Imaginary Lines (7 page)

I also genuinely liked my coworkers. Mduduzi was not, as I’d first thought, African American—he’d come to the States from Zimbabwe for college. He had a faint, almost British accent, and despite sounding very posh and classy was relaxed and laid-back. Jin, who’d moved from Minneapolis to New York after journalism school, was cool enough that he intimidated me a bit—sort of a slouchy hipster intellectual, the kind who knew about music but didn’t seem to care about much else.

Except for sports, of course. We all cared about sports.

Carlos was upbeat, engaged and happy to help. He was approachable, the kind of guy you wanted to tell things to, which I suppose made him good at interviewing people. More with honey than vinegar, and all that.

The Leopards Stadium was located in Chelsea, above the old rail yards. It had a media parking lot, but none of us owned a car. We arrived at 11:00, which gave us fifteen minutes before the open locker room period began. Tanya briefly pointed out pertinent directions that I promptly forgot, and led us deeper into the labyrinth.

We crossed paths with a distinguished, silver-haired man, who looked more suited for a television show than real life. His custom suit fit his form perfectly, and his eyes glittered like the same steely color as his sleekly parted hair.

My stomach clenched and I shot a wide-eyed glance at Carlos, who nodded almost imperceptivity.

My tenth-grade English teacher once joked—or perhaps he hadn’t been joking—that we should never trust anyone with two first names. No one would trust Gregory Philip as far as they could throw him at anything
except
being the Leopards’ controlling, maniacal owner. He succeeded at that dramatically, causing a fevered worship in New Yorkers and strong dislike in everyone else.

Philip came from a wealthy New England family that spent its money with the affected ennui of its social circles, buying and trading islands and houses and sport teams on a whim. He’d been in possession of the Leopards for twenty years, which was no surprise given that the Leopards were a cash cow. When he’d first bought the team straight out of Yale and flush with money from his inheritance, everyone had said the rich young party boy would blow the team to shreds. His reputation was low; apparently his mistakes had been covered over by his late, wealthy father more than once, and rumor said he now did the same for his own son. But morally reprehensible or not, his business acumen had instead turned the Leopards into a lead player in the AFC.

Tanya led me up to him without missing a beat. “Greg, this is my new staff writer, Tamar Rosenfeld.”

Oh God oh God oh God.
What was I doing in his company? Must remember to breathe.

He took my hand and offered me a toothy smile. “The new Jane.”

That crashed me back down to reality. I was sick of being the new Jane. “That’s right.”

“It’s a pleasure. Be sure to let me know if you have any questions—anything at all.”

He walked off and I watched him go with wide eyes.

Carlos poked up by my side. “That wasn’t true. Don’t go to him with any questions.”

“Yeah, wasn’t really planning on it.”

“Oh, you’ll go to him with questions.” Tanya, who must have had ears in the back of her head, spoke dryly. “But he’ll do his best not to answer them.”

I smiled all the way down to the locker room.

Several times each week during the regular season, each football club was required to provide accredited media with access to their locker room. Today, Tanya was interviewing Malcolm Lindsey for a feature piece, and we actually sat outside the room. But that was quickly countered by the whole
Malcolm Lindsey
bit. He was one of the best wide-outs in the League, particularly when paired with quarterback Ryan Carter. Last season, he’d come pretty close to 1,200 receiving yards. Last week, though, covered by the opposing team’s rookie cornerback, he hadn’t scored once. So emotions were riding high.

Other media swarmed around us, people Tanya clearly knew. Even I recognized some of them, mostly the news anchors. They all looked a little too well groomed to be real; not like Philip, whose dress looked dangerous, but rather like mannequins.

Aurelius Stevenson, of
Sports News Now
, smiled rather cruelly at Tanya while we set up with Lindsey. “Doing a piece on the wedding?”

Oh, and that was the other thing about Malcolm Lindsey. He was getting married this year.

Which would be completely irrelevant, except if you wanted to be an obnoxious snot to a female reporter.

Tanya didn’t even glance at him. Instead, she dove into the interview fully focused.

