Chapter 7 #3
I remember the night he was leaving to report to training camp after his rookie season.
I had come home from school and overheard him and my dad talking out back.
My dad was encouraging him to be himself.
He was explaining he didn’t need to be anyone other than Jackson Gage.
He told him he could stop the train of destruction he was on, clued him in that not everyone was his friend or there to guide him to do the right thing.
There was time to get his reputation back. He just had to focus.
But he didn’t. He continued with the same mistakes and partied even harder.
Then the unthinkable happened in his life.
I remember that time period—his mom had gotten sick and passed quickly after being diagnosed with cancer.
I saw the correlation between his mom passing, his dad bailing on him at a young age and the way he was living his life as a young adult.
By his fourth year, when he got hurt, it was clear he was his own demise.
Yes, the media played up his nights out and his binges and women.
He became an all-around bad boy, but Jackson did nothing to clear that up.
Never explained the real reason, the real hurt behind all the nonsense that was swirling in the media. It was like he just gave up.
Grief can really play with your mind. It doesn’t ever end; you just learn to live in a new day.
It changes from season to season, and we are somehow supposed to learn to adapt to that new season.
The partying was how Jackson adapted. He just didn’t care anymore and no matter who tried to talk to him, he wouldn’t listen.
It was something he needed to work out for himself, no matter how destructive it was for him.
He needed to become what he loved most about his mom, but how could he do that when she wasn’t here to teach him?
“I get you want to make up for your mistakes. Make it up to the people who helped you, but there’s nothing to make up for. You did what you did, it was who you were at the time and now you’ve grown. Everyone who matters sees that. Everyone who matters understands the reasoning behind your actions.”
“I didn’t do what everyone thinks I did, Francesca. I just didn’t correct them.”
I give him a questioning look, and he continues. “The tattoo. I don’t have a tattoo that every woman swears they’ve seen. Of all the things that could have pushed me over the edge, it was that ridiculous story.” He drops his eyes and lets out a breath.
I think back to all the stories of the women who have ‘seen the holy grail’.
A tattoo of a football with Jackson's jersey number five in the middle of it, placed ever so precariously on his dick. I mean, when I read the first TMZ story that had a blond bimbo swearing she almost sucked the ink off him, I died a little inside. Then, with every passing week, a new woman would come forward and say they saw it too. I couldn’t believe he would even get a tattoo, let alone there, and then run through women like it was nothing.
“Why didn’t you just say it was false?”
“And how do I prove it? Show everyone my dick?” He grows angry, but then shrugs it off.
“Let them think what they want. I wasn’t a womanizer then, even though it looked that way, and I’m certainly not now.
I just regret mom had to see and hear that nonsense.
Even worse, that I didn’t get to clear it up with her. ”
I slink into my side of the couch, pulling my tank lower as if I can cover what I did.
When that story broke, I wanted to tell him what I had done, wanted to feel close to him, and him to me.
I wanted to tell him I had done it to celebrate his rookie game.
I wanted him to be proud. If he actually had the tattoo, I wanted him to know I didn’t care, and I had done the same thing.
Britt and I went to a tattoo shop the night before his first game, and I had a football with the number five tattooed along my bikini line.
Only Britt knows it’s there. Nick never saw it, he only wanted to have sex in the dark, and he was never going below my belly button anyway because he was a selfish ‘wam bam minute’ man.
Thankfully, Britt always kept my secret, both of them. She always knew I was secretly in love with her brother. When I couldn’t even admit it to myself, let alone her, and certainly not out loud; she never mentioned the tattoo to anyone.
She’s a real ride or die bitch.
Jackson continues. “And I’m hoping you know I didn’t get said tattoo by kidnapping a tattoo artist and bringing them to my hotel suite.
I didn’t lock them in until they gave me the tattoo for free and I certainly didn’t get wasted and trash my room, either.
” More lies, more stories. Anything to sell a good article.
“Wow. Jackson, I’m sorry. I knew that story of trashing the room was fabricated. But the tattoo… it’s such an invasion of privacy. All those women…”
I can’t even continue because I don’t want to think about all those women. Besides, aren’t I one of those women? I did it to take a piece of him with me, too, when he didn’t belong to me. I take a deep breath and our eyes meet. It’s now or never.
“Okay, so girlfriend and boyfriend. You think doing this is going to change things?”
“I do.”
I grin. “This is crazy.”
He grins too. “It is. But if anyone understands the way PR works and the life of a famous athlete, it’s you. That’s why I knew I could come to you. You’d either see it the way I see it, a chance to correct things, or you’d tell me I’m an asshole and to get off your couch.”
I laugh out loud this time. “I’ll still probably call you an asshole here and there.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Noches.”
I smile and grab our now empty glasses and head to the kitchen to put them in the dishwasher.
“Sorry, that got kind of heavy. After years of being away from you, I just needed you to understand I’m not as bad as what they made me out to be.”
I turn and lean back on the sink, but when his eyes wander, I cross my arms and clear my throat. “Eyes up here, superstar.”
He drops his head and chuckles. “Sorry, some habits are hard to break.”
“I want to think on this, play out all scenarios. And then the biggest one of all—Adam. Even if he knows this isn’t real, I don’t know how he’ll feel about it.”
“I know. I’m not out to hurt anyone. I’ve done enough of that.” He turns and heads to the door. “Thanks for listening tonight, Chessy. Come find me when you’ve thought it through.” And without a crude or sarcastic comment, he closes the door behind him and heads home.
I flop back onto the couch, letting out a huge breath. I already know I’m going to say yes because any way I can get closer to Jackson, I will. Any time he’ll give me, I’ll take it because I’m a glutton for punishment.