Page 20 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

REPERCUSSIONS

Alix

It was weird at work on Tuesday. First, I’d had about five hours’ sleep, and what I’d got had been broken up by dreams. Erotic ones. Why, though? You didn’t get sex-starved in a few weeks, and all I’d done was kiss the man!

Second, I got questions. More specifically, LouAnn asked me, about eight minutes into our shift, “So did you go out with that guy yet?”

“Yes,” I said. Reluctantly, but I wasn’t going to lie.

“Ooh,” she said. “So he jumped right on that, huh? He looked like that kind of guy.”

Royce said, “Real classy, LouAnn, talking about him jumping her.”

“I didn’t say he jumped her,” LouAnn said. “I said he jumped on it.”

“I don’t get it,” Royce said, and LouAnn rolled her eyes.

I said, “Get over here and glue this pipe, Royce. LouAnn, get back to it.” They did, for about ten minutes. When we were wrestling a twenty-foot length of pipe into place, though, LouAnn asked, “Really? You went out with him on, what? Christmas Eve?”

“No,” I said. “He was busy. I saw him on Christmas. Set it down easy. There you go.”

“Yeah, he was busy,” Royce said, as we climbed out of the trench for another length of pipe.

“Busy playing football. I figured, no way he’s hanging out with Harlan Kristiansen during the season unless he’s on the team, and he looked like it anyway, so I checked him out.

Not that many guys named Sebastian, so he wasn’t hard to find.

Sebastian Robillard, that’s who he is. Devils kicker. ”

“Oh, nice,” LouAnn said happily but breathlessly as she lugged another section of pipe with Royce. “How much do kickers get paid?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

“Not like Harlan Kristiansen, that’s for sure,” Royce said. “Maybe two or three million? He’s kicking good right now, though, so …”

“Two or three million a year?” LouAnn demanded. “Oh, my God. Did he take you someplace really fancy?”

“No,” I said. “He took me to a friend’s house for Christmas dinner. It was very nice. And as I’m not marrying the guy, his money makes no difference to me.” She had no answer for that, just gaped at me.

“Good kickers can make five or six million a year,” Carlton volunteered.

He didn’t talk much normally, but apparently this topic was near and dear to his heart.

Lucky me. “Only his second year, but if he keeps kicking like that, he’ll be looking to renegotiate his contract after this season.

Consistency, that’s the big deal with kickers.

Got to know you can count on that three when you get down there.

Changes your whole strategy. That’s why my fantasy football team’s doing so good.

It’s only part about the QB and the highlights reel.

The other part’s the O-line, the defensive backs.

And the kicker. You know what position scores the most points in the NFL? Kicker, that’s who.”

“I’m sure he’s great at his job,” I said. “I know he takes it seriously. The money part doesn’t matter to me. I’m fine as I am.”

“You’re working in the mud,” LouAnn said. “You’re already sweaty, and we’ve only been here half an hour. And you like that better? That makes you batshit crazy, not fine. If you don’t want him, give him to me.”

“You’re engaged,” I said.

“Love means overcoming obstacles,” she said.

I laughed, but said, “Go get that wire ready to go. Less talking, more working, because no matter what you all think, I don’t expect to have an NFL player paying my bills, and I need this job. Just like all of you.”

You notice how calm and rational I sounded there? I didn’t feel much like that when Sebastian texted me two evenings later, asking, Got a minute for a call? In fact, I had to walk around inside the trailer a few times before I texted, Sure, and went determinedly back to washing dishes.

He was calling me already? Had he been thinking about me, too?

You can probably imagine that when he did call me thirty seconds later and said, “I have to change the plan for Sunday,” I did not have a calm and rational reaction.

I did my best. I said, “Oh. OK. No worries. I have plenty to do. Grocery shopping. Cooking. Laundry,” rinsed my plastic chili containers, and wondered what kind of excuse you came up with for why a woman couldn’t come watch you play a football game. He’d have to exercise his imagination.

