Chapter 18

: Brandon

T alking to Andi Nichols is like watching paint dry. No, that’s not it. She’s boring. Nope, that’s not it either. I try to put my finger on it. She’s totally closed off.

Why?

She has no expression on her face. Yet the lack of expression in a way is an expression. Every so often, it seems like something peeks through, but then she shuts it down. What’s she hiding?

Now it’s a side quest to find out what’s underneath, which is actually pretty interesting. I’m seeing her through a new lens. I’m not sure if she tries to hide from everyone or just me. But that piques my curiosity. I have to know. There’s something ... I can’t put my finger on it.

Maybe she’s a secret government agent. Traveling around for soccer games would be the perfect cover.

Like why would she fly all the way to Denver to see someone who wasn’t there? Wouldn’t she tell them she was coming? Who just decides to drop in on someone from three time zones away?

Or two. I don’t remember how far Denver is. The time zone thing always messes me up anyway.

“So, what were you doing on a cattle ranch? How did your flip-flops make out there?”

I glance down at my feet. I couldn’t tell you what I was wearing, but she knew. Interesting. She notices details. That’s one tally for the “Andrew is a secret spy” column.

For the record, flip-flops do not go well on the ranch. I had to borrow a too-small pair of boots while I was there. Jess got a big kick out of that one. She even texted me a picture. I think she’s going to use it to extort money out of me someday. Maybe sell it to The Looking Glass or something.

“I was visiting my sister.”

“So in all honesty, we were both going to visit our siblings,” Andi says. “I wish that could be it. That we didn’t have to make up something else. Why can’t the truth be good enough?”

“Your brother wasn’t in Denver though? What happened there? How did you not know?” I still can’t figure that one out.

“You don’t know where in Wyoming your sister lives. How do you not know?”

Good comeback. Also, she’s answering a question with a question. I’ve seen enough thriller movies to know that’s a classic spy interrogation technique. “She just moved there.”

“Oh, so you’re not from Wyoming? Where are you from?”

Great. We’re going to do this. Cue the sympathy violins. “I grew up in Upstate New York, outside of Albany. But there’s no pro or semi-pro team there, so I started moving around a lot by the time I was in middle school.”

“Where’s the rest of your family?”

Here we go.

“My dad lives in North Jersey. My sister’s in Wyoming now. My mom’s dead.” I like to go for the shock value on that. It keeps people from asking questions I don’t want to talk about. When I put it like that, I get the uncomfortable “I’m sorries” and then people change the subject as quickly as possible.

She doesn’t placate me with pity. “Yeah, it can be tough. My brother has a terminal illness, so he’s been on a death watch his entire life. It’s why I was surprised he wasn’t there. Apparently, his new medication has not only added years to his life, but life to his years. He and his girlfriend are road-tripping.”

That was probably the last thing I expected to hear from Andi Nichols. She’s full of surprises.

“Okay, so we each have a sibling,” I offer. The sooner we find our common ground, the sooner we can figure this out and go.

She drains another drink almost as soon as the waitress puts it down. Good idea. I order another. I’m going to regret this in the morning, and I have no idea how I’m going to get home. If Callaghan gives me shit at practice for being hungover, I’ll put the blame squarely on him—where it belongs. Speaking of which ... “Do you think Hannah and Callaghan are still here? Are they holding us hostage? Are they going to pick up the bill for tonight?”

Andi’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Why would they be picking up the bill? They were doing us a favor, arranging this meeting. I doubted you would come if I’d asked you directly, and we needed to be discreet. We can’t have anyone think we’re sneaking around. That’s why we’re in the room back here.”

Does she not see the irony in this plan? “Isn’t that exactly what we’re doing? There’s no one else in this room but us.”

“No, we need to have a legit plan.” She keeps talking. “So my brother has a genetic disease called Spinal Muscular Atrophy. It’s in the Muscular Dystrophy family. I’m always happy to do something for that. Of course, I’d also be happy to do some sort of fundraiser for women in sports. Those are some causes near and dear to my heart.” Now she takes a long sip from her water. “I just want it to be something important. You know, something that matters.”

