Blitz (Emerald City/Black Family Saga Book 1) (23 page)

“They’re ready for you, Mr. Carlson,” a woman in suit that looks less comfortable than mine, beckons for me to follow her.
 

I take a deep breath and step out onto the platform. The moment I do, lights begin to flash. I do my best not to blink and to appear as pleased as possible to be here. I stand behind the podium and rest my hands, palms down on top, willing myself not to force them into my pockets. In front of me is a water bottle, a line of cellphones and just as I clear my throat to begin, a few more people rest voice recorders next to the rest of the clutter. I move my hands back a bit, already imagining myself knocking over all this junk. Then I glance back at my aunt and she winks.
 

I clear my throat again. “Thank you, for coming out today.” I hear my voice, but it doesn’t sound like me. My nerves are showing. “I…”

Sydney appears in the back of the crowd and my words catch in my throat. I didn’t expect her to come. I only texted her out of courtesy, but after leaving her alone like that this morning. After last night and the decision I’ve made, I didn’t expect her to be here.
 

“Excuse me,” I say reaching for the water.
 

I take a longer drink than necessary. Then I replace the cap and hold the bottle between both hands.
 

“I’m honored to be where I am today. And if it weren’t for some very specific people in my life, I wouldn’t be. First I want to thank God for blessing me with a family that never quits. My mom and dad for loving me when I needed them the most.” My gaze shoots to Sydney and I look away just as quickly. “There are people in my life who have shown me how to love, how to trust, when the two of those things can go together and when you need to pull them apart.”

When I look back at her, Sydney is looking down at the ground. I’ve hit her where it hurts and it feels like crap.

“Recently there have been some…truths that have come to light. If there’s one thing I want to make clear—I am not my father. I am his son. I am the boy who survived the loss of both of his parents before he should have. And I’ve grown into the man who knows how to hold on to the things that matter. Football matters and I intend to play to the best of my ability. Always. They say legacy breeds legacy, well that may be true, but I intend to be more than legend. I strive to be influence. To all the little boys and girls out there who think life can’t ever get better, because it can.”

I’ve never seen my mom look so proud. I smile back at her and take a deep breath as I lean into the microphone.
 

“Enough of the sappy stuff,” I say and the room erupts with chuckles. “I’m here today to announce that as of Saturday, April 12th, I’ve signed with the newly established Bucco Agency.”

Murmurs fill the room and I chance a glance at Mom. Her expression is hard, but she doesn’t look at me. Her gaze is fixed on the back of the room. On Sydney.
 

“I look forward to a great career,” I say loud enough to drown out the crowd.

The woman in the suit asks for questions and I’m torn between answering a bunch of strangers and answering to the woman who’s raised me for most of my life.

“Ray,” a blonde reporter near the front reaches her arm forward. “I gotta say, like most of us out here, I’m a little curious about the nature of the Bucco Agency.”

“They’re new,” I respond. “But she isn’t.”

“Whose she?” someone asks.

“Reese Clarke.”

The room buzzes again, my name being called out in several different places.

“I’ve heard Reese Clarke is no longer working in the business,” the man I point to states.

“I’ve just spoken with her,” I say. “So that it is rumor.”

“So Reese Clarke is indeed alive and well?” I can’t determine where the voice comes from.

“And kicking,” I say. “She’s a little under the weather, but plans to be back on her feet soon.”

“Despite her injuries, are you confident she can help you position your career?” the blonde asks again.

“I’ve known Miss Clarke for quite some time. She’s always believed in me. Encouraged me, when the game wasn’t even on the table. And now, I believe in her. Despite her injuries, I know she can position me. She will.”

The rest of the questions are a blur, my focus split between Aunt Sheila who refuses to look at me and Sydney who is silently retreating. I should talk to her; reassure her that even though I could have and probably should have, I haven’t told her cousin what she’s done.

I sigh. But I haven’t forgiven her either, so relieving her guilt isn’t something I’m inclined to do.

