Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
The breeze whizzing off the massive body of water as the boat sped across Lake Tahoe stung my face, but I basked in it, the mountain sun, direct and sure, dancing with the wind and the waves. This marvel of nature was the third deepest lake in North America and one of the clearest in the world. Looking over the boat, lost in its blue depth. Supposedly, you could see seventy feet below the surface. I wasn’t sure about that, but I could not deny the beauty of this place. I liked getting to our pre-bonding training camp a few days early to sit with this natural masterpiece without chatter. Dwayne would be here tomorrow, and then the other guys would follow.
Summer seemed to screech by…Austin was my stage, and I freaking rivaled in the show. The people who stopped to chat, family meals at my parents’ ranch, the endless bars and restaurants, and Lady Bird Lake were something out of a summer postcard. The kinetic bacchanal energy buzzed off the lake, inviting the loud, beer-drinking gatherings of boaters, paddle boarders, and floating rafters to gather in one big water party. This summer, I’d soaked up Austin in a new way. I took Rakell to some of my favorite places, sharing irrelevant history about old joints in the city as she smiled, pretending to be interested in my trivia. We would sneak out to the lake early to paddleboard before the placid water was crawling with speed boats filled with college students. A few times, we got up super early to go running, but the crippling thing about summer in Austin was the air. Once July hits, you almost can’t find a time that the air isn’t like a dense brick hitting your chest, such a contrast to Tahoe, where the particles are light-flitting, so that instead of your lungs sifting through the soupy Texas air, you are always gulping and working for that next bit of oxygen.
I love boats, but when I went out on one in Tahoe, I always hired one of the young people who worked at the marina to drive. They knew this lake; it was their backyard, and they knew how quickly the weather patterns could alter the tranquil mountain lake into a beasty ocean-like mammoth, similar to high tide in Hawaii. The locals instinctively understood the intimate, sometimes tumultuous relationship between the mountain sky and this finicky, beautiful body of water.
That made me think about her, us, and how precarious it had felt only six months ago. Our relationship now felt like something that would endure. I’d run my birthday weekend over in my head, my brain capturing almost every word exchanged. The hundreds of tears she’d let break loose, and even though getting a glimpse of her own self-hatred was painful, that rush of emotion shared between us had altered our interactions. I didn’t feel the same fight from her. She’d let me in, and although we’d only been able to sneak in a handful of days together, communication wasn’t forced. I had sensed that she initially made sure she catered to me because I like lots of communication. Her words, “I swear, Mr. Skyler, I should just record a running monologue of my days when we’re apart and send you a narrated play-by-play every evening.” I fucking loved that idea.
The night I learned about her father dying was indelibly scorched in my psyche. I couldn’t conceive of a wound that deep: the scarring, not formed by her dad dying but by her mother’s accusation. God, I just wasn’t capable of wrapping my head around it.
I didn’t understand until a few days later how much her pain had imprinted on me. After I’d brought her to the airport to fly back to L.A., then driven to my parents’ house, I’d shared her story with my mom and dad over a cup of coffee as I fell apart. My dad had reached his long arms around my shoulders, almost rocking me, and my mom had stroked my back, telling me she was proud, until my tears stopped, and they could discuss how I could support Rakell.
Josh, the driver, maneuvered the boat into the dock at Sparks Water Bar. I was craving a Wet Woody, and this was one of a few places on the lake you could get one. “Mr. Skyler, I’ll just pull up here. I called ahead and got you a seat out on the deck. Hopefully, you can enjoy it in peace. Get the coconut shrimp—they're the best, and the burgers are great here if you're looking for more.”
“Thanks, Josh. I’m going take a quick walk,” I said, pointing to the path hugging the lake. “Need to call my girlfriend. Grab yourself some lunch, get whatever you want, tell them to add it to my bill.”
“Thanks, Mr. Skyler. I think I’ll have a sandwich since it will be a while before we get back to North Shore.” I nodded, but I could tell the kid was stalling. “Mr. Skyler, your girlfriend is beautiful,” he said sheepishly.
I gave him a thumbs-up. “I know. She’ll be here next weekend for the festivities if you're working at any of them.”
