box had resulted in a quick spike in ticket sales. The media accused her of doing it to get attention for the upcoming cover of Sports Illuminated , but I think it did more to boost Sacramento’s popularity.
“Is Mannie there?” I asked, knowing that our general manager had to be present. Coach Mark smiled. “Yep, you know Mannie is. He already bought some fancy tequila, and I think he’s catering tacos, too. He’s got the recruiters on and ready to dial in. But we won’t know until the Broncos and the Jets choose…I know they need receivers, but I can’t see those teams taking on Jaxton. Too much of a risk.”
“I know, I know, I hope we’re betting right. Dwayne is all over helping this kid, but looking at that psych report and hearing from his college coach makes me nervous. He’s a loner; his coach said he never went out with the guys after games. When we did a Zoom interview with him, all I could see in his apartment were a couple of folding chairs and piles of books…probably more books than I’ve read in my life. His Wonderlic testing showed Mensa-level intelligence, but the emotional-psych testing was, well, let’s just say this guy's not charming anyone to get anywhere.”
Coach Mark nodded, agreeing before turning to hear what Dwayne was saying across the room.
“Mark, set up here so we can see Easton’s reaction when they announce,” Dwayne said, pointing to the coffee table and moving a few bowls of chips to clear a spot for the computer. “Then we can all see Coach on Zoom and Jaxton on the big screen.”
“Sounds good,” Coach Mark said, joining Dwayne. “Are Jordan and Delilah gonna make it?”
“No. Jasmine has some big assembly thing at school tonight, and since our pick is last, there’s no way they’d stay that late,” I shouted over my shoulder.
My mom and dad walked up, offering a brief hug before asking how they could help. I gave them the rundown of where stuff was even though they’d been here a million times; my dad always liked knowing exactly what my plan was to keep everyone fed and make sure they got home safely. He was the ultimate protector.
“Son, what about the pool?” my dad asked. I knew exactly what he was talking about.
His face did that somber dad thing, all softness dropping from his expression, his eyebrows lowering, mouth pulling downward at the corners, all in the midst of people eating and drinking, new guests tumbling in, Dwayne greeting people with high-fives, and the chaotic background chatter about the draft picks. I knew I had to give him all my attention when he asked, “Did you contact the service yet? There are a lot of people here, and the kids will be running around outside playing with Dolly, and, well, you know how your mom and I feel…”
I slid my arm around my mom. Her eyes brimmed with apprehension every time the subject was brought up. Her panic about children around the water was palpable. Even if I didn’t have the same fears (I watched my niece and nephew closely), my mom did not hide the terror that her grandkids being around a pool stirred. Melissa and Tom had talked about getting a pool, but my mom had begged them not to, and Melissa had agreed. “You guys go look. I had a mesh pool cover installed, which fits the pool perfectly, and it’s alarmed. Plus, I have the TV on the porch, so there will be lots of folks outside, too.”
My mom squeezed my hand and smiled. “Good. I heard you're going to be Cameron’s chaperone tomorrow. The field trip is not until 10:30, but you should still be judicious with the alcohol. I know this is a big night, but you will need to be alert tomorrow, considering that Cameron tends to run off. The last thing Melissa needs is those pre-school teachers gossiping about her football brother being hungover and useless.” She shot me a you know what I mean look , eyebrows raised, her mouth pursed. Damn, I seriously wanted to yell, what the hell! Why in the hell do moms feel the need to remind you of the things they had already drilled into you? The exact things you’ve already learned and have proven you are capable of again and again? But alas, a friendly reminder to your almost twenty-nine-year-old Super Bowl champion football star son is what she felt was required now. It’s true that no matter who you become in life, to your parents, especially moms, you're still that crazy teenage boy caught up in shenanigans, not capable of good decision-making.
Of course, I didn’t say any of those thoughts scurrying around in my head. I damn sure knew better from taking in my dad’s she’s right look. “Thanks, Mom,” I offered as I held up the Topo Chico (bottled water from Mexico, a Texas staple). “I plan on sticking to this tonight, maybe a whiskey after we announce.”
“Fine,” she said, smiling. “Do you have the misters on outside? We’d love to enjoy the backyard.” She looked toward the group of guys who’d just walked in the door, some of my buddies from my UT days, whooping and hollering like we were all twenty again. “It’s going to get rowdy in here.”
Dad took her hand. “We prefer rowdy in the privacy of our own home.” He winked at my mom’s scoff. I shook my head, turning to greet the guys, showing them the cooler, and letting them know to help themselves to the taco bar.
The house went from maximum decibel level to eerily quiet, as if everyone were lost in silent prayer, the collective knowing the next draft decision impacted our choice. We all focused on the TV. Dwayne sat between Coach Mark and me, blowing into his balled-up fist like a pitcher trying to warm his hands on a cold day.
As they announced the Denver Broncos, a group of college students from the University of Colorado walked up on stage and approached the podium. They desperately needed a wide receiver, but would they take the chance on Jaxton? The sports commentators went back and forth on why they might choose him.
Dwayne sucked in an audible breath; his eyes fixed on the large screen.
Coach Mark cupped Dwayne’s shoulder, squeezing. I heard him whisper, “It will work out as it should.”
Dwayne shut his eyes briefly, then opened them. Letting his shoulders drop, he fell back against the couch, and I could tell he was trying to control the nervousness boiling in him. Dwayne had become a target on the field, so we knew that the only way to gain some leverage this year was to add a quality number two wide receiver.