He said, “What? I didn’t mean you shouldn’t come. Look, I—” He broke off, then started again. “I’m going to have somebody else there too, that’s all.”

I still wasn’t calm. In fact, there seemed to be some upset happening. I said, “Polyamory’s popular, I realize, but I’m not interested. Not remotely. Go find somebody else.”

He said, “Alix. Wait.” Sounding urgent. Sounding bothered. I wanted to hang up, but I didn’t want to make him sad. Isn’t that stupid?

“Oh, wait,” I said in relief, “it’s something else. Your aunt’s in town or something. Your aunt had better not be twenty-five and blonde, though.”

“I don’t have an aunt to come to town, remember? No. My nephew.”

“Oh.” I was so relieved, I had to sit down. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I was trying to,” he said, “if you notice. Do you always expect the worst to happen?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “Saves time.” Which made him laugh, at least. “So,” I said, “what are you saying here? Do we take this kid out for hamburgers Sunday night or what? I assume he’s old enough to look after himself, or are you thinking I’m babysitting?”

Would I do that? I wondered. Honestly? I might. Sebastian was kind, he was funny, he was probably a great uncle, and he could kiss. I might be willing to babysit for that.

“No,” he said, “of course you’re not babysitting.” A sigh, then, “I don’t know how to explain this. Even to myself.”

His voice sounded … something. Weary, maybe. Almost defeated, and the hair was prickling on my arms. Sebastian never sounded defeated. I said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Suddenly, I wasn’t agitated or uncertain. I said, “You could come over and have a cup of tea and talk it out, if you like. ”

“A cup of tea?” he asked, still sounding distracted.

“That’s what women have,” I said, “when they’re upset and need to talk. That or wine, but I don’t have wine. What do men drink in that situation? Beer, probably, but I don’t have any beer, either.”

“I’m not going to dump my problems on you,” he said. “And I don’t drink during the week. Or much at all during the season.”

“You’re driving me nuts,” I informed him.

“Is this some more of the ‘men can’t be vulnerable’ thing?

Because that’s garbage. Of course you can.

Of course you are. Tell me in person. Tell me on the phone.

Or call Harlan and tell him, but tell somebody.

Don’t just call me up and sound that upset and not let me help. ”

“There isn’t much to say. My nephew Ben’s coming to stay, that’s all. Not a little kid. He’s fourteen.”

“Oh.” Then why had he sounded so upset? “For the rest of the Christmas break?” I guessed.

“No,” he said. “For—for a while.”

“Ah.” I waited, but he didn’t say anything, so I hazarded a guess. “Are his parents divorcing or something? But wouldn’t he be in eighth grade, ninth, something like that? Doesn’t he have to go to school?”

“No,” he said. “Or yes. He’ll go remotely at first, I think. I’m not sure. The thing is—he’s coming to live with me. Looks like I’m going to be his guardian.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Which could make my dating life interesting. Why I called you.”

“OK,” I said, “let’s start with Step One and go from there. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Do you want to just bag the whole idea of me coming to your game and so forth? You haven’t made any commitments. We’ve been out together once. ”

“Twice,” he said. “I told you, the hamburgers count.” Sounding more like himself, at least. “And, no, of course I don’t want to do that.”

“You sound tired,” I said.

“A little,” he admitted. “Been on the phone with my sister and an attorney ever since I got home from practice, and it’s …” He stopped, like he didn’t want to admit that he was overwhelmed. Like I wouldn’t think it was manly.

“How about Ben?” I asked. “What does he think?”

“Ah,” he said. “Ben. Ben won’t talk to me.”

“Sebastian,” I said. “What happened?”

“My sister’s dying.” His voice bleak as winter. “Soon. Cancer.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah. Unfair. She’s thirty-six. There’s a gene, I guess.

Same one that got our dad. She’s a single mom, dad’s not involved, so I’m all there is.

