Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game (4 page)

With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself over to the
closet. Swinging open the door, I stepped inside and scanned the
racks. I knew Mom wanted me looking nice and respectable, so I
grabbed a pair of khaki pants and a nice blue button down shirt.
After I slicked my usually out-of-control dark hair back, I hurried
back downstairs and met my mom in the kitchen.

Rolling a silver tube of lipstick across her lips,
she nodded in approval at the sight of me. “You always look so
handsome in blue,” she mused. “It brings out those beautiful blue
eyes.”

“Whatever, Mom,” I grumbled as I eyed the feast on
the table. “So, when did you do all this?”

She smiled shyly. “I didn’t. Grammy did.”

I picked up the Pot Roast and nodded. I hadn’t
seriously considered Mom had done the cooking. Besides the fact she
had some crazy batshit hours, she’d also never quite learned to
cook like her mom, the fabulous Southern diva who put Paula Deen to
shame.

By the time we finished loading, the back of my mom’s
SUV was packed with food. Mom closed the hatch and threw me a
glance. “Ready?”

I wanted to say
, “Ready? Are you freakin’ crazy?
There’s nothing on earth I want to do less than going to Jake’s
house!”

But instead, I gave Mom a weak smile. “Yeah, let’s
go.”

***

I drew in a deep breath as I rang the
doorbell. Jake’s older brother, Jonathan, answered it. With a nod
of his head, he then gave me a slight smile. “Hey Noah. Ms.
Sullivan,” he said politely. He then swung the door open for
us.

We exchanged a sort of awkward hug—the kind guys give
who are afraid of showing too much emotion. He was just two years
older than Jake so most of the memories I had with Jake were
connected to Jonathan too. I guess I connected with him more than
Jason, their oldest brother. Like a true middle child, Jonathan did
the sports thing, but he also played the drums in a band. He and I
used to have some awesome jam sessions until Mr. Nelson would run
us out of the basement for being too loud.

He was a sophomore at Georgia Tech where Jake and I
had been accepted. I guess he’d made it home as soon as he’d heard
the news. Jason, on the other hand, was a senior at Duke, and I
knew it would take him awhile to catch a plane.

Mom and I didn’t wait for Jonathan to lead us. We
headed through the foyer, past the living room, towards the
kitchen. I knew the layout by heart. Jake had lived in the same
house the entire time we’d been friends, so I probably could have
made it blindfolded. Until we’d moved out of my grandparent’s house
two years ago, Jake and I had lived two streets over from each
other—just a short walk or bike ride away. The hours, minutes, and
seconds I’d spent in this house were too innumerable to count.
Every room, every floorboard and practically every wall held a
memory connected to Jake.

Mom and I were just putting the food down on the
table when a voice behind me caused me jump. “Noah,” Mrs. Nelson
said in a somewhat strangled voice. I whirled around to see her
standing at the edge of the living room. She suddenly looked a lot
older than I remember. Her blonde bob looked grayer, and there were
blackened circles under her usually warm hazel eyes.

She didn’t have to beckon me to go to her. Instead, I
crossed the rest of the kitchen in two long strides. As she pulled
me into her arms, I whispered the only thing I could think of into
her ear. “I’m so sorry.”

She hugged me tight against her—as if she was afraid
I might disappear or get away from her. And then she lost it. Her
body shuddered so hard that it shook the both of us. I bit down on
my lip, willing myself not to cry. I couldn’t do that to her. I had
be strong for her because men are supposed to be strong, right?
They’re not supposed to collapse in hysterics like flamers.

Towering over her petite form, Mrs. Nelson’s breath
hovered over my chest. “You were such a good friend to him, Noah.
You can’t possibly know how much he admired you and appreciated
your friendship. He really…loved you.”

I tensed in her arms as the metallic taste of blood
rushed into my mouth. I’d bit down so hard on my lip that I’d drawn
blood.
Please God,
make her shut up
! Then I realized
more than I wanted her to stop talking, I wanted her to let me go.
I wanted to get the hell out of there and never look back. But I
couldn’t. My feet were rooted to the floor.

Finally after what seemed like a painfully, agonizing
eternity, she let her arms drop from my waist. Her body went limp
like a deflated balloon. I steadied her and helped her over to a
chair by the table. Mom sat down beside her and took Mrs. Nelson’s
hands in hers.

Jonathan hung back in the doorway. When our eyes met,
I knew he could see right through me. Past the bullshit tough guy
exterior to the candy ass who didn’t know how to handle his
emotions. But then again, he was the same way. He didn’t bother
going to comfort his mother. He hovered as if one false step could
be his drop off into emotional chaos.

I wanted to laugh—manically—at the pure stupidity of
it all. I mean, my best friend and Jonathan’s brother had just
died, but neither one of us were willing to give ourselves over to
the grief. Neither one of us were willing to shed one ounce of our
assumed masculinity to show emotion. What did that say about our
feelings for Jake? Could we not afford him a tear? Maybe a little
sob? I thought back to earlier that day when I’d actually let my
guard down. But I realized it was a sham. I’d only shed tears for
Jake when I was sure no one was around to see me crying. Then I’d
been scared to death that Avery would see me, so I’d even gone to
the extreme of running away.

Yeah, I was a bastard.

Mrs. Nelson’s voice brought me out of my
self-deprecating tirade. “Noah, Mr. Nelson, Jonathan, and I have
been discussing the funeral plans. We want you to sing
Free
Bird
. It was Jake’s favorite, and we think—well I know—that’s
what he’d want.”

