Taking A Risk by Karen Monroe
Will
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I see it clearly because there are no other lights. I move toward it, comforted by the radiance.
“Do you know where you are,” Analise whispers in my ear as she lays a soft blanket with pink hearts over my waist.
“I’m with you. I always want to be with you.”
Soft fingers caress my chest, neck, and face. Her touch feels like heaven. It soothes my aches.
Staring into Analise’s beautiful, stormy eyes, I long for her. “I love you.”
“I love you too, William.”
Bolting upright, I’m momentarily disoriented until my gaze takes in the alarm clock on the nightstand. I blink at the sterile white walls as I shake my head to clear the cobwebs.
I’ve been having the same dream for months; though, I’m not sure it is a dream. I distinctly remember a heart-covered blanket covering me the morning after the game, when I woke up in Analise’s bedroom.
Doc Vinson had told me losing time—or anterograde amnesia, as he called it—was common after a concussion. He said my memories might return, but likely I would never remember everything that happened. Of course, he’d been pissed I hadn’t been honest with him, but he’d ran a few tests for safety’s sake and kept my visit private after I promised to never lie during a concussion protocol again. I had promised, and even though Doc Vinson didn’t believe me, I planned on keeping my word. I wanted a life after football.
I wanted a life with Analise.
Since there’s no way I’m going back to sleep, I rise to my feet and pad barefoot to the ensuite hotel bathroom. I throw off my shirt and boxers, then head into the overly large shower stall. The hot spray soaks my body, making me feel halfway normal.
I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in months. Every night Analise invades my mind with the feel of her lips, the softness of her hair, or the tightness of her slick pussy as it clenches my cock. It’s maddening, and if it were only dreams, I could cope. But I think about her endlessly when I’m not asleep. I’d recall the endless conversations we had while shelving books. Or I’d remember her favorite movies and television shows. I’d think about her running in the rain because she liked to feel the wetness on her skin. Then I would wonder if she was crying at one of those sappy ASPCA commercials.
There was no escape. My thoughts were consumed with Analise.
“I love you.”
My heart beats faster as those three paltry words echo through my mind. In my dreams we said them to each other. It felt right—true, and as I stare at my reflection in the lighted vanity mirror, I acknowledge what I’ve been denying for too long.
I need Analise.
I want her.
I don’t feel whole without her.
If that’s not love, I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.
I probably should be freaking the fuck out with my epiphany, especially knowing what sort of challenges are coming, but I’m surprisingly calm.
Grabbing a large, fluffy towel from the hook hanging on the back of the bathroom door, I dry off and head back to the living area of my luxurious suite. I’m at the JM Marriott in downtown Indianapolis for the NFL Combine.
After we won the championship, the combine had been the next thing on my radar. I dropped out of college, got an agent, a manager, and an athletic training program in the brief span of two weeks. I went with the agent representing my roommate, Griffin Mackenzie.
Stewart Collum came highly recommended, and he’d been ready to go from day one. He set me up with a training program to help me prepare for the NFL combine and draft. I’d attended AAA Performance Academy in San Diego, CA., where I stayed in a spacious townhouse with three other guys who were also likely draft picks. It was like being a freshman again. There were shaving cream hijinks and pranks, but I dealt with it as best I could.
I had three months to train for the biggest job interview of my life, and after the brutal beating my body had taken during the collegiate season, I needed all the help I could get.
AAA Performance provided extensive physical conditioning, meal preparations, mental evaluations, and media training. I’d also taken a practice Wonderlic Personnel Test, which was the standard twelve-minute, 50-questionnaire exam used to measure cognitive ability in the NFL.
There were millions of dollars on the line. I took it seriously, but I was still desperate to speak with Analise. The need to see her had grown like a cancer, but no matter how many texts or voicemails I left, she never answered back. Eventually, she blocked my number entirely. I didn’t blame her.
Unerringly, I remembered our last conversation.
We’re walking to her car after her shift at the library. I’m leaving tomorrow for our first playoff game in Arizona. Instead of beating about the bush, I decide to just rip the band-aid off completely.
“With the playoffs starting, we won’t be able to spend any more time together.”
