Falling Hard, page 13
Coach Hack must be in a bad mood. He’s yelled more today than I’ve ever heard him, even during games. I realize they are changing up their plays, but he’s really being a hardass today. No one has escaped his wrath. I hope his mood improves before our meeting.
I move up to the skywalk to get some long distance shots from overhead. Coach calls everyone to the circle right as I’m about to take a few shots. Damn. The only photos of the team I would get from up here are of the tops of their heads, so I take a seat and wait.
I look around through my zoom lens and notice that Kyle isn’t paying attention to Coach at all, and he calls him out on it, humiliating him. He continues to not pay attention. What the hell is he doing? I tap my foot on the skywalk making some noise. Kyle looks up and sees me, instantly smiling. I guess he was looking for me. I point to him and then point to my eyes and then point to Coach. He shakes his head smirking at me. He knows what I’m saying.
God, I’ve missed that smile. The team breaks its circle and everyone heads off to the locker room. Well fuck. Practice must be over early. I guess I better get down from here for my meeting.
I meet Kris at my camera bag to arrange a meeting time for tomorrow’s game. I tell him that I want us both to be here early. He agrees, also promising to upload then email me his shots from today as we go our separate ways.
I make it up to the AD department, and escort myself back to Matt’s office. His door is always open, so I knock on the metal frame. Looking up, he motions for me to take a seat, as he finishes up an email. Coach Hack enters and says hello to both of us in unison.
“Aran, I want to start out by expressing what a fabulous job you’ve done with the photos of Kyle and the team for the season. These are the best we’ve ever been able to showcase. So thank you from the university, the athletic department, the basketball program, and personally from me—you have my deepest gratitude,” Matt says.
“Thank you,” I respond.
“As you know, we’re winding down and your contract ends after the tournaments. We would like to add one final clause to the contract and schedule a one-on-one photo shoot between you and Kyle. If that’s okay?” he asks.
“Um, what would be the purpose of this shoot?” I inquire.
“We are looking to obtain the other sides of him. The student, the friend, and the professional that he aspires to be. The marketing department would like to show how a student progresses towards their goals by studying hard, playing harder, and then moving into their professional life after college,” he explains.
“Is he aware that this is being planned?” I ask.
“I’ll talk to him. He’ll be made aware,” Coach Hack intervenes.
“Okay. Let’s hope he has a better attitude about it this time. It took him a while to come around with this current contract,” I remind them.
“Oh, he has no choice,” Coach Hack states definitively.
“Aran, that’s all I needed to say. Coach? Do you want to add anything?” Matt asks.
“No, Aran, I think you’ve done a marvelous job. I appreciate the photos of my team. They’ve already provided amazing results with our recruiters.” He shakes my hand as we both stand to leave.
“Aran, you’ll send over written verbiage about the contract extension, and I’ll get the lawyers right on it, okay?” Matt asks.
“Yes, sir. You should see it sometime tomorrow. Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand and leaving.
Halfway down the hall, Coach Hack says my name and does a half jog move to catch up to me.
“Yes, Coach. Did you need me?” I ask.
“Aran, I just wanted to personally apologize for Kyle’s behavior this season,” he says.
“It was no problem. He eventually came around, and I got some really great shots of him,” I admit.
“No. I’m afraid I’m talking about the personal mess he caused with you,” he whispers low.
Shaking my head at him in confusion, I squint and try to figure out what he could be talking about. “I’m sorry, Coach, but I’m confused.”
“The proposition he offered you,” he whispers even lower. “The inappropriate inclusion of him into your personal life while you recover from your injuries.”
I gasp and choke on the air I just inhaled and heat rushes to my face. I absolutely do not know what to say to this man. How the hell did he find out?
“Rumors, gossip, and innuendo amongst the players got back to me,” he admits, answering the unspoken question on my tongue. “Kyle was not involved, but I had to confront him with the rumors. I can’t have issues like that wearing on my team. He didn’t deny it. He told me straight up in confidence. He said it was his idea.”
“It was, but I accepted. So I’m just as culpable,” I confess, completely mortified that I’m having this conversation. Why can’t the floor open up and swallow me whole right now?
“Well, you were injured, and in pain, and had a concussion. I don’t expect you to make rational decisions under those circumstances. Anyway, he almost lost his scholarship because of it, considering you are a contracted vendor with the team. So, I told him he had to cut off all communication that wasn’t directly related to the professional relationship between you and this university. I hope you understand?” he asks.
“Completely,” I respond, swallowing the hard lump that’s in my throat.
“Listen, Aran. He’s got a lot going on in the near future with the Oscar Robertson nomination, the NBA combine, and then the draft—not to mention graduation. His life will be under a microscope in the near future,” he hints to me.
“I understand exactly what you’re saying, Coach. Far be it for a simple photographer to hold him back,” I growl.
I bristle past him, and slam open the main front doors to the Pavilion, practically running to my car. How dare that motherfucker accuse me of holding Kyle back? We’ve been done—for months now. No contact whatsoever, at least on my part. Prick. Oh, my god! I’ve never been so fucking mad at someone before in my life.
I race out of my parking spot, heading towards home. My phone buzzes with a text from Nick.
