Worlds Collide (Fan Service #6)

14. Wolf

FOURTEEN

WOLF

I send yet another phone call from Birdie to voicemail. Three calls in less than two minutes, is he for real? He’s supposed to be watching his husband decimate Houston’s offense for fuck’s sake.

A minute later my phone vibrates again but this time just once.

“Boy, you sure are popular tonight,” Clive says.

I roll my eyes in annoyance. “I know,” I grumble. Then I check the message and it’s a minute and a half long voice note from Hawk. I hit play without thinking twice about it being on speakerphone.

“So, I know you’re going to jump to conclusions but before you do that, don’t, okay? Just hear me out,” he speaks quickly. “I asked CJ to come to the game with me because you know I’m scared of all the wives and girlfriends, and I just needed someone with me, okay? And also, I like him. And also, I know he’s a good guy.

“I also know you might be mad at him? But I don’t know, since you didn’t want to talk about it the other day, and I respected that. I still respect that. And before you lose your shit, I’m going to point out that the second he was about to start a conversation about you I shut it down and told him he could never bitch about you in front of me, okay?

“You know, bros before hos or something. Though we both know CJ isn’t a ho. Whatever.” I look to my left and see Clive’s eyes big as saucers, focused on my phone. Yeah, my brother can pack a lot into a minute of talking. “What I meant to say—or ask, I guess—and why I wanted you to pick up the phone so I can talk to you, is CJ kind of just lost his job because of the pictures and the article and he’s really having a hard time, so I told him maybe he could come stay at the ranch.

“You know, at one of the guest houses. You never have to see him if you don’t want to, and he said if you say it’s okay he’ll stay clear of you and he would really love to stay at the ranch, so what do you say?”

The sudden silence after all those words is startling, especially because I’m actually speechless. What the hell is wrong with my brother?

I actually know what’s wrong with him. He’s a selfish little prick.

“That boy can talk, huh,” Clive says, like that’s all he focused on about the whole thing.

“Don’t play stupid, Clive.”

“I was only doin’ it for your benefit, boy. Now if you wanna talk about it, then I got two listenin’ ears.”

“Shut up and watch your games,” I grumble at him, and he actually guffaws at me but does focus on the screens again.

CJ lost his job? That’s insane—no, that’s fucking illegal, isn’t it?

He didn’t do anything wro?—

FUCK! I scream internally while glaring at the TVs.

Wolf

Fine.

That’s all I write back, and it’s definitely all I’ll say on the subject.

“He’s manipulating me!” I scream and stand to pace in front of the recliners. “All that rambling and, oh Wolfie, I defended your honor , and in the end he’s not fucking respecting me at all. He knows damn well there’s no way I’d want this.”

“How would he know that?” Clive asks, way too calmly, and when I turn to look at him, he’s practically hanging off the side of his recliner trying to see the TVs.

I groan and walk to the back of the chairs to keep pacing.

“Hawk knows me. He didn’t even have to listen to what actually happened between CJ and me, he just knew I was mad at him.”

“Why were you mad at him?”

“Because I believed he was the one who arranged for someone to take pictures of us in the hotel.”

All the screens pause at the same time and Clive lets out a big sigh.

“All right,” he says and groans when he gets up from his chair. “You need to stop your moanin’ and bitchin’ and pull yourself together, boy.” He slaps his hands on his hips and looks at me like I’m an alien.

“What are you talking about?” I ask in a quiet growl.

“I’m saying you need to apologize to poor CJ. The boy’s been through enough and now he’s been fired from the job he’s been working damn near all his life for?” He throws his hands up and doesn’t lower them until it hits me. “Exactly. Now, you can be mad at your brother—the boy shouldn’t have invited CJ to your place— and it might be too late right now, but you don’t take out your issues on CJ, you get me?”

“Yeah, I get you,” I mumble.

“Good. Now, can we get back to watching football, please?”

“Sure.”

“You know, my son and daughter-in-law are flying down tomorrow. They’re gonna spend the week here and they love CJ like he’s their own, so he probably won’t even spend that much time over at your place,” Clive tells me a few minutes later.

He’s clearly trying to make me feel better, and in a way he achieves that, but the fact is there’s no way I can avoid CJ for more than a few days. It’s a big ranch, but still...

I’ll just have to find a way to give him his space. Actually, I could finally work on getting all the boxes unpacked and start setting up the studio in the attic.