When she stays quiet, I venture a look in her direction. “You have nothing to say?”
She snorts. “No. We always knew this was a temporary thing, William.”
I notice she calls me by my full name when she’s being serious, or she’s pissed at me. “I hope we can still be friends.”
“Sure thing,” she mutters.
“If you’re upset, I’d rather you just tell me, instead of acting like you don’t care.”
Analise turns toward me suddenly. “Why? You want me to cry and scream.Get over yourself.”
My eyes flare with irritation. “Okay! You’re not angry. Great.”
Her lips twist in a smirk. “Nope. I’m not.”
She turns back around, racing toward the parking structure. I lengthen my strides to keep up with her pace.
“You don’t need to walk me to my car.”
My head shakes as I huff. “I thought you weren’t angry.”
“I’m not, but I don’t need you to walk me to my car, William. I never did.”
“Now you’re just being unreasonable.”
Analise throws a hand in the air. “Whatever! Do what you want.”
She doesn’t say another word after that. When we reach her car, I’m fighting the urge to stop her from leaving.
“Don’t go.” I hadn’t realized I said the words aloud until she responded.
“I’m giving you what you want, William. Take care.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her this wasn’t what I wanted, but that wouldn’t have been the truth…
I watched her drive away, thinking it was what I needed. Instead of confronting my feelings, I denied them to myself and Analise. It’s no wonder my subconscious won’t let me rest.
Sighing, I sit on my bed and run a weary hand through my wet hair. Tomorrow, I’ll be testing my mettle against hundreds of other participants showcasing their talent for a spot on an NFL roster.
Most of my life has been in pursuit of this dream. Once I’d been introduced to the game, it became a passion. I was intelligent—book smart—but I liked to get rough and dirty on the gridiron. Football suited my nature. I loved playing. I loved being a part of a team. Now it was my time to shine.
With the draft approaching, I don’t have a lot of time on my hands. My agent keeps insisting I’m a lock for the first round, but my stock isn’t as high as some others. My manager set me up on a media tour of all the major sports networks after the combine, but I begged him to book my first interview with the Tiger’s local sports reporter, Tim Taggert.
My first stop after the combine is South Carolina. I’m going to get my girl back.
* * *
Analise
For the firsttime in recent memory, I have a rare day off. My manager, Jorge, over staffed the morning shift, and Tildee convinced me to take the day off.
The house is quiet. Both Shelby and Nate are at school.
Yawning, I lean back against my pillows and turn on the TV. I’m flipping through the channels, hoping to come across a Modern Family or Supernatural rerun, when a familiar face makes my finger pause.
There he is—William Gilmore—on my television screen, looking just like I remembered.
Over the past months, I steadfastly refused to think about him. After my parent’s death, I became an expert at compartmentalizing. I put all my thoughts about William inside a mental box marked “Do Not Touch.” Shelby, Nate, and Tildee used to bring him up all the time, but I always found a reason to change the subject or leave the room. After a while, they stopped bringing him up.
Seeing him now brings forth a wave of emotions I’ve been trying to suppress. I should change the channel, but the sound of his voice has me immobilized.
“Thanks for having me, Tim. It’s great to be back home.
“William, you had a stellar combine. How did you manage the pressure?”
“I was well prepared. I spent a couple of months in San Diego at the AAA Academy. They have a great prep program for the combine.”
“You’re projected to go in the first round. Any thoughts on where you might end up?”
“None at all. I’m just hoping I’m drafted. There’s a lot of outstanding talent out there.”
“C’mon, Will, you’re a winner of the Chuck Bednarik Award and the Bronko Trophy. You know you’re going to be drafted!”
“Like I said, Tim, the competition is tough.”
“65 tackles. 9 sacks. Those are impressive stats for a D-end. Are you worried about maintaining that level of performance in the NFL?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, but I wouldn’t say I was worried. I’ve had the privilege to talk to a lot of current and former NFL players, so I kind of have an idea of what’s in store for me.”
“Your roommate in college was Griffin Mackenzie. Have you spoken to him recently?”
“Yeah, he sent me a couple of texts when I got back in town.”
“If you speak to him, remind him he has an interview with me next week, which of course will air on the local network in your area. But I digress, you two have the same agent, any chance you might play for the same team in the NFL?”