N: It’s baby time. Get your sassy ass here, Aunt Aran. St. Vincent’s - 9th floor.
A: OMG! On my way!
I turn down a side street, and head in that direction. Wow. That’s an instant mood changer. My brother always comes through for me. St. Vincent’s is literally right down the street from the university. I’m lucky enough to get a front parking spot.
A floor nurse directs me to Jenna’s room. I feel like there’s a whole basket full of butterflies in my stomach. I’ve never actually been in a labor and delivery room, so this will be interesting. Pushing the door open slowly, I silently pray that I’m not walking into chaos.
It’s eerily void of voices as the door swings wide. Jenna is lying in bed, hooked up to every machine imaginable. Beeps and blips are going off. She’s got wires everywhere. “Damn, girl. You look like the back of my TV with all those wires,” I tease.
She smiles wide, but there’s tension in her eyes. She’s holding one of Nick’s hands in a death grip, while the other hand scrunches up the blanket on her chest. It takes me a few seconds to realize that she’s in the middle of a contraction. “Sorry. New girl here in the labor and delivery department,” I squeak out apologetically.
The contraction eases within a few minutes and she releases Nick’s hand. “It’s okay. I need the comic relief. It was funny. Anything to take my mind off this pain,” she laughs.
“Is it bad?” I ask.
“I’m not going to say, because I suspect you’ll want children one day, and I would hate for my words to ruin that. I’ll survive. Women do this every day. I’m strong enough to handle this with grace. I hope. It’s still early though,” she squeals, grabbing at Nick’s hand again. Her mom and dad enter the room at that moment, and her mom goes right to action, wetting a washcloth and patting the sweat from her forehead.
Looks like it might be a long day. I actually hope the baby holds out until tomorrow. We can share a birthday. No matter when he or she decides to appear, it’s still the best birthday present ever.
Chapter 21
Aran
I stand at the side of Jenna’s bed, squeezing her hand, as we watch Nick cut the umbilical cord of his new baby girl. I always knew women were strong and courageous, but to see one giving birth is awe-inspiring. I’ve cried all night long, watching Jenna push and struggle to bring her and Nick’s creation into the world on my birthday. I’m so blessed.
She’s perfect, wrapped up in a white blanket and pink baby cap. Ten fingers and toes with big eyes like Jenna, and Nick’s lips. Nick is at Jenna’s other side as they snuggle together with the baby, feeding her for the first time. I get my camera and continue doing what comes naturally to me. I’ve been able to capture this whole beautiful experience—this will make a great gift.
“So, do we have a name picked out?” Jenna’s mom asks.
“Yeah. Go ahead Nick. You tell them,” Jenna says.
“Paege Elyse is what we have decided. Paege will have an Irish spelling to it, and Elyse is my mom’s name.” His voice falters, heavy with emotion.
Reaching over, I give him a big hug. “It’s a beautiful name,” I whisper in his ear.
We laugh and hug a few more times, before I decide to leave, giving them some private family time to bond. “I’ll stop by tomorrow night after the Golden Bears game,” I promise.
It’s after 3 am, and I’m exhausted. I pull into my parking space, and see that Kyle is sleeping in his car. Should I wake him? I hate that he’s out here keeping watch and he looks so uncomfortable. I tap on his driver side window, and he jumps awake. He pushes his door open and steps out. “Grab your keys and lock it. You’re coming in,” I tell him.
To my surprise, he doesn’t argue and actually follows me inside. I offer him some food and drink, but he declines as he takes a seat at the island. I see the dark circles under his eyes, but make no mention of them. I head into the bedroom to change into my pajamas. A few minutes later, I go to get him and he’s sleeping cross-armed on the counter. “C’mon. Lay down and rest,” I tell him, pulling him up and into the bedroom.
We lie down together in silence. I’m absolutely exhausted, too, and within a few moments, we are curled together and asleep.
The bright morning sun streaks across my pillow, and I squeeze my eyes closed against it. My brain wakes up enough to remember the last few hours, and that Kyle was in my bed. I roll over quickly thinking he might have left in regret, but his back is turned to me. At least he’s still here. My mind fills with a thousand things I want to say to him, but I’m not sure where to begin.
He stretches his long legs out, rolls over onto his stomach, crosses his arms over his head and buries his face in the pillow. Eventually, he faces me. Of all the questions I thought he may ask, the one he chooses surprises me. “What were you doing out so late, last night?” he asks.
“Why have you been keeping watch over me for the last few months?” I answer his question with one of my own.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he groans, burying his face back down in the pillow.
“It’s alright. I’ve been piecing it together. I know what happened, but next time, talk to me. I can handle problems. We could have planned a solution together. What I can’t handle is rejection without words and reasoning. That hurts the most, and does more damage than necessary.”
He raises up and sits with his back against the pillows. “Aran, that’s the problem. I don’t know how to plan a solution with you, when I don’t even know what the fuck is going to happen in my life. Every day is something new that I don’t plan for. It’s exhausting, so I gave up. I fucking walked away. If we were meant to be together, this should be easy,” he growls.