Yeah, that should take me a long time. Maybe long enough that I’ll only finish once CJ is gone.

The next four days I stay mostly inside. Like I promised myself I would, I unpack every single box and I find a place for everything.

I also go to town once to attend a meeting, and then hang out with Linda at the diner where I can bitch about my brother freely—unlike with Clive.

Thursday afternoon, Rich comes into my place with two bags full of frames that I asked him to go pick up for me, and he does me a solid by mentioning what he’s heard through the grapevine—a.k.a. from Tate .

“CJ’s going to the city with the Darnell’s tomorrow because Mrs. Darnell is doing a surgery in CJ’s old hospital.”

“Weird,” I mumble. Who goes to the place where they just got fired from a week ago? Then again, what the hell do I know? I’ve never had a normal job.

“So maybe you should think about...” Rich hesitates and gives me his seriously judgy up and down look with his nose scrunched up. “I don’t know, going outside?”

“Okay, asshole, message received.”

“Good.” He nods once. “Need anything else today?”

“Nope. Thanks for picking these up, I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waves a hand at me as he walks to the back door. There’s a path there that leads to his and Tate’s house. “Let me know if you want to go out tomorrow.”

I give him my usual grunt in answer and then get to work on putting pictures in the frames and finding spots for them.

It’s true that I do need to spend some time under the sun, and as I discovered shortly after rehab, playing tennis is the best way to do that. I started out with an instructor to get the hang of it, but soon enough I was going to the court by myself and playing against the machine, which I liked way better.

So I’ll go down to the court and spend my day there, maybe even pack a big lunch too.

Derek came by today to say goodbye since he has an away game this Sunday, in Florida no less, so I’m hoping the whole place will be extra quiet tomorrow. I don’t know what Hawk will be doing all weekend, but I’m not in any hurry to find out.

I’m still pissed at him for inviting CJ to stay over in the first place.

The day is perfect to spend outside. It’s just a little bit cloudy, the perfect amount of wind to make each hit to the ball just a little bit more interesting, and the quiet all around me is only broken by the whirl of my tennis ball machine.

I eat the two club sandwiches I prepared this morning at noon, and wash them down with a whole bottle of water, then jump right back into it.

I love it.

The strain on my muscles, the frustration when I can’t place the ball in the exact spot where I want it, and the triumph when I make a perfect hit.

The way I’m set up right now thanks to my birthday gifts, I feel like I could play forever, and the best part is, I get to only think about hitting the ball over and over.

That is until the machine runs out and I have to pick up all the balls and put them back in, but it’s still the absolute perfect day.

Now that I think about it, I wish I hadn’t scheduled my check-up for those days and had spent my birthday doing this instead.

But then Derek and Hawk would’ve probably come down here and made me hang out with them, which would’ve defeated the whole purpose.

I also wouldn’t have fucked everything up the way I did with CJ.

Or found out what being with him is like, which is something I had been wondering about for way too long.

In any case, what happened happened, and as soon as CJ finds another hospital where he can work, he’ll be out of here and maybe out of California all together. Everything will go back to normal then.

Why does that not make me happy?

It should. It would literally solve all my problems .

It’s five in the afternoon when I dump all the balls into the machine again. I move the machine to a different position so I can practice my forehand, and then nod at it for some strange reason. It’s going to be the last batch of the day because soon enough there won’t be any light out, and I haven’t installed any headlights around the court—something to add to my to-do list.

There was no need, I think, as I walk around the net to get back into place. I crouch into position so I’ll have to run to reach the ball after it bounces, then make sure the machine’s little control is secure in my left wrist band. I click the button to get a ten ball set and release all the air in my lungs before lunging.

I count my breaths in my head, doing what I can to make my response to the ball as instinctual as possible. I want to be able to do this without thinking.

I jog lightly back to the starting position once the set is done, and before I can start another cycle of balls, I hear clapping.

My butt almost ends up on the cement from how fast I spin around, but I manage to stay upright even after I see CJ just outside the fence of the court.

Fuck, he looks good. Not like he belongs at a ranch or on a tennis court, but damn good nevertheless. In gray slacks and a button down that’s wrinkled in a way that says it’s been a long workday, his dark blond hair is messy, and he has a day-old stubble covering his cheeks.

How can I be expected to speak or react in any way when I’m surprised by that view?

