Blitzed(71)

"Hold on a minute, like I said. Honestly, have you been happy this past month?"

I want to protest, but shake my head, my chin dropping. "You know I'm not."

"I do. You've been miserable all month, and I'm not the only friend of yours who’s—wait, here it is."

I look up as the title bar on the bottom of the screen changes over. The announcer launches into the story. "And in further developments out of Jacksonville, newly acquired linebacker, Troy Wood, who is in the middle of a season that some are calling one of the best second year rises in recent history, is making news for something else—his fines from the league. Specifically, his violation of the League's uniform policy, which states that players are not allowed to display any personal messages on their bodies."

The video cut over to a shot of Troy getting ready for his most recent game, his white uniform blazing in the bright early autumn sunlight. "Wood, however, since being traded to Jacksonville, has worn a piece of tape around his left bicep. While that isn't a problem, according to the league, what he has on the tape is."

On the screen, Troy looks at the camera, and I see in his eyes not a hint of happiness or of the man who loved playing football. Instead, I see the cold eyes of a man who’s getting ready to unleash violence without a hint of remorse or care for his own well-being. Suddenly, Troy smiles, and shows the camera his left arm, where two strips of white athletic tape have been wrapped. Side by side, in huge letters that nearly stretch from the top of one tape to the bottom of the other, are the letters, WN-LN.

"While a seemingly minor infraction of what many people say is an overly strict rule, the League office is cutting Wood no slack. His first infraction brought a six thousand dollar fine, and for the past two games, he's been fined twelve thousand dollars each. In order to avoid penalties themselves, the Jacksonville Wildcats have also fined Wood five thousand dollars for each of the past two weeks. So far, the four letters on his bicep have cost Wood ten thousand dollars for each, but when told by the league to remove the tape, he has so far refused."

The video cut over to a shot of Troy in the locker room, surrounded by reporters and microphones. "I told my coaches and the League that while I understand and respect their position, the tape doesn't come off until our next bye week, when they will be replaced by a similar tattoo."

The announcer's voiceover obliterates the rest of what Troy is saying, and the video cuts to highlights of his performance so far for Jacksonville. "When asked for clarification on the meaning of the letters, Wood has so far refused all requests except from head coach Eric Morgan, who will only state that Wood's statement is a personal one, and that it is his prerogative. To quote Coach Morgan, 'Troy's a grown man. He has said he understands the consequences, and he’s willing to deal with them.' The League is still . . ."

Dani mutes the sound and looks at me. "Forty thousand dollars. Now I don't know about you, Whitney, but that's a lot of money. Pete might clear that this year after taxes, but I'm not sure. I know for damn sure that you aren't seeing anything close to that working at the Gallery until you get your private clients ordering stuff again. And yeah, Troy's probably making forty thousand dollars a week, but I don't care about the money. What scared me more was that look in his eyes."

"Yeah," I admit as the story changes to another highlight reel. "But I can't take responsibility for it."

"Bullshit."

I don't think I've ever heard Dani speak in such a dismissive term to something I've ever said before. "Excuse me? Is that your professional opinion?"

“It is," Dani says, only a touch of heat in her voice. "I love you, and like I said, it hurts for me to say this, but pull your head out of your ass. You're miserable, Troy's down there in Florida tearing people apart and collecting fines like some people collect Slurpee cups, and your daughter is on the borderline of rage. And it's because of your decision, not his. He asked you to go to Florida. Hell, he begged you to at least let the two of you try the long distance thing, and you cut him off at the knees. Tell me, did you at least tell him in person this time, or did you write him a letter or maybe send a text message?"

I stop, gawping at her. "That's low, Dani. That one was real low."

Dani nods, her eyes reflections of my own pain and hurt. "Maybe. But I won’t stand idly by as my sister and the second best man I know in the entire world tear themselves apart. Not again. I love you, but you’re wrong in this, and all three of you are paying the price."

I get up, setting my cup down. “You might be right. I need to go. I . . . I need to think."

There's no rancor in Dani's voice as she walks me to the door and opens it for me. "I'll still be here, if you ever want to talk with me again."

I nod and squeeze her hand. She maybe has pissed me off, but I still love her. "I know. I love you, Sis."

"I love you too. Go think."

When I get home after driving the long way back in order to spend more time thinking, I see that Mom has already had Laurie change into her pajamas, and the two of them are sitting on the couch, snuggled up and reading one of Laurie's Little Golden Books. "I'm back. Mom, I need to apologize to you. I know you're just trying to be helpful."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Would you like to take over? I need to use the bathroom.”