“Hell, yes, I’m working. There’s a waiting list of us who want to work. You guys are so good to us, especially Dwayne. He’s the best.”
“Hey, don’t tell him that; he’s already hard to be around.”
Josh laughed.
“Kidding, he’s my best friend, and his skills speak for themselves. Let them know I’ll grab my table after this call.” I shifted on my feet, heading down the path that snaked along the water. I lowered my sunglasses to take in the crystalline blue enclosed by the formidable mountains—a magical gem, this place. I have always felt so grateful that our owners made Lake Tahoe the base for the training season. First, Sacramento during July and August is brutal. Plus, the altitude in Tahoe was like training in Denver, where the Olympic training facility is. While most players needed a few days to adjust, extra water, and they had to be careful with the alcohol, it was a training advantage. Nick, one of our owners, spent his summers here. I’d heard his grandma had a house on the North Shore, but owners don’t usually hang with players during training camp.
Jake : Are you free ?... Send
Immediately, my phone started emitting the familiar Dolly song. “Hey, Sweets.” I held it to my ear as I walked, thinking about how excited I was to show her this place.
“Hi, how’s Lake Tahoe?”
“Almost as beautiful as you.”
“Okay you, I’m dying for you, too, no need to sweeten me up,” she hushed seductively.
“I love hearing that you're thinking about me.”
“Always Jake, always. Well, in between meetings and photo shoots, and…”
“Okay, let’s stop with you’re always thinking about me. How was the audition?”
“It was a cattle call. I think I saw twenty women who looked like they had just walked off the cover of some fashion magazine. I wish I had worn more makeup and curled my hair. Ana said not to overdo it, but I definitely felt underdressed and underdone. I mean, I think I did really well. Ana says I would be a perfect fit for this part.”
“I bet you are. Tell me about it. You’ve only said that it is a homewrecker role.” He chuckled, remembering her explanation a few weeks ago when she’d read the script and said they contacted Ana, requesting she try out for another homewrecker part. “Apparently, I give that vibe,” she’d said. Which I thought was ironic. I almost defended it, but the truth was, she’d been an escort, and I bet a good deal of those guys were married. The thought nagged at the back of my head. I knew it wasn’t fair, but can we really control the associations we make with information?
“Mr. Skyler.” It seemed like she addressed me that way every time she was preparing for a smack on the nose. “Whatever do you mean by that? If, sir, you are indicating that my very presence tempts men into walking away from their upstanding lives for a sweet taste of what may be waiting on the other side, well then, sir, I am indeed a homewrecker.”
She cooed with a false Southern belle accent. The film was set in Georgia, so they would film there and in L.A., at the studio. She had nailed the accent. Damn, did that honeyed, dulcet tone, with the sweetly elongated vowels, get my crotch to pay attention. I was impressed that an Australian girl, twinged with a bit of British to her syllables, could ease into a believable Southern accent.
“Bravo, you may need to practice that accent while you ride me,” I poked, but I wasn’t kidding. I’d dated a Georgia Bulldog cheerleader. She didn’t know her way around in the sheets, but I fucking got turned on just listening to her explain how she didn’t really know how to suck cock. I used to say, “Tell me that one more time, then let’s practice.”
Rakell continued, letting that Southern syrup drip right off her tongue—fuck, if I weren’t picturing that mouth telling me what she wanted to do to my cock right before her lips slurped in the head of my fucking demanding dick.
“But I, sir, do not bear the brunt of the feeble impulses of men.” Her breathy chortles tunneled in my ears. Six days and my hands would be all over her, six long, exhausting days, but I knew it would zoom by. “That’s a line from the script with which I took a few liberties.”
“Well, Ms. McCarthy, I love how that Georgia peach rolls right off that decadent tongue. It’s one of my favorite accents.”
She cleared her throat. “Your favorite, mate? Well then…”
I cut her off. “No…no…it’s one of my favorites. It doesn’t hold a candle to the seductive, smooth Australian accent I so love,” I corrected, smirking. She’s so quick.
“Australian accent, smooth? We’re checking your hearing…”
“You sent the tape in just after my birthday, so it’s a good sign that they called you back.”