Afterward, the press had fifteen minutes to interview Head Coach Paglio—another man I’d never seen in person before. Despite his gruffer attitude, he wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Gregory Philip. He’d been around for ages, at least a dozen years, and he’d come away from the Redskins to lead the Leopards. He was famous for spitting when he spoke and making rookies cry, but he made the veterans laugh so everyone figured that was all right. I took furious notes as he spoke and tried not to float away in astonishment, feeling somewhat like I’d infiltrated the media corps and no one had yet realized I was an imposter. I felt like I’d walked into dreamland.

And it didn’t even stop there.

Tanya hooked a PR assistant walking by. “Anna, this is our new sports reporter, the one taking Jane’s place.”

She nodded like she’d been expecting me, and smiled. “Ready for your tour?”

“Completely.”

The tour was quick and competent. At the end, I was returned to the press area, where I lingered off to the side, trying to take in all the swirling chaos of my new field. I studied a giant photo of wide-out Malcolm Lindsey superimposed over the wall.

Deep male laughter tripped my attention, and I plastered on a wide, friendly smile as I turned, ready to engage with some of the team for the first time. Nervous flutters struck up in my chest, but they were born of excitement. The New York Leopards. These men were brilliant athletes, owners of powerful bodies and incredible strength.

My excitement turned to shock when I turned and saw Abraham striding down the hall toward me.

He hadn’t seen me yet. He was joking with one of his teammates. He wore gym shorts and a black Leopards T-shirt that showcased his powerful arms; a towel was slung around his neck. His hair, like usual, sprung about untidily.

Four other guys surrounded him, guys I’d studied up on as soon as I took this job. Famously redheaded Mike O’Connor, an enigmatic charmer who generally had a moment to appease the press. He’d given a whole story to my predecessor Jane, which was what promoted her out of my position. I supposed I should thank him at some point.

Next to him strode tall and stunningly gorgeous Dylan Pierce. Diamonds glinted in his ears and wicked humor in his caramel eyes. Only Malcolm Lindsey stood taller than him, a powerhouse of a man who had all the quiet authority of a monk. And to Malcolm’s left was Ryan Carter, one of those quarterbacks so genetically blessed he made women swoon just by breathing. Though he’d been off the market for two years now.

Behind them, Jensen Clay jogged to catch up. Usually, I would have smiled at that; Clay was a recently drafted second-string quarterback, and rumor had it he was a pain in Carter’s side.

But I didn’t smile today, because I was too surprised by Abe standing in the middle of all of them. I knew they were teammates, of course, but knowing was different than seeing, and I supposed in my heart of hearts I’d still thought he was the boy from down the street.

The other five slowed when they approached me, and then Abe’s head swung toward me. It all happened in half a second that lasted half a year. He stopped abruptly, and his teammates, so attuned to each other’s motions, also froze.

Abraham couldn’t seem to decide if I was mirage or reality. I could see the questions in his eyes—had something bad happened to me? Did I need his help? “Tamar. What are you doing here?”

I spread my hands. “Open locker room.”

His concern morphed to remembrance. His gaze dropped to my press pass. “Right.”

We hesitated together for a moment, caught in limbo between our childhood and our present, and then Ryan Carter stepped forward. His grip was strong when he shook my hand, and his blue eyes were like fragments of sky. “I’m Ryan. You a friend of Abe’s?”

I glanced uncertainly at Abe, not sure if he wanted me to claim a friendship, but he was already nodding. “We grew up together.”

Carter glanced at Abe. “Didn’t know you had any childhood friends in the city.”

What an interesting statement. So Carter expected to know Abe’s friends?

Abe was nodding. “Tamar just moved here.”

Carter looked at Abe a moment longer, and then shone one of his famously swoon-worthy smiles at me. “See you around, then.” He nodded and then headed off, quickly trailed by all the other Leopards except Abe.

I watched them go, wide-eyed, and then collapsed against the wall in a fit of giggles. Abe came close up to me and frowned. “What’s so funny?”

I waved my hand after his disappearing teammates. “You’re like—on and off the field—like ducklings or something! They all just followed him off.”

His lips quirked up and his eyes crinkled down. “I’m imagining Ryan in a Mother Goose bonnet. It’s not his usual look.”

