Chapter 5 #3
For the first time, I thought, what the hell was he doing getting drunk at a bar in Oak Forest?
This side of town was predominantly a middle-class neighborhood that had slowly been getting taken over by the upper middle-class with small houses being demolished and bigger, near-mansion-like homes taking over.
It was a family neighborhood, not one you’d expect a rich single man living in.
“I’m sorry,” Marc said over his shoulder.
“No, it’s okay. You did the right thing calling me.
” Well, I still wasn’t convinced that was true, but…
if it were Harlow calling me because she needed a ride home after drinking too much, I would have gotten her without thinking twice about it.
Hell, if any of the girls on the team felt desperate enough to call me for a ride home, I would have been there.
We were a team. That’s what you did. When you played on a team with people who held grudges against each other, it was a lot harder than it needed to be.
Sigh.
“All right.” I eyed Kulti and tried to guess how much he weighed.
If I could throw him over my shoulder, I could probably carry him out, but that wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous.
I tapped on his arm. Then I tapped on his arm some more.
Nothing. Next, I shook his arm. Nada. “Hey, you, wake up,” I said, shaking him some more.
And still nothing.
I sighed. “Help me carry him out to the car.” Marc didn’t even blink; he just nodded.
For a moment, I thought about whether his tab was open or not, and then I decided he could figure it out in the morning when he was sober.
“Ready?”
Marc and I dragged my coach across the seat and got him to the end of the bench. Squatting down, I peeled away the arm that was plastered to the table and lifted the heavy weight to put it over my shoulders. Over the top of Kulti’s head, I watched Marc do the same thing.
How did I always let myself get dragged into this crap? “Ready?”
At the count of three, we stood up. Well, Marc and I stood up, and Jesus Christ. I was used to people jumping on top of me, but it was never deadweight. It was also never someone almost a foot taller leaning up against me.
I huffed, and I heard Marc make a light grunting sound.
He was used to lugging around bags of soil, grass seed, and mulch, so that said something.
Somehow we managed to circle around and slowly make our way toward the door.
I ignored the patrons who were watching us, interested and disapproving at the same time.
Whatever. Keeping my eyes forward, I focused on making sure to take as much of Kulti’s weight as I could to save Marc the hassle.
My rear passenger door was unlocked, and we slowly finagled the big man into the seat, letting him slump over onto his side.
Good enough.
I rubbed my eyebrow with the back of my hand, closing the door with my hip at the same time. “I tried to call Coach Gardner, but he hasn’t answered, so I’m not sure whether to take him back to my place or take him to a hotel, I guess.”
He gave me this look that said, “Good point.”
“Are you going to stay with him?”
Stay with him? I glanced in the back seat and shrugged. “I don’t know. You think I should?”
Marc lifted his shoulders too, looking into the car as well. “If it was you I was picking up, I’d say yes because it’s you. If it was Simon, I’d pretend I dropped the call because he’s a grown man that shouldn’t have gotten messed up.”
I understood his point. He’d heard me tell him day after day that I hadn’t spoken much with my coach. “I’ll figure it out, I guess.”
“You need any help?”
He didn’t go out often, and I realized he’d already gone above and beyond by calling me. I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I can get him in somewhere.”
“Call me if you need me though, okay?” he asked.
I reached forward and pulled at his shirt cuff. “I will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He grinned, taking a step back. “See you.”
“Good night,” I called after him before getting in my car and watching him go back inside the bar.
A single rough snore from the back seat reminded me of the treasure I had there. What in the hell was I going to do with him? Take him home?
It didn’t even take me five seconds to decide that was a shitty idea.
I didn’t know him. He wasn’t my friend. How weird would that be for him to wake up on my sofa in an apartment of a player he’d spoken to once?
One quick search on my phone later and the input of my credit card information, and I was driving down the dark dead streets toward the closest hotel.
It took five minutes to get to the chain hotel, another fifteen minutes to check in because my discount reservation hadn’t gone through yet, and then I was back at the car, eyeing what had to be close to two hundred pounds sprawled out on my back seat.
Thank God for squats and deadlifts.
It took a whole bunch of huffing and puffing, breaking out into a sweat, slapping at his cheek in hopes of reviving him futilely, and dropping the f-word every five seconds before I had his arm over my shoulders, my arm around his waist, and a barely conscious man trudging along besides me.
“Come on,” I pleaded with him as we hit the stairs what felt like thirty minutes later.
I was dying. Dying. And that had to say something because I had full-sized women who jumped on top of me and had me helicopter them around.
Fuck me.
Every other time I’d ever done this, I always had help.
By some miracle, the room assigned was right by the stairs.
His sleepy face was shuttered, and I slowly let him slide down the length of my side to sit on the floor. I opened the door, held it cracked open with the back of my foot, and snuck my arms under his armpits to drag him in.
I sure as hell did drag him in, his long legs and feet extended out in front of him.
Three huffs and a rough hoist later, I pulled him onto the bed and set him on his side with one knee cocked up and his top arm extended across the length of the mattress.
I peeled one eyelid open to make sure… what?
I wasn’t sure. I stuck a finger under his nose to make sure he was breathing evenly.
And then I watched him for a solid thirty minutes, sitting in the chair just to the side of the bed.
I’d been around enough overdrinkers in my life, and he wasn’t giving me the impression he was going to puke up blood or anything.
Now what?
The idea of staying with him didn’t seem like a good one. I wasn’t sure how he’d react in the morning and, frankly, a part of me didn’t want to find out. I took a breath and searched for one of those complementary notepads some hotels provided. Sure enough, across from the bed, bingo.
Dear Kulti, I tore it up. Kulti,
I tore it up again.
Fuck it. I scribbled a message that was longer than I expected, pulled the forty bucks I had stuffed into my bra out, and set the note and the money on the nightstand next to him.
Then I looked back at the armchair with resignation. I wasn’t going home tonight, and I damn well knew it. If I left, I’d stay up worried the whole night. Obviously, I only had one choice: stay in the hotel room for at least a few hours and then get the hell out of there before he knew I was there.
My conscience said it was the right thing to do, but my gut said to get the hell out.
Damn it.