Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton

 

 

Eighteen

 

Britney

 

I never thought I could feel for someone the way I feel about Becket. He’s one of those people who fly under the radar, then suddenly there they are, entwined in every part of you in such a way that you forget how to live without them. I always thought he would be hard to love, but I was wrong. He’s impossible to hate.

Jess has well and truly embraced the art of me working remotely. She’s using it as an opportunity to send all the crap jobs my way, knowing there isn’t a thing I can do about it. Not if I want to stay here with Becket.

Sometime soon I need to leave. Then what?

A message flashes up on my phone and I open it before she can bombard me with any more.

 

Jess: I’m all for seeing how this love story is going to pan out, but at some point, you need to return to New York. People are asking questions and I can’t put it off any longer. This is your boss speaking now, not your best friend.

 

I sigh, thinking about how to reply.

 

Me: I know.

Jess: That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?

Me: There’s nothing else to say. I know I need to come back.

Jess: You could at least pretend to be excited about it.

Me: We kissed … again.

Jess: Forgive me for not being surprised. Without even meeting the guy I can tell the two of you have chemistry.

Me: How? I’ve barely mentioned him.

Jess: The fact that you mentioned him at all was enough, B. You never talk about guys, like ever.

Me: I’m working with him of course I’m going to mention him.

Jess: You’re also working with Six Seconds to Barcelona, one of the biggest rock bands in the world, but you don’t name-drop them as much as you name-drop Becket.

Me: Hmm.

Jess: So, here’s the big question: How hard are you falling?

Me: I’m at risk of breaking every bone in my body.

Jess: Basically, you’re screwed.

Me: Well and truly.

Jess: I hate to break it to you, but we need you back by the end of next week at the latest. There’s a big awards ceremony we need you to attend, so I’m officially putting an end to this little hiatus you’ve been on.

Me: Great. What do I do about Becket?

Jess: Christ, B. We’re not in the dark ages. We have these little objects called cell phones that people use to stay in touch. You’ve found it easy enough being away from me for two months and we all know even if Becket takes your V-card, I will always be your number one love.

Me: Hoes over bro’s.

Jess: Amen. Why don’t you invite him to New York? With his injury, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

Me: Easier said than done.

Jess: Why?

Me: He hates the place. Like literally despises it. I’ll be lucky if I can get him on a plane, let alone to New York—not a chance.

Jess: What could he possibly hate about New York?

Me: I don’t know. When we first met, I thought it was simply because he’d broken up with his girlfriend there. But now I think there’s more to it.

Jess: Well, there is a certain article you’re meant to be writing, and might I add, have yet to send me a draft of—it’s the perfect excuse to do a bit of digging.

Me: Leave it with me.

Jess: I will. But one thing I’m not leaving with you: booking your flight. Sorry, B. Times up. It’s time to come home.

 

I stare at the screen, eyes glazed, digesting what Jess has just said. It’s time to go back. When I first arrived in Jacksonville, I would have happily turned straight back around and hopped on a plane back to New York. Now … I can’t think of anything worse. The hardest part isn’t that I have to go back, it’s that I have to provide Becket with a choice. Am I worth following, despite whatever issues he has with the place? The strong possibility of him giving me an outright ‘no’ is why we haven’t broached the subject yet. It’s the big fat elephant in the room. We both know it’s there. We’re just choosing to ignore it.

I shut my laptop down, predicting not much work will be done after the conversation. I don’t have any other choice than to bite the bullet and get it over and done with. There’s no point in putting off the inevitable.

At first there’s no answer when I knock on his bedroom door. For the love of God, I hope he hasn’t tried to attempt the bathroom on his own again. I knock loudly and lean in closer so I can hear better.

His gruff voice filters through the door, “Come in.”

He’s pulling his headphones out when I walk in, which explains the delayed response.

“We need to talk.”

“I gathered,” he replies.

My eyes trail to his chest, he doesn’t have a shirt on. The reason I’m in here, making life difficult for myself, becomes unclear. All I want to do is climb on the bed with him and forget about everything, forget about New York.

“I have to go back …”

“Ok?”

My stomach drops. That’s it? After the other night, and the things I shared with him that I’ve never shared with anyone apart from Jess, all he can say is okay? Maybe I’ve misinterpreted this situation, made him out in my head to be something he’s not. The Becket I’m staring at right now is not the same Becket I revealed my darkest secrets to. He’s not the same guy who held me and made me feel like I could move on from the past and be a better, stronger person. The way he’s looking at me right now—it’s like he couldn’t give a crap.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” I ask, completely stumped.

“I don’t know what you want me to say …”

“Why are you shutting me out? What’s in New York that’s so bad?”

He frowns and looks down.

Please, give me anything. Something more than this.

When he looks up, his eyes are cold. “I don’t know what you want from me, Brit.”

“What the hell?” my voice gets louder with each word I speak. I’m so pissed with him right now. “After the other night, that’s all you can say? You practically dragged my past out of me, and now, all I want is a few days in New York with you, and you’re pushing me away?”

“I can’t go back to New York. I won’t.”

He’s unbelievable. I’ve been here for months and what do I have to show for it? Absolutely nothing. The words black coffee on my notepad and a pathetic attempt at a first draft. This was his plan all along—that’s what I want to believe, but I don’t. I know him and I know us. The other night was as real as it gets. Everything I felt, he felt too, I know it. I can’t give up, not yet. “I’m leaving, Becket. I know there’s something more to this whole New York story than what you’re telling me. Jess is booking the flights. Please, come with me?”

“I can’t go to New York, Brit. Please don’t push this.” He looks back up at me and, in his eyes, there is nothing.

We’re right back to where we started.

 

***

 

Becket

 

Last night was a disaster of epic proportions. I couldn’t have handled the situation worse if I’d tried. And now, Britney hates me. There’s a strong possibility she won’t write the article. I’ve messed up, big time.