“Yes, me and probably twenty other actresses, but Ana said that they’d received hundreds of audition tapes, so it’s nice to make it to the second round.”
“Good, well if they’ve heard that accent, you’re in. You sound like you were born there…and I’m not just trying to butter you up.”
“Mmm…maybe you are. Oh, a new electric car company inquired about me being their ambassador. I can’t say who yet, but they’re starting with high-performance sports cars. Get this, Ana says it’s because of how rapidly my Instagram and TikTok following is growing. It’s not Jake Skyler numbers, but they are increasing. It’s a lot to keep up with. I just browse the comments, but I know I’m supposed to reply.”
“That’s great, but listen, tell Ana you want to hire someone who can manage it. You get on when you can but, otherwise, there’s no way to keep up with it.”
I heard her let out a long sigh. “Especially all the ‘Jake Skyler can do better’ remarks.”
Fuck, I wondered when those comments would pile up in her head. I had seen some of them when I posted pictures of us on Lady Bird Lake on my pontoon boat and when we were in Marfa, a funky arts town in West Texas, after I'd managed to get her to sneak away for two nights. Anytime she was in a swimsuit, there would be some comparative comment:
You need to work more if you want to keep Skyler.
That stomach roll doesn’t look good next to Jake’s six-pack.
He can have any girl.
When you dump her, I’m available. ( with a screenshot of some tiny bleach blonde with an even tinier swimsuit)
She never combs her hair: never mind that the photos were taken after a day of zipping around the lake on my boat.
Didn’t think that was your type : as if I had a type.
I know what he likes: kinky. I hope you can keep up : I knew the name…that one pissed me off.
I’d almost DM’d Summer to let her know to stop, but the problem is that anything you say to anyone in writing becomes public domain, so I ignored it. I had well over three million followers, and my agent had someone manning it full-time. I still posted and made comments, but only positive stuff. I had several endorsement deals, so it was essential not to lean into anything that could be perceived as me being antagonistic, even if those from the inter-web-verse out there felt it necessary to publicly offer unsolicited input, especially about who I was with. It was essential that I be removed from the chatter, above reproach.
“Hey, Sweets, it’s annoying as hell, but you have over half a million followers now, so there will be some folks who don’t really have anything better to do than take jabs at you. You’re good at brushing things off, so…”
“Jake,” she said, her voice dropping. “I’m not bothered by random remarks. It’s the opinions from a few girls who I can tell…” She paused; seconds ticked by. A knot formed in my throat as she continued. “I know it’s futile, but I checked a couple of the women’s profiles, and they either dated you or look like someone who may have been in your circle, as in they were cheerleaders for professional teams, so…”
I grunted. “Yeah, um, so they may know me, but not really…”
“Enough, Jake. One of them knows you…truly knows you…perhaps more intimately than me.”
Well, fuck!
“And she’s not the first one to hint that you have a kinky side.”
Josh : I’m just checking in. I’ve eaten, and I’m back on the boat. Take your time … Send
“Hey just a second; the boat driver texted.” I stalled, keeping my voice completely colorless.
“Sure,” she spat out. “You need time to formulate an answer you think I can swallow.” There was a definite bite to her tone. I normally would have said something raunchy about swallowing, but I could read the room. After more than six weeks since my birthday, with generally smooth interactions between us, there had been a few small traces of frustration, mostly because her schedule had her answering every lead like some puppet, and it really bugged the shit out of me.
Jake : Thanks, Josh. Can you get me two Wet Woodies to go and an order of the coconut shrimp? I’ll enjoy on the boat … Send
“I can’t wait to see you. I want you to try the famous Tahoe Wet Woody…” Stupid, Jake, I admonished myself as I searched for my next line.
“Funny, never mind,” she grumbled, not trying to disguise her reaction. “You are kinky. There’s a side to you I don’t know.” She kept trawling as if expecting a retort, but I could tell she was taking one comment, expanding it to see what else was out there, and no way was I going to take the bait on this. “Well, obviously, other women have gotten to have experiences with you that I…”
I bit my lip, so close to snapping out, “ What, darlin, what experiences have you not had? ” I tweaked the words, adding a dash of Texas charm to my tone. “Darlin’,” I drawled, “I’m up for whatever experiences you fantasize about with me. I’m here for you.”
