Chapter Thirty Los Angeles
His phone buzzed, he looked down at it, fuck, he thought.
It was Donna Ashton, the first text in months.
Pip, sweetie, I am more than ready to leave this hellscape.
Sober people are such bores. Don’t tell Jayson I texted you.
Have you talked to Alexis? There was no how are you Piper?
No good luck in Atlanta, it was all about Donna all the time.
He had not talked to his twin sister, Alexis, in years.
Noah had sent seven messages that Piper didn’t open. They would hurt too much to read.
Practice was early the next day and he needed to be clocked in.
***
The arm felt fine on the field. The legs felt fine. The timing with Tank on the slant routes was where it had been before he left, which was to say: clean and automatic.
The ribs were still sore but seemed to be showing slight improvement. Piper knew he should have been resting instead of taking an unscheduled work trip to Atherton but he had no choice in the matter.
Tank, jogging back from a route, said, “You don’t look good, bro.”
“Dude, I am fucking fine.”
“That’s a fucking lie, but okay,” Tank said it without looking at him and kept moving.
The coaching staff didn’t ask where he had been; they had been informed by Jayson, a league shareholder, that Piper was needed for an event.
That was one of the things Jayson’s power bought: a class of people around Piper who had been informed, and who therefore didn’t ask.
It was efficient. It was also, Piper knew, not free.
Practice ran long, next up was Atlanta and they were playing lights out. He showered in the facility and headed home to pack yet again.
***
When he got home, Piper caved and started to read Noah’s texts. The first was a selfie of him in a towel. The rest were GIFs that made Piper laugh and also devastated him that they would need to end.
The sixth said, You alive? I miss you.
The seventh said, Not worried yet. Getting there.
Piper sat at the kitchen island looking at the thread. He typed, Confirmed, I am Alive.
He watched the three dots appear. They disappeared. They appeared again. They disappeared again.
Noah wrote: Finally, you had me worried. Can we talk?
Piper should have written back and he knew that.
Last week he would’ve written more, a joke, a line about practice, a miss you, a Real Housewives GIF.
He did not send any of these things. He didn’t send it on purpose.
Distance, Piper figured, was something you did to protect another person you deeply cared for.
He went into the living room and sat down but didn’t turn on the television.
Noah texted again at seven. I am worried about you, sexy.
Piper didn’t reply.
***
The next morning, Piper opened the text thread, and it had two new messages from Noah.
The first: I don’t know what’s going on but I’m here when you want to talk. The second, sent an hour later: Not pushing. I want you to be OK.
Piper read both of them. Holding back any and all emotion the way he had trained himself his entire life.
He took his time, breathing in deeply.
He’d call Noah tomorrow to end it. But he knew already that he wouldn’t, he had no idea how to end the one thing that had ever brought him joy.
Tank called that morning.
“Breakfast.”
“I have meetings.”
“No, you don’t.”
Piper closed his eyes.
“Fine.”
Tank came by at ten with two coffees and a bag of pastries he had picked up from Chaumont.
Tank, being famous, did not have to wait in the insanely long line.
He knew Piper loved their pastries, and he knew Piper was not himself lately.
He let himself in through the side gate.
He set the coffee on the counter, then looked at Piper.
“Eat,” Tank said.
Piper ate and they sat at the kitchen island, and they talked about their game plan for Atlanta and about the new offensive coordinator, and about a woman Tank had dated years prior who turned out to be a stalker, and that she was now headed for prison after stabbing her boyfriend.
Tank didn’t ask about Atherton. Tank never asked about Atherton, because he knew Piper would not answer his questions. That had been the agreement, unstated, for seven seasons. The agreement was that Atherton did not exist inside their friendship.
Tank had a way of putting Piper at ease.
When Tank got up to leave, Piper walked him to the door. Tank paused on the porch, hand on the frame.
“Hey,” Tank said.
Piper waited.
“Whatever it is. When you’re ready. I can’t see you like this anymore.”
Piper nodded. Tank went down the steps, and Piper yelled from the door, “Hey, you know I appreciate you bro?”
Tank turned before he reached his truck. “Don’t get fucking sentimental, you know I love you bro. I just need you to be good.”
Piper froze as his body was overcome with emotion. His ribs ached as he walked toward Tank, “Love you too dude.”
They embraced in the driveway and Piper was able to exhale for the first time in days as the L.A. sun burned the sky.