The University of Colorado college quarterback leaned into the microphone. It turned out he was the nephew of a Bronco alumnus. He said a few words about his uncle, then announced that they were drafting Kevin Stuart, a tight end out of Vanderbilt. The cameras panned to the Green Room, Kevin high-fiving numerous other recruits, jumping up and down and hugging other guys in there; the sports reporter congratulated him before letting Kevin say a few words. He beamed and thanked his family, the Vanderbilt football organization, and fans.
Then, the camera zoomed in on Jaxton, Denver's logical choice based on need. He sat motionless, knees spread slightly, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped together tightly. His appearance was something else: a tattoo-covered neck, one of them creeping up over his stiff stubble-covered jaw; auburn-mussed hair tossed like a mop on his head with earrings gleaming from each ear. Then there were those icy-colored eyes that glared at the space before him as if he were all alone, no one else in the room.
I stole a glance at Coach Mark, who grimaced at me, then at the computer screen with Coach Easton and the others in the office at the Sacramento stadium.
The anxiety thrumming off Dwayne was palpable. I knew he wanted this kid badly, not just for the team but for him. He had something to prove by bringing him on and helping him be successful. Yet niggling at the base of my neck was the fear that this kid would somehow be damaging to Dwayne, that Dwayne’s earnest desire to make a difference in this kid's life would backfire. I shook it off when Dwayne turned to me, a shit-eating grin taking over his face, his stark white teeth contrasting with his dark skin and black animated eyes. He whispered, “Denver didn’t take him. I think we got him, bro. We got him.”
I faked a soft smile and said, “Let’s not celebrate until it’s announced. We only have a few more to get through, and then we’re up.” Secretly, I fucking wished another team would grab him. Who’s next, Miami? They’re in the market for a quarterback. They’ll snag the kid from Oklahoma. I heard he had the chops to be a great quarterback eventually. I still didn’t like the kid simply because he’s from Oklahoma. If you go to UT, you're trained to dislike Oklahoma and Texas A that’s cause for therapy in Texas, and maybe the suggestion from the parents that paying for college yourself builds character. Most of them are only kidding.
Bodies began shifting around the couch, whispers floating through the room. The Condors would get their pick. Melissa handed Dwayne and me glasses of our favorite whiskey. Coach Mark declined one. Cassie nudged up to my side when the TV screen flashed a short play from the Super Bowl, my pass to Dwayne, which he had run in for the winning touchdown. The sportscasters speculated that the Condors were taking a big chance, but they noted that Coach Easton refused to listen to the whisper campaigns swirling around the players: “Case in point, Jake Skyler, what did he go, fourth or fifth round? Then spent his time in Seattle getting to know the ladies, not the game. Well, look at him now, he’s still ‘Pretty Boy’ to us, but he proved he could play football. He must have a lot of gratitude to Coach Easton.”
I moved my eyes from the large screen TV to the computer, catching Coach Easton’s gaze, my chin down, mouthing, “Thank you.”
He chuckled. “Skyler, they keep going with the same old story, and we got it. How about giving them something else to talk about? We need to see more of you and Rakell, so the media has a new story to tell. How about a big wedding?” He guffawed.
I could feel the room’s attention shifting as Dwayne hit me on the back. “Believe me, ‘Pretty Boy’ would be all over some monster-ass wedding.” He smirked, adopting a drawl as he spoke, clearly soaking up his stage. “The biggest event in Austin, right there at his dream hotel, The Driskill. Shit, the media would have plenty of fun with that…Problem is, he’s gotta convince that girl she wants the same shit.” Laughter exploded in the room.
Then, all eyes moved back to the TV as a young high school student from Sacramento was introduced. She took to the podium surrounded by a small group of teenage girls. She explained that she and several other members of her soccer team and their families had been displaced after the horrific Paradise fire when she was in fifth grade, and a Sacramento family had donated heavily to ensure that the girls’ soccer teams from Paradise could continue. She had just been accepted to USC to play. Once she approached the podium, she said there was someone special she had to thank, a family who’d funded all her soccer expenditures, which had allowed her to continue to play the game that kept her going despite the despair that loomed over her town and loved ones.
“I want to thank the Easton family for their generous donations to me and female youth sports in the Sacramento region. I am so proud to stand here to announce the draft pick for my hometown team. The Sacramento Condors chose a wide receiver out of LSU, Jaxton Meurtran. Jaxton Meurtran,” she repeated, beaming at the camera, then smiling at the Sacramento crowd in the stadium. My house erupted with clinking glasses and hooting, but it was sort of a forced celebration, like when you clap but look over your shoulder thinking, are we really applauding for this?
Just then, the camera shifted to Jaxton in the Green Room, guys clapping him on the back, him reflexively jeering at them. I could see his arm muscles flinching in the gray suit the team had made for him as if to say, don’t fucking touch me . Jaxton made his way to the podium, looking like he was being led to the gallows. His eyes darted around as if he expected someone to ambush him any second as he navigated his way to the stage. He gave a perfunctory stiff hug to the commissioner, who handed Jaxton his jersey. They tilted toward the camera to take the obligatory picture. Seconds later, Jaxton turned to retreat as though he was leaving the principal’s office after a reprimand.
As he was about to exit the stage, a microphone was shoved in his face, a news reporter enthusiastically asking him if he was excited. Jaxton’s icy-gray eyes (I wasn’t sure what color they were, but they looked like cloudy ice to me ) locked with the camera, and his words came out dispassionately, his face unchanged as he said, “Momma, you didn’t sacrifice in vain. I’ll make it up to you.” Emotionless, blank, sending a prickle up my spine.
I looked at Coach Easton on Zoom, his face stiff, then at Coach Mark, concern blanketing his expression. Dwayne leaned in close and said, “Shit, I have my work cut out.”
“Mmm…hmm,” was all I could muster.