“Before we all go back to our day jobs, I just want to ask you to pray for Reese and her speedy recovery. Also you if you’d all be kind enough to keep my little sister, Mariah Black, in your thoughts and prayers as well, I’d truly appreciate it. Thank you all for coming,” I say, then turn from the crowd of admirers to the woman ready to skin me alive.

I sit on the edge of my bed and let out a heavy sigh. I should go downstairs and face her, but I can’t. She didn’t speak to me the entire ride home and when we got here, she marched into the kitchen, closed the door and stopped any opportunity for me to apologize.
 

But why do I want to in the first place? I know I made the right decision. Willie Mahr may be the man right now but he’s not the right one.
 
He was quick to dump Reese after a near death experience. Who fires someone right after they wake up from a coma? And what does that mean for me? What happens when I get injured? Or sick? I need someone who believes in me—someone who saw me before anyone else did. My mom may not get that, but she’s not the one out there on the field busting her ass.
 

Something slams, rattling the floor beneath me, and I get up from my bed. From the top of the stairs, I see Mom frozen in the foyer.
 

“What is it?” I call.

She doesn’t respond so I continue down the steps. On the last one, I rush forward.
 

“Mariah.” I attempt to pull my sister into my arms, but she pushes me away.

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses.

“Wha—?”

She walks past me and seats herself on the stairwell. “You’re going to have to pay for this, Ray. In fact, you’re going to have to pay for everything. If not, I’ll be going public with another story. The one about the girl who was abandoned by her family—the most important of which is StingRay Carlson. That’ll go over well.”

“Please—”
 

“Please what? Shut up? ” Mariah glares in our aunt’s direction. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? For the whole world to think you’re not the fucking bitch you are.”

“Mariah,” I say. “Watch your mouth.”

She laughs, the sound ringing shrill throughout the room. “You’re pathetic,” she says, looking directly at me. “Such a pussy.”

“Mariah,” Mom says. “Please just stop. We’ve had enough trouble for one day.”

My sister snorts. “Yes, I saw the press conference.” She rises to her feet and starts a slow clap. “Congratulations, big brother. But I guess my sympathies should be with you,” she throws Mom a pointed look. “I saw your face on the camera. Not what you were expecting?”

“None of this is.” She lowers herself onto the floor.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Me showing up here after all these years.” Mariah raises an eyebrow and I step in.
 

“Stop it. You can’t just show up here antagonizing her after everything you put us through.”

“What I put you through? Do you have any idea what my life has been like? And I’m not just talking about the past twenty four hellish hours.” Mariah’s face is bright red as she screams. “I asked you to leave. To get the hell out of my town, but no you stick around and bring nosy people with you. Now my life is on display. Everyone things I’m a hopeless drunk. I got into a fight at the bar. I got fired. I had to leave the only friends I’ve ever known and for what? This? For you to fucking blame me for your shit. One of you did this—just to weed me out and, like I said, you’re going to pay.”

“If anyone did this it was that girlfriend of yours. No one else would have anything else to gain.” Mom is on her feet again and she steps between us.

“Especially not you,” Mariah adds. “Isn’t that right, Aunt Sheila?”

Mom bristles. “I warned you about that girl, Ray.”

“Leave Sydney out of this. It’s not about her. It’s about us. Our dysfunctional family.
 

“Who’s Sydney?” Mariah asks.

“She’s no one.”

Mom sputters. “No one, indeed.” She turns to face my sister again, her voice softer this time. “I’m sorry for the way things turned out. I truly am.”

“I’ll bet you are you selfish—”

“Mariah!” I yell. “Stop it. Just stop it. Both of you.”

Mariah’s laugh fills the room again and she bends to pick up a bag she’s left at the door. “I’m out of here.”

“Wait,” I step forward. “Where are you going?”

She shrugs, not bothering to turn back. “Not that I’d tell you, but anywhere but here.”

“Wait,” I say again. “You can’t just leave. You just got here.”

“And look how well that went over.” She opens the door, then calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch about that loan. After that I’m out of your hair. For good this time.”