Ben’s flying down on Saturday. I can’t go up and get him.

I won’t even be here for his first night, because I’ll be at the team hotel. That’s bugging the hell out of me.”

“You’re all there is again, you mean,” I said. “It’s on you again.”

“What? No. That’s not what I meant. I just meant …”

“That you’re not sure you can do it,” I realized. My heart was aching. For a man I barely knew, and a boy I didn’t know at all. “Sebastian. You can do this.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Because you’ve done everything else. You say you’re a lucky man, but that’s not all of it. You’re a hard-working man. A solid man. That’s how you’ve gotten where you are. If you choose to do this, you’ll do it as well as you’re capable of.”

“I’m not what you think,” he said. “I’ve never married anyone. Never lived with anyone, never owned a home, and I’m thirty-one. The longest I’ve played for a team is three seasons, every car I’ve ever had has been leased, and every condo I’ve lived in came furnished.”

“And you took care of your dad until he died. Because when the chips are down, you’re there.

And because you can only live the day you’re in.

Life isn’t a long-term plan, not really.

That’s a fiction we tell ourselves to try to make it make sense.

Life is just a … a series of choices, one after the other, that you make right now.

With incomplete information, not knowing whether your head or your heart or even your body is driving the train, just doing what seems best. Doing what your character and your personality and your soul tell you to, trusting them to lead you home.

That’s what you need to trust in now. In your goodness.

In your brains. In your heart. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got this. ”

“Wow,” he said. “You should be giving the pre-game talks.”

“And you’re finally sounding like yourself. So, hey. Ben and I will watch you play, and later on, we’ll go out to dinner. Since you can’t bring a dog to a restaurant, I’ll have to be the buffer zone.”

“I’m not going to be happy if this means I don’t get to kiss you,” he said. “I was kinda counting on that.”

“I’ll tell you a secret. So was I. I had the weirdest dream Christmas night,” I was somehow saying. “Possibly too much turkey.”

“Oh, yeah?” I’d distracted him, at least, because he sure sounded interested. “Tell me more.”

“I was a tiny fairy. Living in a flower.”

“Oh … kay.”

“There was a fairy prince, too. I don’t remember exactly, but I know it got steamy.”

“Between two fairies.” Now, he was smiling, I could tell .

“Major erotic elements,” I said, “which is just sick, if you ask me. My mind may be disturbed. Fair warning.”

“I’m not dressing up as a fairy prince,” he said. “That’s a hard no.”

“Aww.” I was laughing now. “Well, as we know, I’m not there, so it’s not a choice you’ll have to make. I just thought I’d tell you.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“You’re welcome. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Yep,” he said. “And hey.”

“Yes?”

“If you wore something pretty again, that would make it easier, too.”

“You’re pushing your luck, boy.”

He laughed. “Always. You know what you’d look great in?”

“I cannot imagine. A black leather bustier? A garter belt? A gown and tiara?”

“Red. Like that dress you had on that first night. I about had a heart attack when I saw that thing for real, outside the restaurant.”

“Right. I’m dressing like that to go out for pizza with your nephew. Even if I had that dress, I’d …”

“I didn’t say wear that dress. But it could be inspiration. Possibly. If you wanted to make me feel better.”

“Manipulative,” I said.

“No. Honest. Hey, you told me about the fairy sex. I’m telling you about my favorite color on you. Sharing fantasies is highly recommended. Brings a couple closer, and lets the guy know what works for her. Although, fairies …”

I was laughing now. “I could be wearing a sparkly red minidress and six-inch stilettos out to dinner with you, and it still won’t mean I’m sleeping with you on Sunday. ”

“Even if I kick a really, really long field goal?”

“Even so. But I could be mighty tempted.”

“Goals. Works for me. Sunday night. You and me.”

“And Ben,” I reminded him.

“Right,” he said. “You and me and Ben.”