“Who the fuck told you that?” I ask. “If it were easy, everybody would have a great life, with great relationships, and success, and fame, and money. Life is fucking hard, but you have to work at it every day. You can’t walk away, and just let it happen. Life is lived in the details.”
“Well, the details of my life right now are in chaos,” he groans.
“No one said you had to have it all figured out now,” I shoot back at him.
“Damn it, Aran,” he hisses, blowing out his breath through pursed lips. “You have this amazing life built already. You’re out in the world. You’ve got your business started. You know the direction you’re headed. You already know where your talent lies. I don’t even know which way is north.”
“Jesus, Kyle. When did you start comparing your life to mine?” I ask. “It’s not perfect. I choose to take life as it hits me. Sometimes that’s with baby steps, and sometimes it’s with large leaps. I have one goal in life, and that’s to live it being fulfilled with the details that I create. That’s why I own my own company. I create my life. I create my time schedule. I create the details that I want to live with.”
“I need something to go my way in this life. Right now, everything in my personal life is working against me,” he mumbles in defeat.
“Things might be working out like they’re supposed to for the time being. You might not need to change things in your life right now, because it’s meant to be as is. Maybe you’re working overtime pushing against it. You need to change your mindset—put a positive spin on it, and accept it. Maybe things will come together once you give in,” I say.
“So, you agree then? Giving up was the right thing to do?” he asks.
“That’s not what I said at all. Giving in is not giving up. Giving in is accepting there’s an unscripted path to follow. A life plan that sometimes we’re not in complete control of. There’s a popular saying: things happen for a reason. That’s what you give in to. Accept it. Follow it until you’re shown a different path. Then you make another decision to go left or go right. That’s how we get through life. The control you have is in the details of choosing the left or right path,” I explain.
“Are you sure you’re a photographer?” he teases. “You’d make a pretty good life coach.”
“You egit,” I laugh, smacking him with my pillow.
“What’s an egit?” he asks.
“It’s Irish for idiot,” I smack him again with the pillow, laughing harder.
“So, I’m an idiot now?” he asks, turning his lips down into a pout.
“No. But you can’t be funny in the middle of a serious conversation either,” I sass back at him. “Kyle, just get your shit together. And don’t do it for me. Don’t do it for your mom. Do it for yourself. Do it because it’s your life, and you’re the one who has to live it. You need to focus on what you want. Plan for that. If we’re meant to be together, it will happen. I truly believe that. It’s how I live my life,” I explain.
He gets up, and comes around to my side of the bed, turning his back to me. “Do you want one final ride into the kitchen,” he asks.
“Fuck yeah, I do,” I exclaim as I climb aboard his back, wrapping my legs around his waist, and my arms around his shoulders.
“Wow. You’re a lot lighter without that cast,” he laughs.
He walks to the couch and dumps me onto the lounge section, before heading into the kitchen to make coffee.
“Hey, guess what?” I ask him. “Never mind, you’ll never guess. Nick and Jenna’s baby was born early this morning. That’s where I was,” I say.
“Congratulations to them. Boy or girl?” he asks.
“Little girl. Paege Elyse,” I announce.
He comes into the living room with one hand behind his back, and lowers himself down onto his knees facing me. Carefully, he pulls his hand forward, and he’s got a chocolate chip breakfast muffin in it, with one candle burning. “Happy birthday, Blaze,” he says, handing it to me.
“Aww. How did you know it was my birthday?” I ask, closing my eyes to make a wish.
“I have my sources,” he confesses.
After making my wish, I rub his beard with my free hand, caressing my thumb over his cheek. I lean forward and blow out the candle, before the wax drips.
The coffee machine beeps, and he gets up to fetch us two cups.
“I’m gonna get out of here after coffee. I have a game to prepare for. I just wanted to put that out there so you don’t think I’m running away,” he says, sitting down across from me.
“I didn’t think you ran away from me. I know you were forced away. There’s a difference,” I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool and pretend that I didn’t just find out the full story.
“Look, Aran. I want you to know that I heard every word you said this morning. I need to think about exactly what I want, and sort out everything going on in my life. I won’t promise that I’ll be back. Please don’t wait for me. I want you to be happy,” he says.
“Well, that’s kind of cocky of you to say that to me,” I sass.
“Hey, you’re the one that calls me Mr. Cocky Badass,” he says, smirking and throwing my own words back at me. “I need to start my life. Experience a taste of what you’ve had since finishing college. Maybe that’s the perspective that I need.”
“In all honesty, Kyle, I want to see you happy. I hope living your life on your terms will do that for you. Don’t settle for anything less than what you really want. Focus on that. That’s what will make me happy,” I say, reaching up to wrap my arms around him.
He sets his empty mug down on the counter and hugs me back, completely swallowing me up in his embrace. He’s squeezing me hard and holding on for dear life. I blink hard to fight back the tears that are welling up in my eyes.
This is good-bye. My stomach turns over with a sick feeling when he lets go of me. He grabs his keys and walks out the door, letting it close as softly as the tears fall down my cheeks. We’ve expressed what we needed to, and now I’m on my own again. Why does everything great that I have always end? Every time I say I’m done, I always try again. I get it now—lesson learned. He was the last time I try again.