I dreaded being run out of town and forced back to Sweetwater. I imagined the horror of Ray dropping us, ripping up his contract and running into Willie’s arms. But I never imagined this. And in a way it’s worse. I wonder if he knows how out of it Reese was when they had their intimate conversation about his future…behind my back. I wonder if he knows that had she been herself, drug-free, up and walking around, she’d have defended me. Told him to get his head out of his ass and see that selling people out to make a quick buck isn’t what I do.
 

Jesus. If it were wouldn’t I be living better than I am right now?
 

He didn’t even let me explain. I went to that stupid conference to explain. But after what he said, the way he said it, why bother? He’s already made up his mind about me. It’s time I make up mine about him.

I pick up my glass of beer and pinch my nose as I chug it back. Then I shudder, setting the glass down in front of me. I’d be doing a hell of a lot better if I were as ruthless as he makes me out to be. First of all, I wouldn’t be drinking this shit.
 

I prop myself up in the booth, my legs stretched out across the seat, my elbow resting on the table. I hate this pub. I almost never come here. Only when I’m desperate or broke. Like today. When all I can afford is cheap beer from the rundown bar around the corner.
 

My gaze dances around the room, taking in all the happy people. The ones with actual careers. The ones celebrating on a Friday night instead of feeling sorry for themselves. Marx is the smart one, I decide. I’ve never seen that guy do anything but smile. No wonder. He’s got it made. A decent place, a decent paycheck and no blinded loyalties to people who don’t really give a damn about him. He lives for him. I should try doing the same.
 

I stare at the pitcher, mentally giving up. I’m not drunk enough to make this stuff taste better. I’m exhausted and even though I essentially got what I wanted I’m mortified. He scolded me like a child in front of a room full of strangers. Whether they understood his little speech or not doesn’t matter. I did. And it hurt.

The beer inside the pitcher wavers and I barely glance up at the person who’s decided sitting at my table is a necessity. That’s my cue. Get the hell out of here, go home and go to bed. And maybe stay there until that inevitable day when I have to face him again.
 

“It’s Sydney, right?”

My gaze shifts to the person sitting across from me. She’s got blond hair, bright red lipstick, thick blue eyeliner and a shirt that’s cut so low it reveals the beginning of scripted words in black ink down the center of her torso. She doesn’t look at all familiar and there’s no name at the tip of my tongue so I smile and offer a slight nod. Then I swing my legs in front of me and gesture toward the beer.
 

“Help yourself,” I say. “If that’s your sort of thing.”

“It’s not.” She gestures over her shoulder. “And either is that.”
 

I follow the direction of her thumb toward the pool table in the corner. There’s a bunch of local guys crowded around, none of them I recognize either. Probably neighbors, like her, but that just shows how sociable I am.
 

I shrug.
 

“This is our bar,” she says.

And I frown. “I don’t think it’s anyone’s bar. Except for, you know, the guy who actually owns it.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She scowls. “This place is like our second home. We get off work, out of school and we come here to let loose, to hook up with guys who are actually attainable.”

“I’m sorry, what is your point?” I rub my forehead.
 

“My point is, get your trampy friend out of here. She’s an attention whore and it’s pissing a lot of people off.”

I squint toward the pool table again. I can’t see through the group of guys, but I can hear whoops of laughter and based on the way they all stand there, pool cues propped beside them, gazes leering forward, I can tell something—someone, more likely—has their full attention.

“I have no friends.” Why did I just say that? Then again, who cares? It’s fucking true isn’t it?

“Well, Matt said that rocker chick came in here looking for you. Then she managed to get distracted.” Blondie crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing.

I sigh and slide out of the booth.

“Aren’t you going to do something?”

I shake my head. “Are you serious?”

The expression on her face tells me she is. And that she genuinely expects me to save the day.
 

“Look, what’s your name?”

“Darla.”

“Look, Darla. I’ve had a long day. Fuck that, I’ve had a long seven weeks. My cousin almost died, I almost lost my job, I saved it but at the expense of a really great guy and now I’m stuck in this bar, when I’d rather be at my favorite one down town, I’m drinking shitty beer and listening to you whine because the boy you like like’s someone else. What is this high school? Grow the hell up.”