As usual, he looks so sure of himself, so confident in his own skin, and as angry as I am, I can’t help but be drawn in.
He leans in, close enough so that our noses are almost touching, and when he speaks his voice differs from what I’ve ever heard before. It’s soft and low.
“No, you’re better than what you did back there,” he whispers, and then suddenly he kisses me.
It’s a gentle kiss, hesitant and unsure, as if he’s waiting for me to pull away. But I don’t. I want this. I want the warmth of his lips against mine, want the feeling of his hands on either side of my face. Even after everything he’s done, I won’t mind that my first kiss is going to be in the middle of the street, with my brother’s best friend. So I close my eyes and savor the moment.
When Brick pulls away, I feel a little lost, a little sad that the moment has gone so quickly. Then he stares into my eyes as if he’s confused by something and an odd moment transpires between us. The moment is fleeting, though, and finally he takes a step back.
That’s when I notice it.
Regret.
He thinks that he’s made the biggest mistake of his life.
I am the biggest mistake of his life.
“Let me call your brother to come get you,” he says, as if he can’t get away from me fast enough.
I want to cry, but I’m determined to hold back the tears.
“I can get home on my own.”
He shifts nervously between feet.
“So… we don’t need to really tell Kyle about this, right?”
The nerve of this boy embarrassing me in front of the entire school, stealing my first kiss from me, and now he wants me to protect him from my brother?
Arrogant.
Beautiful.
Coward.
I raise my middle finger up right between Brick’s two eyes, like Kyle taught me to do when I was being bullied at ten-years-old.
“You don’t have to ever worry about me telling my brother diddly squat about you because as of now, it’s like you don’t even exist.”
And just like that, from that moment on, Brick wasn’t just my brother’s annoying best friend, he became my arch enemy.
Brick
I sit rigidly in my chair, the weight of guilt pressing hard on my chest. I’ve been coming to this coffee shop at the same time, every day after practice, for the last week, trying to find the strength to confront her. With a deep breath, I glance across the small cafe table, and trace my gaze over her lithe frame, her delicate features, and the way her eyes glimmer when she smiles.
Anyone would be happy to have a girlfriend like Lisa Adams. She’s pleasant, gorgeous, and more accomplished than most women her age. With the down-to-earth charm of a woman who’s Oklahoma born and bred, she’s a self-made celebrity and millions of people tune in to her cooking show to watch her create her famous low carb recipes with down home flavor.
One of the great things about our relationship is that she understands my life as a pro ballplayer. She totally gets fandom and hectic schedules and didn’t mind any of that. Hell, I’ve been kind of happy with her for the past few months and hoped it would last, but deep down I knew this moment was inevitable.
Gathering my courage, I take a deep breath and say, “I don’t know how to say this…” My voice is barely audible and when she looks up in surprise, noting my expression, her frown deepens.
“What’s wrong, Brick? Is your stomach bothering you again?”
“It’s… it’s not going to work,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. It’s funny how I can play one of the most violent sports ever created, but am the biggest chicken when it comes to breaking up with women. I should be used to it by now.
Things were much easier in high school and definitely in college. I could hook up with girls and then ghost them, but I’m supposed to be more mature now, and this is what mature motherfuckers do. They deal with conflict.
Lisa gapes at me in understandable confusion. There’s no way she saw this coming, and I can literally feel guilt tighten my chest.
“What do you mean?” she asks after a few moments of awkward silence. “What’s not going to work?”
“We have to end this,” I say as I watch the look of realization dawn on her face.
She looks away for a moment, her eyes filled with what appears to be pain, as I feel my throat tighten. I’d expected her to be surprised, but I didn’t realize just how deeply it would affect her. She seems hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, not knowing what else to say to smooth this over, and she nods, her eyes still downcast.
“So what now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “You were going to come on the show.”
I’m scheduled to be a guest on Lisa’s cooking show in a few weeks. We were going to each make our own recipe for grilled ribs. She uses beef ribs and grills them slowly using her famous seasoning rub. I use pork ones and smoke the hell out of them using my family’s legendary marinade. I find it interesting though that my appearance on the show seems to be the only thing she’s concerned about.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Maybe you can find a replacement for me, because I think we both need to take some time and focus on ourselves as individuals and not as a couple. For the first time in two seasons, The Nighthawks aren’t in the playoffs and I need to prioritize that.”
Lisa fights hard to contain her emotions, her eyes tearing up, as she nods her head in agreement. I can’t bear to meet her gaze and have to turn my head away as a flood of tears shockingly cascades down her cheeks.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say again, and she nods, still not meeting my gaze.
“It’s fine.” She lifts her head up. Her expression hardened. “I’ll find a replacement.”
I’m not sure if she means a replacement for the show or for someone else in her life, but I watch her exit the cafe, feeling a slight pang of guilt as she walks away. I don’t feel this way because I’m regretting my decision but because I hate that I’ve hurt her. It reminds me of exactly why I shouldn’t be in a relationship; because they always end badly.
There’s also a part of me that feels ashamed that I don’t care as much as she does. I mean, what’s wrong with me? It’s not that I don’t respect the hell out of women. I was raised by a wonderful single grandmom whom I loved to pieces. She passed away my senior year of college from cancer that started in her ovaries and spread like wildfire throughout her body.
Diesel, one veteran on the team, who is happily married to his childhood sweetheart, explained that perhaps I can never find someone I feel deeply for because I’m always comparing every woman to my grandmother. Another theory by a woman I was dating a few years ago told me I was “missing a sensitivity chip”.
All of this is why I consider calling out to Lisa, to tell her to stay for a few more minutes so we can talk longer, but I know it wouldn’t do either of us any good. I’ve made my choice and now I have to live with it. Our relationship has evolved into some sort of arranged publicity romance and doesn’t feel real anymore.
It’s time.
I sit in my chair for a long time, staring at my cold latte, reflecting on what I’ve just done. I’ve finally done it. I’ve ended it and she took it way better than I could have hoped. Maybe she was ready to end things too and just didn’t want to be the one to do it.