“Your brother told me you just started playing in January, but you’re pretty good already.” There’s a slight teasing tone, so I don’t take his words as a challenge. And the actual compliment helps me get over the fact that he’s been talking to my brother .

I swallow hard and know that I have to take this moment to apologize. I have to.

If CJ finds a new job and moves away I may actually never see him again, so yeah. I wipe my left hand on my shorts then grab my racket with that one and repeat the process with my right hand. I don’t know why I do it, but I feel like I need to.

How do I even say it? What am I supposed to apologize for? Besides blaming him for the pictures of course. And saying all that shit...

Okay, so I should definitely say that . But afterward?

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly before I chicken out. Then I clear my throat and look down. Looking at CJ feels like a kind of reward, and I don’t deserve it. “I’m really sorry for jumping to conclusions. And that my first thought was that you’d sold me out. I’m also sorry for everything I said, and...” I take a deep breath and look into his eyes. “I promise to hear you out and be reasonable in the future.”

CJ stays completely still for a long second, and his face remains stoic, but then he lets loose that infuriating smirk of his and he opens the door in the fence to step onto the court.

“I mean, the likelihood of the same thing happening again isn’t that good, is it?” I snort despite myself and look away with a shake of my head. There’s a beat of silence and then it’s him clearing his throat. I look up from under my lashes. “Thank you for apologizing.” I shrug, and grab my racket with both hands, not knowing what else I’m supposed to do or say now. “So you play tennis,” he says in a lighter tone.

He’s trying to make conversation, I understand that at least, and since he already knows I’m sober I can easily add something to that obvious statement.

“I started after rehab. My therapist recommended I pick up a hobby and my physical therapist said tennis wouldn’t be too bad for my leg.”

“What happened to your leg?” he asks and I see a deep frown when I look at him properly.

“I broke my left ankle and femur.” It may sound a bit short, but I’m not super comfortable talking about this and answering all the questions...

“Oh, my God. How did you do that?” He takes one step forward like he’s going to check me over right now and I cringe a little at the genuine concern in his voice.

“I’m fine now,” I grumble. “I fell down the stairs...” I trail off. CJ opens and closes his mouth a few times, so my stupid mouth gets away from me. “They were glass stairs, and I somehow broke them.” I can actually feel every muscle in my body tensing. My shoulders are basically touching my ears. “So I fell to the floor and broke my left leg, and my left hand got all kinds of fucked up.”

I raise it between us and turn it so he can see all the scars.

“Two surgeries to get all the tiny pieces of glass out, but I can still play the guitar, so?—”

“That’s insane,” he says like it’s not exactly a bad insane. I frown when he takes the remaining two steps separating us and grabs my hand to inspect all the tiny scars.

I’m uncomfortable.

No, I’m actually beyond comfortable with CJ touching my hand, but that’s not the issue. It’s him knowing what a fucking mess I used to be and examining the fucking evidence that I’m not happy about.

“And you perfected your fine mobility in less than a year? There had to have been some nerve damage, right?” I open my mouth to answer but realize he’s not really talking to me when he just keeps going. “The stiffness must’ve been the biggest issue. Elasticity of the tendons has to be a key part in playing any kind of instrument and?—”

He stops suddenly and drops my hand then steps away. Sadly, I can now confirm there very much is something I can’t control—my mouth around CJ. And yes, that’s a pun and an innuendo, but also not.

I can’t control my mouth in any way, shape, or form.

“I can show you my x-rays and MRIs if you want to see all the screws they put in my leg.”

CJ smiles quickly, but then looks around. I’m about to say something about his job. That I’m sorry about that too, or... something, but he saves me from having that awkward conversation.

“You wanna play with someone who can actually move, tomorrow morning?”

I raise an eyebrow at him and do a slow scan of his body. Yeah he can probably play okay-ish.

“Sure.” I shrug like it’s all the same to me.

“Awesome. Meet here at eight?” I nod in agreement. “Cool, and thanks again for telling Hawk it was okay to invite me over. I know it was weird... but it’s helped.”

I grunt in reply because that’s what everyone expects of me, but also because I know damn well my throat won’t work.

Not when CJ’s eyes are all soft and grateful.

Not when I want nothing else than to ask him if he wants to come over to my house to have some dinner.

Not when my hands twitch with the urge to pull him close to me.

Instead, I watch him smile happily then turn around to walk up the hill to the guest cottages.