“If that happens, I’ll be elated. Griff’s a great teammate and quarterback.
“Okay, okay. There’s only so much deflection I can take. Let’s go back for a bit for a minute. Anything about college you’re going to miss?
“Of course. I’ll miss my friends, teammates, and coaches. That’s a given.”
“You’ve always been a contributor, but during the last couple of seasons you really upped your game. You became a leader on the field and off. What advice would you give the younger players who are watching but aren’t declaring for the draft this year?”
“You know, Tim, one of my favorite movies is Galaxy Quest. Their motto is: Never Give Up, Never Surrender!”
“Good answer! My last question. Any regrets? Any college games you wish you could replay? Anything you wish you did differently?”
“I left everything on the field, but… there is one thing I wish I did differently, but I’m not about to talk about it on TV.”
“Alright, folks! I tried my best, but this guy is like a cipher. William Gilmore, I wish you the best of luck in the NFL. Don’t forget about us in Tiger country. We’ll be rooting for you.”
“Never, Tim. I’ll always be a Tiger.”
“Okay. We’re going to a commercial break to pay the bills but stay tuned. We have another interview with standout wide receiver Kelly Carter coming up.”
An annoying Geico commercial starts, and I change the channel. I keep flipping, but after a while turn it off. That wasn’t the first time I’ve seen William on TV since we parted. During the college playoffs he’d been interviewed a lot, and Shelby and Nate had a nasty habit of sticking their phones in my face to show me his clips and highlights. I learned to deal by pretending I wasn’t affected. It was too easy to get caught up in despair, so I refused to go there.
Resolved, I toss off my comforter and trudge toward the hallway bathroom. A hot shower makes me feel more like myself. Then I throw on an old pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt. I’m not going anywhere. Comfort is my only thought.
My stomach growls, reminding me I need to eat. I wish I had a McDonald’s Egg McMuffin and hash brown, but I’m housebound and too lazy to drive to the nearest Micky D’s. There’s some cereal in the cabinets, but I don’t want sweetened oats for breakfast.
Don’t think about William.
Don’t think about William.
Don’t think about William.
Deciding on Eggos, eggs, and bacon, I open the bottom freezer and pull out two round shaped waffles from a Ziploc bag. I have a routine. I prefer my frozen waffles toasted and I use a countertop griddle for the bacon and eggs; then I heat some butter and syrup in the microwave. When I’m done, I arrange it on my plate like a nice balanced meal.
Sighing, I sit at the empty kitchen table. Without my sister and brother, the house is bereft. I should be glad for the solitude, but I don’t like the feeling and grab my plate and flatware, heading for my bedroom. I’d rather the noise from the television than my own miserable company; yet before I can take four steps, the doorbell rings.
“Shit.”
It’s probably some salesperson hawking a scam. I’m not in the mood, but if I ignore them, they’ll be back like the Terminator. It’s better to get rid of them now.
Using my free hand, I wrench the handle until the door opens. I’m prepared with my spiel, but the person in front of me makes my jaw slack, then my plate falls to the floor.
“I-I just saw you… on TV,” I stammer.
William flicks his eyes at my lost Eggo meal, then back at me. “I love you.”
My eyes narrow as I glare at him. “Thanks for stopping by.”
I try to shut the door, but his enormous foot and my former breakfast are in the way.
Refusing to budge, he stares down at me, his dark gaze implacable “I think you love me too.”
“You-you remember me saying that?”
Flinching, he looks away. “No. But I’d give anything to hear you say it again.”
My head shakes in wonder as I glare up at him. “What do you think is going to happen here? You show up on my doorstep after three months, tell me you love me, and we’re supposed to go back to… what? Or were you expecting us to ride off into the sunset together? Seriously, go away, William!”
He moves closer until one of his large hands cradles my face. “I love you, Analise Fiona Pruitt.”
My gaze drops to the floor. I can’t look at him anymore. “I need to clean this up.”
“It can wait. Look at me.” When I shake my head, he lifts my chin, forcing my gaze. “I love you.”
Christ Almighty.“Just because you keep saying it doesn’t mean it changes anything. News flash! Love isn’t a cure all.”
