It had been late back in Miami four years ago, the night everything fell apart. The first night after months of us not touching, not saying or doing more than was necessary to keep ourselves sane. Emails and texts that informed each other of groceries running low or maintenance needed for the condo; updates on friends’ birthdays, the birth of children or who had broken up, what weeks my family would visit. But there had been little in the way of time spent between the two of us.
Relationships fall apart when we stop tending to them. Aly and I let our lives happen without paying attention to each other. We’d become selfish, needy for the things we wanted apart from each other.
We forgot what we wanted together.
So that night, with the warmth of her body still heating her pillow, with the exertion of our
love making still dotted in the sweat of my forehead, Aly left the bed and in one sentence, sent my world spinning.
“I’m leaving. I…I’m moving back home.”
I’d known it was coming, but had somehow convinced myself that she’d never turn me loose, that what we had together was too comfortable, too important to cast aside.
“This is home, Aly…”
She’d shaken her head, refusing to acknowledge that. She didn’t want me fighting. “Before you start trying to convince me how wrong I am, remember that I’ve always given you whatever you needed. I’m…I’m alone here, cut off from the life I had in New Orleans and you’re gone all the time, you don’t see it. And…when you are here, you’re just, not yourself.” She’d waved at my head and I knew she’d meant the injuries, how different the concussions made me act. “I never tried to stop you from being who you are. I just can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore and I won’t let you go on pretending I’m invisible.”
It had been the second concussion I’d suffered in two seasons. My behavior with past concussions had drifted toward erratic. It had scared her when I stumbled getting out of the tub, when I couldn’t remember missing my father’s birthday or two team meetings. Symptoms, all of them, none of which I gave any weight to. All of which had Aly laying down ultimatums I didn’t take seriously. The other issue…I hadn’t seen it, not until she was gone. The way I’d treated her, like she didn’t matter, like she was there only when I wanted her, that took longer to admit to myself I’d done. It was still hard to see how I’d been, how easily I had discounted her. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Do you want me to beg?” I’d asked, holding onto her before she could dress. “Because I will. I’ll beg.”
“I begged, cheri. I’ve been begging for years. It didn’t change anything.”
My refusal to consider an early retirement was the last straw. One I broke. One I expected. One that still surprised me when it came.
She’d been naked with me minutes before. My body still buzzed with the sensation of being inside her and then…she said she was leaving. She’d kissed me, something soft, something wet that reminded me of what she’d given up to be with me. How much she’d sacrificed of herself just to stay at my side while I cultivated a career for myself on the gridiron.
“This is you leaving me? Forever?”
“Baby,” she’d said, holding my face, touching my skin like she couldn’t keep herself from it. “We’re always.”
She’d forgotten.
Looking at her now, seeing the realization that I hadn’t forgotten her promise, that I’d depended on her to remember it to, and Aly’s entire expression transformed. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t angry. Aly simply fought whatever moved around in her head. She fought to come up with a valid excuse for everything she’d agreed to up on that stage.
Finally, when I guessed she couldn’t take my stare or the desperate way I gripped her, Aly looked away, exhaling like she wanted her breath clear.
“Ransom, we both said a lot of things we should have kept to ourselves.”
It was then my control broke and I grabbed her face, staring her down, hoping that she saw everything I felt in my gaze, all those half-hidden secrets that told her what I wanted.
“I meant every word I’ve ever said to you.”
And then I kissed her, slow, deep, so she’d remember me. Us. So she’d recall what we had been to each other. And then I did one of the hardest things I've even done in my life—I left her alone in that hallway with the sting of my kiss bruising her lips.
Paper cuts.
Deep
Slicing
Blood
And breath
Whisper ripping.
Only I see it.
The faint mark
Between the fingerprints
Etched in my skin.
Still it’s there
Small, seemingly insignificant.
Like a bruise
Only I can see,
Feel
Hurt
Running deep.
Hidden from the world.
Two
New Orleans is excess. It’s everywhere you go, as long as you go to the right places. The city holds within its breast the faint whiff of culture, history, exhaling it all along with the spice of decadence, debauchery so sweet, so enticing that even the bravest, the boldest can be tempted. It was something I’d known—that excess—since I’d been thrust into the Riley-Hale clan.