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3 Acadia
From Personal Foul
Rob
“Stop looking at me like that,”Alex snaps.
Mike and I exchange a glance. We haven’t had time for a private huddle, but judging by the concern in his eyes, he’s at least reading the same book even if we’re not on the same page.
We were on the same team for years—longer than most football players can hope to share a locker room with guys who are more like brothers than friends. From pee wee league through college, we’ve always had each other’s backs. On and off the field.
That was then, and this is now.
Mike has a girlfriend he adores, but he hasn’t said a word about ring shopping or pulling off a proposal. He definitely hasn’t mentioned the pregnancy they’re keeping secret for some reason. Alex looks and sounds like a caged animal. He seems exactly the opposite of what anyone would expect from an expecting father who hosted a baby shower at his house this afternoon.
That’s what brought us all together today. We don’t play on the same team anymore. We live as far away from each other as possible in three different parts of the country. We obviously don’t tell each other everything anymore.
“How are we looking at you?” Mike asks, his voice as calm as ever.
“Like you’re trying to pick apart what’s going on in my head,” Alex spits before taking a swig of his expensive Scotch. “I already live with one shrink. I don’t need another questioning my motives.”
Mike nods then sips his drink like he’s actually trying to taste it. “Is Amira questioning your motives?”
I subtly shake my head, trying to get Mike’s attention. This is not the time to head down that road. There’s still an entire living room of baby shower leftovers that we promised to clean up. Not to mention Amira and her parents are inside.
Alex points at him, his expression furious. “Don’t pull that shit in my house. We’re not playing your head games tonight. Save that kink for Tori. It’s weird, but I’ll allow it. If you need your special dildo, I’ll even dig it out of hiding for you.”
Mike’s face doesn’t turn red in embarrassment at the mention of the custom silicone appendage he had made for his girlfriend when they were forced to do a long-distance relationship. He doesn’t even chuckle. Like me, he sees right through Alex’s usual attempt to divert the topic to his default avoidance—sex. “We’re not talking about me and Tori. We’re talking about you and Amira. Before you try to run another route around this conversation, I want to make something crystal clear. Any kinks Tori and I enjoy are none of your business.”
I choke on my water. I want to think about what my friends do in their beds probably as much as my wife does, but this is a clear opening to ask why Mike and Tori aren’t sharing their obvious pregnancy with anyone.
Alex blocks me. “I’d be gagging if I was drinking water after today, too. Would you just fucking have a Scotch with us already? We’re supposed to be celebrating.”
Shit. This is worse than I thought. Alex might have a wild streak, but he’s never been the kind of friend to push me down the wrong path. “I don’t drink anymore. You know that.”
Mike hands me a fresh bottle of water—a silent show of support. “For someone who’s supposedly celebrating, you sure seem pissed off instead of happy.”
“Shut up, Mitchell,” Alex hisses before returning his attention to me. “Is this who you are now? A boring stick in the mud just because you wife’d up and had a kid?”
I don’t get a chance to respond.
Mike’s got the ball. “Is that what’s bothering you? You’re worried about turning into a stick in the mud because you’re about to have a kid? Settling down doesn’t change who you are, Alex. It’s the culmination of who you are.”
Alex’s brow flattens. “Do you even know what culmination means?”
“Hey,” I snap. “Cut that shit out. You asked us to stay in your home even though your current teammates left hours ago. If you want us here instead of them, then you damn well better act like we mean something to you. We’re not your punching bags. Stop beating around the bush and tell us what’s on your mind. We’re not sitting out here with you for drinks and cigars. We’re here for you.”
“Fine.” Alex takes a few puffs of his cigar then turns his back to us, leaning against the marble railing of his sprawling deck.
Yeah, marble. Yeah, sprawling. Everything about his life in the NFL is over-the-top. His mansion, his contract, his stats, his endorsement deals. He’s the face of luxury men’s underwear, but people only see Alex’s nearly naked body because that’s what he wants them to see. Ironically, chiseled muscles are the perfect cover for a broken soul.
No one thinks to dig too deep if they’re blinded by sex.
In this way, he understands my wife’s struggles better than I ever will. Maybe that’s how Evie spotted the obvious. In the middle of extravagant gifts, decorations, and catered tables full of food, she recognized someone trying to pretend everything is fine. Even though it’s not.
Alex turns around, his game face fully in place. If he thinks he’s fooling everyone, I don’t blame him. He sure as shit had me fooled for the past eight months.
“I’m…scared, all right?” he chokes out. “I’ve read all the books; I’ve watched videos; I’ve even joined some stupid new parent support groups online. I don’t know if I can do this.”