She laughed, then started imitating me. “Well, thank ya, darlin, I’ll take a threesome with you and another hunky player.” I could hear her low-level snickering.
I gulped air, hoping she was kidding. “Bawdy wench,” I half growled, half chuckled. “I swear.”
“I don’t think they did that in your wholesome Louis L’Amour books,” she teased, the irritation over the Instagram comment seeming to have dissipated.
“I mean, where do you think the term bawdy wench came from?” I retorted, turning around on the path to head back to the dock, almost tripping over a small dog. “Oh, sorry, sorry ma’am.”
The woman smiled, then stopped, her eyes widening. “Wait, are you—? You’re Jake Skyler.”
“Another fan? I should let you go.”
I nodded to the woman, pointing to the phone. She waved her hand, indicating that she’d wait. “I can’t wait to see you Rae -kale, I…”
She jumped in: “I love you, and yes, I’m excited to see you, too. I’ll let you get to it,” she said.
“I love you too, so much, and I love hearing it from you with my favorite accent.”
She made a kissing sound on the phone before clicking off.
Shifting my attention to the woman who wanted to shake my hand and get a selfie, I smiled graciously, just wanting to move on. I was not sure I would ever adjust to this level of recognition. You want it, even dream about it, but once it morphs from the random person lighting up because they saw you on TV into you scanning your surroundings all the time, pulling your cap low, getting bigger sunglasses, praying when you’re with your girl you can both relax… it transforms your behavior.
Social media heightened the complications of fame. I didn’t want it to affect her, so I made a mental note to ask Dwayne if he still talked to Summer. Maybe he could subtly ask her to stay off my accounts. That’s always precarious, suggesting an ex-lover stops weighing in on your life.
I knew the strenuous path up to the peak would reward us with a postcard view of Lake Tahoe. I heard the guys heaving, their bodies working to adjust to the altitude. The lake sits around six thousand feet above sea level, earning it the name ‘The Lake of the Sky.’ I loved that name and the history of this place. Teddy Roosevelt saw the lake for the jewel it was, despite the lumber industry that was destroying it. Sometimes, I snuck in a few historical facts about Tahoe to the team, quoting Mark Twain or John Muir. They were known for writing about Tahoe, but I usually kept it short. As I said, I could read a room, and the guys were more interested in the celebrity golf tournament held every year on the South Shore that Dwayne and I got invited to this year, than the historical environmental significance of Lake Tahoe. Once we forged up one of the trails that wound up a mountain, I knew everyone would regret those extra tequila shots last night. I had done one but passed on the next three. The mountain air made you plead for oxygen. My lungs always felt like they were stretching so much, and I clutched my chest several times.
“God dang,” Dwayne said with a cough, sounding like he was gagging up a hairball. “How come I always forget how damn hard this is? Screw those tequila shots. Tonight, I’m drinking water.” Just then, recruit Jaxton, who had drunk only water last night, jogged right by us. No one passed Dwayne and me during these hikes; it was sort of a code.
I shot Dwayne a What the hell? look; he shrugged, replying to the question in my face. “Not sure…I’d try to catch up to him, but I might die.”
“Dude, it doesn’t look like he’s out for a team hike. Did you see the look on his face? This is serious to him.” I grimaced, letting Dwayne know I wasn’t pleased.
The team had convened on Tahoe almost four days ago, and the intention of this yearly gathering, that I’d set up and paid for, was first to adjust to the altitude. Second, to get a little pre-workout as a sort of transition from the non-scheduled summer to We have to get it together to prove that Super Bowl win wasn’t a one-off . Still, the most crucial goal was for this team to bond, to get in sync before pre-season training. Amongst a group of guys who worked hard to include each other, Jaxton ensured he was an island. Dwayne and I kept our eyes on the other guys, making sure no one jumped to conclusions or gave Jaxton the cold shoulder just because he was odd: his icy stare, the closed-off body language, not to mention the tattoos. Lots of guys come in with tats, but his torso was literally a fucking museum migrating up his neck and down his arms. I wasn’t sure about his legs because he always wore sweats or jeans.