I try again to shut the door. But he’s bigger, stronger, and… unrelenting.
“Do you love me?” When I look away from his piercing gaze, he takes another small step forward. “You’ve said it before. Why not say it again?”
I snort, glaring at him. “You don’t even remember me saying it the first time!”
“But I dream about you saying it every night. Every night. I may not remember, but I know what I feel. All I’m asking is if you feel the same?”
I toss my hands up. He’s making me crazy. “What does it matter? It’s not going to change anything.”
“It changes everything!”
Old Lady Beetle is on her lawn looking over the wired fence that separates the yards. She’s pretending to water her plants, but she hasn’t moved in the past thirty seconds. I need to end this before she calls the cops.
“Okay, I love you,” I admit, “But I have responsibilities and so do you. So… whatever this—” I wave my hand in between the space separating us, “—is? It’s not going anywhere.”
William tilts to the side. “How do you know?
“What?”
“How do you know it won’t go anywhere? Are you psychic?”
I’ve had enough of this. “Go away. I’m not going to ask again.”
He smirks, then pushes past me to step over the threshold. His large shoes crush the flatware beneath his feet. I’ll have even more of a mess to clean up later.
“I’m not going away until you tell me why you think it won’t work between us.”
My head shakes. I’m hangry and in no shape for a confrontation. “I have two kids to raise until the age of eighteen and beyond. You need to take care of your whole damn family. You’re smart. Figure it the fuck out!”
Will chuckles like he expected me to say that. “You’re right. I am smart, and you know what I realized?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before plowing ahead. “If we want this to work, it can. It’s just that simple. There’ll be issues, but we can make it work.”
“You sound like a fucking infomercial,” I mutter.
“Tell me you love me, then we can talk about the rest.”
He’s like a dog with a bone. “Okay, I love you, but I already told you—”
William places a finger on my lips, silencing me as he closes the distance between us. “Listen to me. I love you, too. That’s all that matters. We can work out the other shit later.”
Mrs. Beetle has now moved on to the sidewalk. The woman has no shame.
I jerk my head away from his touch. It’s distracting. “How? How will we work it out?”
“Because… we love each other. That’s how we’re going to work it out.”
I open my mouth to protest, but as usual he’s faster, sealing his mouth to mine. Our tongues meld in a familiar dance. It’s been so long since I’ve felt his skin against mine. I’m helpless to resist. When he pulls away, I try to reconnect, but he straightens until he towers above me.
“I’m going to help you clean up this mess, then we’re going to talk.”
After three months with no contact, I’m dumbfounded by his sudden appearance. Granted, I ignored his many texts, voicemails, and calls, but he was acting like nothing had happened. “This is crazy. You can’t just storm back into my life.”
Will has never used his size against me. He’s always been cautious about the differential height and weight between us, but he’s taking full advantage now, crowding my space.
“But that’s what I’m doing. I’m not letting you go, Analise. Deal with it.”
He lifts me off my feet like I weigh nothing at all. I can’t get away. He’s totally in control.
“You still keep the supplies in the big cabinet?”
My head nods, but my lips stay sealed. He smells delicious and the guards around my mental box falter. Memories of being in his arms flash through my mind. I shake my head to dislodge the images, forcing myself to stay in the moment.
He walks us to the small pantry where I keep most of the cleaning products, then he transfers me to one arm like he’s hauling groceries instead of a person.
“Put me down,” I insist.
He shakes his head and grabs a broom, a dustpan, and a few empty plastic bags. “No, you don’t have any shoes on. You might cut yourself.”
“I’m not a moron.”
“Never said you were. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I point out a pair of slides near the backdoor. I use them when I’m watering the lawn. “There are my shoes. Put me down… please.”
He exhales loudly, and for a second, I think he’s going to say no again, but he walks us to the nearest counter, sitting me on top. The cold tile makes me straighten and look down at my holey jeans and tee shirt. Why couldn’t I be one of those glamorous women who always looked like a million bucks?
Because I’m poor and don’t have that sort of money.
My head falls forward, and my hair obscures my vision. I’m still stunned William is here in my house. “Why did you come back?”