I didn’t know what to say. Sure, I’d sung
Free
Bird
millions of times. I’d even sung it around Jake dozens of
times—usually when he was highly inebriated. Course, he never
failed to find a cigarette lighter and hold it up throughout the
song while slurring through the lyrics with me. It became a
competition between him and my old hound dog, Boo Radley, to see
who could howl the loudest—Jake usually won.

But Jake wouldn’t be howling this time. I’d be
singing it in front of a packed crowd of mourners at his funeral.
Damn, it was such intense thought that for a few seconds I couldn’t
find my voice. Finally, I replied, “Um, yeah, sure Mrs.
Nelson.”

She smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.” She turned to my
mom. “I’ve got to get some of Jake’s things together to take down
to the funeral home. They said they’d set them up for me before the
wake tomorrow. It’s just…”

Mom and I exchanged a glance when Mrs. Nelson trailed
off. Mom squeezed her hand reassuringly. Mrs. Nelson wiped the
tears from her eyes. “It’s just I can’t bear to make myself go into
his room,” she replied in a pained whisper.

“You don’t need to do that, Evelyn. I’m sure Martin
or one of the boys will do it,” Mom said.

Mrs. Nelson jerked her head up like a light bulb had
gone off in her mind. “Noah, would you mind getting some of Jake’s
things together? Jonathan is supposed to go to the airport in a
little while to pick up Jason.”

I glanced over at Jonathan. He momentarily wore an
expression of pure relief. When he met my gaze, he quickly wiped it
away.

What was I supposed to say? “
No thank you, Mrs.
Nelson. I’d prefer to be a self-centered prick today cause, you
know, I’m not really feeling the whole ‘going up and rummaging
through my dead best friends stuff’ vibe”
.

I didn’t say that. Instead, I tried clearing my
throat of the continuous massive lump of emotion that seemed
clogged there . “Yeah, I can do that. What exactly do you
want?”

“Just some things to set out around the urn. Things
that Jake was interested in,” she replied.

I fought the urge to reply,
“Why don’t we just
decorate the table with condoms, lube, and thongs since that was
what Jake was mainly interested in?”

“Like some of his trophies and stuff?” I asked.

“Yes, that would be wonderful. Anything you think
Jake would want. You knew him so much better than I did.”

I almost choked over the last line. I wasn’t sure if
I really ever knew Jake. Have you ever had friends like that?
Friends you spent every waking minute with, but when it came down
to it if the police asked you deeply personal questions, you might
not be able to answer them? Jake and I were guys—we didn’t let a
lot people in. When I wracked my brain, there were maybe five or
ten times throughout our friendship that I could remember really
seeing his guard down. But who knows, maybe that was enough. Maybe
that’s all that anybody had with their friends. And maybe Dr. Phil
had screwed a whole generation into thinking we had to “think and
feel” too much and “say what we meant”. Ugh.

It was then that Mr. Nelson breezed through the
garage door and into the kitchen. He shot an aggravated look at
Jonathan. “I thought you would have already left by now. Don’t tell
me you’ve managed to forget about picking up Jason?”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “No, Dad, I haven’t.”

Mr. Nelson clenched his jaw back and forth before
speaking again. “Hartsfield-Jackson is gonna be a madhouse this
time of day. I would hope in a situation like this, you wouldn’t
make your brother wait!”

Jonathan held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’m
on my way!” He grabbed his keys off the table and swept past his
dad with a scowl on his face. After the garage door slammed, Mr.
Nelson merely nodded his head at Mom and me. Finally his face
softened a little when he glanced at his wife.

“Martin, Noah’s going to help you get together some
of Jake’s things to take the funeral home,” Mrs. Nelson said.

“Whatever. I just want to get it over with,” he
grumbled. Without another word to me, he stalked out of the
kitchen. I practically had to jog to catch up with him at the
staircase.

I gotta say I’ve never been a big fan of Jake’s dad.
The main reason being he’s a major asshole. Seriously, he’s a
chauvinistic jerk-off. He’s one of those macho douchebags who
believes his boys came out the womb playing sports, and he expected
perfection on the field and court. As I followed him up the stairs,
pictures lined the walls of Jake and his brothers playing baseball,
football, and basketball from when they were practically in
diapers.

Back in the day, Mr. Nelson had been an uber-jock,
too. He’d gone all the way in basketball until his senior year when
he’d busted his knee, and his hopes of the NBA and his scholarship
went down the toilet.

I’ve never thought Mr. Nelson had much use for me
since I wasn’t an athlete. He probably considered me a failure to
the male species, and I’m sure he harbored questions about my
sexuality. To him, I was some artsy-fartsy guitar playing fairy.
Like I said, the man was an asshole.

While Mr. Nelson blew through the door of Jake’s room
and started snatching and grabbing, I hesitated. Something just
didn’t seem right about going in there without Jake. Mr. Nelson
glanced back at me. “Coming?” he asked sarcastically.

I nodded and stepped through the threshold. I might
as well be a pansy and admit that the memories hit me like a ton of
bricks. It was like a harsh kick to the gut—or groin for that
matter. I’d never been in this room without Jake. It was like his
presence was everywhere.

My stroll down memory lane was interrupted by Mr.
Nelson’s gasp. “What the hell?” he demanded.

Oh, shit!
I thought. My mind was flooded with
possibilities. He’d stumbled onto Jake’s porn collection. Worse,
he’d found Jake’s stash of pot. Jake and I had once joked that if
something happened to one of us, the other was supposed to go get
rid of anything incriminating in our rooms. Great, I’d let him
down.