None of that mattered. His expression read Come near me and you die . There was a vacancy that inhabited his gaze. Whenever I talked to him, his eyes fixed on my face, unblinking, he’d nod and say flatly, “Yes sir.” Literally, to everything, he’d say, “Yes, sir.”
Dwayne matched my expression, and then his face softened. “Skyler, not everybody is as driven as you are to make connections, to become best friends with everyone. He’s not a talker,” Dwayne explained. His justification for our new recruit lacked conviction. I could tell by his tone and how long it took for him to respond that his head was also ringing with concern. “You and the coaches all agreed he’s mine, and I want to take it slow with him. He has the feeling of a domestic dog that someone dumped off the side of the road, so he’s had to learn to live in the wild. He doesn’t trust anyone.”
Pushing my legs upward, methodically taking in the distilled mountain air through my nose, letting my lungs absorb as much oxygen as possible at this altitude, I took a moment to contemplate his analogy of Jaxton. How animal-like we become when emotional safeguards are stripped away. I couldn’t relate to that. Sure, I’d gotten really pissed, knocked a racist asshole to the floor, hit a few walls, yelled profanities when an opposing team’s player sacked me unnecessarily, or told a girl I was done because I didn’t trust her. I’d reacted, but my frontal lobe always yanked me back, and my human response took over. I guess there’s a lot to be said for how I was raised—secure and surrounded by love and outward praise. It was the foundation I always returned to. Even when I felt like my brain was in freefall, my upbringing played in my head, and snippets of parent or sibling interactions crept into my mind during those moments of rage when my animalistic brain wanted to rule.
As we stepped up to the top of the ridge, I cupped Dwayne’s shoulder, unsure of what I was about to say, but he had to feel that I had confidence in him in this situation. “Dude, if anyone can break through to him and bring him into the fold, it’s you. Hopefully, he will see that he has a family here.”
Dwayne’s eyes tilted toward me, the corner of his mouth turning up: "Thanks, Skyler. That love-twitting heart has gone and made you soft. I like it.”
“Fuck off,” I whispered with a guffaw.
I could hear the guys gasping for air and expressing astonishment. A few of them had tapped out and were sitting on the rocks, groaning. We had a couple of guys who helped out at training camp who were from Tahoe passing out water. They had both climbed this mountain with thirty-plus pounds of water bottles in their backpacks. Jeez, I couldn’t imagine it.
“This is always worth it, Skyler. Thanks for making this happen.” Grady boomed, our young, boisterous tight end, who we’d recruited last year. He’d given everyone a fist bump last night after a few shots. He went on and on about how much he loved this team, not only because he got to be part of a Super Bowl win in his first year in the NFL, but because of Coach Easton, Coach Mark, Dwayne, and me. He kept hugging Dwayne last night. Dwayne finally was able to sneak off to the bathroom and shot me a look indicating that Grady had long since passed the line into Annoying County . Once Dwayne slipped from his orbit, Grady came over to tell me how much he loved me. I noticed that Jaxton, who was sharing a room with him, glared at Grady like he might choke the shit out of him in his sleep. Dwayne and I had worked out a seemingly brilliant plan to have them room together, hoping that Grady’s oozing extraversion would soften Jaxton’s enigmatic persona, but it was clearly backfiring.
“Hey, Cap, I love this.” I twisted my neck to meet the brightest, whitest smile in the NFL—Tracey, our backup quarterback, or Tigger as I called him. The kid literally bounced instead of walked, like he was so thrilled to be alive. His hair was in a ponytail, his hands on his hips, and he looked more like a GQ model than an NFL quarterback. Even when we lost, he was cheery. I couldn’t imagine anything getting this kid down. Damn, being a quarterback for the team was beginning to feel more and more like being a father. I wanted a big family, loved kids…I’d always thought I’d have five. As I surveyed the guys, the varying personalities and backgrounds, with their different needs, it hit me that being a parent might even be harder than this. Five kids was certainly looking a lot less doable than I’d originally imagined.