I kept laughing.

He tugged on my ponytail reprovingly. “They’re being nice. Giving us some privacy.”

I smiled up at him. “And why do they think we need privacy?”

He raised his brows.

Oh, of course. I blushed. “Well, that’s silly. Besides, this is basically your workplace. It’s not like...”

His brows arched even higher, and his grin shone with delight. “You think that’s stopped anyone?”

I snapped my mouth shut a moment. “Uh. No. I suppose not.”

He smiled. Heat curled in my stomach, heat I wasn’t prepared to deal with right now. I wasn’t prepared for him to be standing so close to me, so easy to touch with just a whisper of movement. I aimed my gaze at the floor near his feet. “It’s strange, being here. In New York.”

He spoke lightly. “I always thought you’d visit at some point when you were seeing your aunt and cousin.”

What? Why would he think that? “I’m sure you would’ve been too busy. You had—you know—the whole Leopards thing.”

His brows went back up. “I wouldn’t have been too busy.”

A strange fluttering had begun in my stomach. Why was he saying things like that? To be polite?

I lifted my face. “I can’t decide. Is it weird that we’re friends?”

“Of course not.”

Of course not.

We stood in silence a few feet, and he took a step closer. “What is it?”

It was nothing, really. Only that it had occurred to me, for the first time, that there were things about Abraham Krasner that I didn’t know. That he’d lived a whole other life in these years away from California. That he could be an entirely different person from the one I once knew.

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

He gave me a knowing look, and it was my turn to frown and say, “What?”

And his to shrug casually. “Just that I can read your face, too, you know.”

Could he? When had that happened? I’d always been the one studying his face intently throughout the years. “And what’s it saying?”

“That you’re having thoughts you don’t necessarily like. And they’re about me.” He cocked his head. “So I want to know what they are.”

Shock pulsed through me that he’d called my emotion so spot-on. “It’s just... It’s funny, that’s all.”

“What’s funny?”

“You.” I waved at him, suddenly embarrassed to make eye contact. “You’re famous.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at me with an oddly blank expression, neither affirmation nor denial. I would’ve expected sheepish embarrassment with an undercurrent of pride, but when he spoke, he kept strictly factual. “Guess so.”

I didn’t like the way he said that, and my eyes narrowed. I’d been so focused on making sure he know
I’d
changed that I hadn’t bothered noticing if he had, too. “What’s it like?”

He didn’t even glance at me. “It’s great.”

“No, Abe—” I placed my hand on his arm without even thinking, and when he stilled and stared down, I snatched it back. Still... “Really.”

He met my gaze, his own conflicted. “It’s...it’s consuming.”

I tilted my head. “Are you happy?”

He searched my eyes for an aching stretch of time. My breath caught in my chest, like I could keep time from moving forward—but then he laughed and looked away, a dazzling smile on his lips. “Where did you come from?”

Unexpectedly thrown, I wavered back and forth. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head and started walking again. “You’re like some pixie from my past. I feel like time folded over and brought you here from when we were nineteen years old.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced at the wall, at the photos of men in the same uniform he always wore. “You see the guy I was before I was drafted.”

“Isn’t that who you still are?”

“Tough to tell.”

He’d locked his jaw, a sure sign—if he’d been sixteen—that he was about to storm off to play ball with his friends instead of answering questions any longer. Abe never yelled—never got mad—but the few times his mom kept pushing at him after his jaw locked and he couldn’t escape, he went mute instead, like someone had thrown away the key.

But he wasn’t going to keep me out. “I think you are. I think some parts of you are different, because we grow up, but you’re really who you always were.”

He slid me a glance. “And who’s that?”

I smiled at him. “Someone good.”

He looked struck, like I’d tossed something at his chest, but nothing bad, just surprising. Like my words were unexpected, though they couldn’t have been.

“And what about you?” he asked. “How have you changed?”

I shrugged, lighter now than I had been before. “Not much. I’m just more
me
, I think. I’ve filed away all those extra edges that were my attempts to please other people and make myself more likeable and be who I thought I was supposed to be. Now I’m finding out who I am.”