I’m sitting in my wheelchair in Coach Langford’s office, waiting for him to arrive. He called earlier, demanding I drag my sorry ass in. When I tried to put up a fight, claiming I wasn’t up to it, he wouldn’t hear of it, texting:

 

A lovers’ tiff with the blonde residing in your home is not a valid excuse to not come to this meeting, Becket. Three PM. Do not be late.

 

Nothing gets past him.

So here I am.

A bleep comes from the door. A sign that the security code has been entered into the keypad. The door opens and in walks Coach Langford.

His eyes roam over my face and bluntly, he says, “What bit you in the ass?”

“Britney.”

His eyebrows raise.

I rectify my mistake. “Not literally.”

“Hmm.”

He sees her as a distraction. He’s not wrong, he never is. She’s all I can think about. Years I’ve spent dwelling over my past. Now my mind has been taken over by her. I’m not sure which is worse. Both serve as a reminder of things I can never have.

He walks behind his desk, pulls out his chair and takes his sweet time getting settled. He’s doing it on purpose, and I huff impatiently.

“Why am I here, Coach?”

He grunts. “You did it, son.”

“Did what?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

I wrack my brain but come up trumps. “Not a clue what you’re talking about, Coach.”

“Damn players. You’re aging me beyond my years. The award, Becket.”

I stare at him vacantly.

“I guess I’m going to have to spell it out for you. You won the award with Sports Elite, the biggest sports magazine in the country.”

I blink, still none the wiser. “What award?”

“Damn it, Becket. Maybe we should put you up for idiot of the year?”

“Bit harsh, Coach.”

“You won Sports Personality of the year!” he explains, exasperated. “Although I’m beginning to wonder if they got you mixed up with someone else.”

I vaguely recall him mentioning my name being submitted for it. It was meant to be a chance to get back in the NFL’s good books, but I never thought I’d win. Especially not in the personality category, everyone knows it’s not my strong suit.

I sit wide-eyed, digesting what he’s just told me. “Wow.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“I think I’m in shock. This is good right?”

His face softens and he smiles. “This is the break we’ve been waiting for. The NFL might finally stop following your every move and looking for a reason to push you out. Along with the article Britney’s writing, it’s a done deal, you’re finally out of the woods.”

Damn it. Here we go. His good mood is about to turn sour. “About the article …”

He rolls his eyes. “What did you do?”

“We may have hit a roadblock.”

“Well back up and drive in another direction. We’ve spent months trying to put that night to bed and I’m not about to let our hard work come undone because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”

“I haven’t slept with her,” I reply through clenched teeth. I don’t add how much I wish I could change that fact. Somehow, I don’t think he’d be pleased if he knew how my head is well and truly in the gutter when it comes to Britney Shaw.

He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. “Right.”

“I swear. We may not see eye to eye on a few things that’s all.”

“That’s because you’re as agreeable as my mother-in-law.”

This conversation isn’t going great, and now he’s likening me to his mother-in-law? No way. I met her once, never again. “Can we get back to the awards?” I say trying to change the subject.

He narrows his eyes. He’s not done berating me about the article, but he knows better than to get me fired up. “Fine. But you need to clear up the Britney situation ASAP. I’ll be checking up on it. Anyway, the awards are next week, so start getting your speech ready.”

“So soon? I’m assuming they’re in Florida?”

He’s lost complete interest in the conversation, his attention focused on some paperwork on his desk. He doesn’t even look up when he replies, “Nope. New York.”

“No chance.”

That grabs his attention. “Excuse me?”

I shake my head defiantly. “I’m not going.”

He of all people should know that this was always going to be a no. He knows why—he’s one of two people who know the truth about my past. Bad shit happens when I’m in New York. I can’t go back there.

He leans back in his chair and sighs, clasping his hands together. “You don’t have a choice, son.”

“I do and my choice is no.”

Looking to the ceiling, he mutters under his breath, “Lord help me. These players are going to be the end of me.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic.”

“Which part is dramatic, Becket? The part where I watched a video of you motorboating the NFL commissioner’s daughter or how about when I watched you being carted off the field, virtually in a coma, with possibly one of the worst sporting injuries you could have obtained. Oh no, wait, the porn video aired to everyone including the President of the United frickin’ States. That was a really good one. So, tell me again I’m being dramatic and this isn’t a really big deal.”

“I messed up,” I reply quietly.

“Messed up would be burning toast or forgetting your gear for practice. This … was colossal. Do you know what it took for me and Shauna to sweep this under the rug?”

I look away, focusing on the awards and trophies presented proudly on his wall. I should have known he was going to pull the guilt card.

“Don’t look away, you know I’m right. I’ve worked with you for years, watched you grow, and the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed was the way you almost threw your career away … because of a girl. No, actually, there was something worse—when I found out about your past and how you put them at risk, all because of a blonde. If you don’t do this and detract the attention away from that scandal, people will come searching Becket, mark my words. Secrets don’t stay buried for long. You know that better than anyone.”

“It was out of my control …”

“That might be so, but you know what is in your control? What you do next. If you care about your career and you care about them, then you will get your ass on a plane to New York.”

He doesn’t need to dismiss me. I know the conversation is over.

Before I go to leave, he says, “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take Britney Shaw with you, and don’t bring her back!”

 

***

 

It’s been three days since Britney’s spoken to me. Pretty impressive considering we technically live together. Even when she’s around, helping, she doesn’t say a word. She’s proving to be as stubborn as I am, and that’s saying something.

“Michael Becket?” calls out a voice, from the side of the waiting room.

I look up, beaming, ready for what I hope is about to come next. I know what I need to do to win Britney over. But first I have something more important to deal with.