I think about a cause near and dear to my own heart; the only thing that matters to me right now. “What about drug addiction? Keeping kids clean and all.”

Andi rolls her eyes, her mask cracking wide open. “Are you kidding me?” she slurs. “That’s so overdone. Plus, when are people going to start taking accountability for themselves? No one makes them do the drungs.” She looks surprised and tries again. “Drungs. Druuuuugs.” She nods triumphantly. “My brother didn’t get a choice about being born with a disease that will kill him. An addict isn’t born one.”

That’s it. I don’t want to listen anymore.

I push my chair away from the table. “This isn’t going to work. I don’t think we’d even be able to agree on anything. And you’re totally wrong about drug addiction. It’s a disease, just like your brother’s. But because of narrow-minded people like you, all it gets is shame. Do you know how hard it is to recover when the world judges you for having a disease?”

I throw a few hundred dollars on the table—even though we never got around to eating—and storm out. I cannot be in the same room with that woman. I’d rather never play soccer again.

And she deserves to lose her career.

Entay chases me out onto the street. Where the hell am I? I try to get my bearings. I’m close to the Zakim Bridge. Where did I park my car? It’s in a garage somewhere. Fuck, I’m too far from home to Uber.

“I can’t drive.”

Entay shakes his head. “No, you can’t. I thought I was going to have to wrestle the keys away from you.”

What? I run my fingers through my hair, scraping it back into a low ponytail. “Fuuuck, you think I’m that bad?”

Even in my whiskey-soaked brain, I know this is bad. If my own team captain thinks I’m horrible enough to drink and drive, then I am truly alone in this fight. No one believes in me.

I see Andi also stumble out, Hannah by her side. I point my finger at her. “This is your fault. And now everyone thinks I’m the scum of the Earth.” I turn my menacing finger on Entay. “I hate you all.”

I start to walk down the street. There’s got to be a hotel around here somewhere. I’m used to not being liked. I don’t need to be liked. I am good at what I do and that’s all that should matter. But somehow—right now—it’s not enough.

“Brandon, wait up!”

I stop. Of the three people I walked away from, she’s the last one I’d expect to chase me down. “What is it, Andrew? Am I going to get another lecture about how addiction is a choice, not a real disease? Any other soapboxes you want to get up on? Or do you just like kicking a man where it hurts?”

She looks stunned at my tirade. Then she blinks and starts speaking, a slight slur edging her words. “We have to come up with something. Don’t you understand? I’m desperate,” she pants. Odd because I’ve seen her run up and down the soccer field and barely break a sweat.

I lean in and sniff the area where her jaw meets her ear. “Oh, I can tell. I can smell it wafting off of you.” Not a particularly kind thing to say, but I’m not feeling in a particularly kind mood.

And it’s a lie. She smells like lavender and citrus.

She puts her hand on my arm, trying to stop me from leaving. “Listen, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choices. The only person who can offer an alternate explanation as to why we were together is you.”

“Have you thought about the truth?”

Andi pulls her hand back as if I were a hot stove. Bitterly she says, “I live in a world where the truth doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is how it’s perceived. And once someone has made up their mind, nothing will change it.”

She walks away, and I’m left standing there on the street for a moment before I hail a cab to take me to the nearest hotel. Her words ricochet in my head, interrupting my sleep.

No one interrupts my sleep.

Certainly not some pain-in-the-ass referee who has it out for me but then puts the salvation of both our careers in our collective hands.

Both our careers.

Fuck, I know she’s right. If my own teammates think I’m the kind of scum who would get behind a wheel drunk, well, that says it all, doesn’t it? I’m a blowhard. I’m a loudmouth. I’m a womanizer. I don’t have an internal filter.

But I’d never take someone’s mom from them. I’d never leave a poor sixteen-year-old kid so wracked with guilt that she becomes an addict. I can’t have the public thinking that of me. I may not be a lot, but I’m not that guy.

Shit, I’m going to have to go along with this stupid plan.