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It was in those few moments as Tommy and I did something as normal as placing an order at a pizza shop, with people staring at us like we were zoo animals, that I realized my life was no longer mine and I wondered if it ever would be again.
I caught myself wondering if I should have agreed to this the entire way back through the city. Tommy chatted away, like nothing that had happened was out of the ordinary for him. He asked me about the city, pointing at different landmarks as we passed them. My brain was on autopilot as I replied to every one of his questions as my mind became consumed with regret.
It wasn’t until Tommy pulled up to the curb of a brownstone on the south side of Lincoln Park that I felt normal again. My mouth dropped open at the sight in front of me. I wasn’t surprised by how lavish the brownstone looked. It was easily worth a couple million dollars. No, it wasn’t that. It was that I had not picked Tommy Mikals to be in a brownstone in Lincoln Park. I had imagined him up in some penthouse in one of the high-rises downtown looking down on the world like it was his kingdom and he was holding court.
Neither of us said anything as we walked up the steps leading to his front door. Tommy balanced the pizza in his hands as he fumbled for his keys. I found myself thinking back through the last few days and wondered how in the hell I ended up here.
The inside of the brownstone was beautiful. It was a newer construction, but it kept the integrity of what a stereotypical brownstone looked like. Had Tommy hired an interior decorator before coming to Chicago? Because everything was beautiful. Nothing felt like it didn’t have a purpose or was there simply for looks. It was a reflection of who he was living out loud. It was industrial and dark, with straight lines and clean angles.
It was the exact opposite of what my small apartment looked like. There were multiple blankets crumpled on the couch on any given day. Dishes were stacked high in the sink from my lack of time to do them. My apartment was best described as messy and eclectic.
“I’m ready to see if this pizza is as good as you say it is,” Tommy called from the kitchen as he hunted through a cabinet for a couple of plates.
“If you don’t like it, I’m not sure this friendship can continue,” I told him as I slowly took in a couple of bookshelves he had in the living room. There were pictures of him with his parents from when he was a kid, pictures of him with his college teammates, and baseballs in cases that were from monumental times in his career. I stopped to appreciate each moment of his life, finding myself wanting to hear the story behind each item.
“I’ll be sure to lie then if I don’t like it.” I turned around to find him holding two plates of pizza. He was giving me a cheeky smile that warmed my body. Part of me wondered if that meant he wanted to be friends with me no matter what. Because if that was the case, I found it kind of scary that I was beginning to think the same thing.
Tommy handed me a plate with a couple of slices on it and the two of us took our pizza over to his couch. He made a show of bringing the pizza up to eye level and inspecting it from all angles, making me laugh, before he took a bite with his eyes closed. He continued to chew in silence next to me, savoring the bite he took.
“Verdict?” I asked him, watching as he swallowed.
“Definitely better than Lou’s,” he told me, a smile spreading across his face.
“You”—I pointed the end of my pizza in his direction—“can stay.”
The two of us ate in silence for a few more minutes before I finally got the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing my brain since May had pulled me into that conference room.
“So how did you even get yourself in this position in the first place?”
Tommy knew exactly what I was asking. I watched him grimace at my delivery before he grabbed a napkin to wipe his hands with.
“I was young and stupid,” Tommy started. “I had just hit the big leagues and had my first real taste of life as a professional athlete. Girls had never really thrown themselves at me before.”
I couldn’t possibly imagine how girls hadn’t been throwing themselves at Tommy his entire life.
“I fell into the typical rookie trap of spending my money on expensive things I didn’t need and letting the distractions take all of my attention. The paparazzi started to take notice, and I was in the tabloids every other weekend. The Kings wanted me to get an agent to help manage some of it. So I did. I thought the agent was helping me, but what I didn’t realize was that he was being paid off by different tabloids to supply me with a new girl every time I went out and make sure someone was there to capture it. The Kings released me last year, and no other team wanted to touch me until the Cougars.”
Silence stretched out between us as I imagined a young Tommy being taken advantage of by someone he trusted, someone who continued to destroy his image and the career he had worked so hard for. The pain from that time in his life was still etched across his face, baggage he still had to shoulder. My hand itched to reach out and give his hand a squeeze of reassurance like he had done to me in the car earlier, but something stopped me.
“I’m sorry, Tommy.”
“It was a life lesson,” Tommy replied, his eyes on the bookshelves full of pictures and memorabilia. It was the same look that had been on his face at the stadium after the game, like he was trying to remember everything in case it all disappeared in the blink of an eye. “Look, I’ve been meaning to thank you for doing this. You really didn’t have to.”
“It’s not like I’m not getting anything out of it,” I reminded him. Tommy screwed his mouth to the side as he nodded, remembering the money I was offered. I couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like disappointment flashed across his face at the reminder.
“Right. Well, I’ve been thinking that we should talk about what we’re okay doing together.” This man kept surprising me with his thoughtfulness. It was completely unexpected. “What do you feel comfortable doing in public?”
“Well,” I started. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Obviously, holding hands doesn’t bother me; we’ve already done that.”
“Of course,” Tommy agreed. “Hugging?”
“That can be on the table.”
“Hand placement?”
“Above the butt.”
“Kissing?”
