“What about you?” We weren’t done talking about Cage. I just needed to work it from a different angle.
“What about me?”
“You have a girlfriend—a non-white, non-skinny one with things to grab or hold on to?”
Everson erupted into a belly laugh. “Don’t you worry about me. I get mine.”
I nodded. “Yeah… well, I get mine too.” I didn’t. Or maybe I did; I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he meant by that. Dates? Sex? Both? “You could use some color in here. White walls. Black furniture. Are you color blind?”
“I’m not here enough to need color, and when I am here, my ass is planted on that sofa, eyes glued to the television. Why? You some type of decorator or something?”
“No. But your home is your sanctuary so?—”
“The stadium is my sanctuary. This is where I sleep and fuck.”
I mouthed, “OK… Wow.”
“Tell me, Stick, how you afford to live in this place and drive the wheels you do?”
“Wheels? You’ve been spying on me?”
“I notice things, that’s all.”
“I run an amputee porn site.”
Everson stilled, looking over his shoulder, trash bag dangling from his huge hand. “You’re a freak. I knew you were a freak.” Turning back to his task, he shook his head and chuckled like he had the whole world figured out.
There was definitely a freak in the monochrome room, but it wasn’t me. Just as I opened my mouth to confess my dry humor that he seemed to miss, there was a knock at his door.
“Who’s that?”
I shrugged. “Sorry, my super powers don’t extend past my bionic leg.”
He sighed like it was somehow my fault that my road to recovery didn’t include x-ray vision.
“I think you have the wrong apartment,” Everson said to the person at his door.
I continued to clean up the mess.
“Do you speak? Is someone here with you? What’s this?”
“Please take care of her!” a woman’s voice sounded in the distance.
“Wait! What the hell? Where are you going?” Everson yelled into the hall, then he banged his fist against the door frame.
The suspense was too much to take. I peeked around his massive body. “Hi.” I smiled at the little girl.
Her brown eyes held my gaze for a moment before she tucked her chin and stared at her feet. Tight, dark curls curtained her face. Stains soiled her yellow T-shirt with a glitter rainbow, and her jeans were about two sizes too big, hanging from her tiny waist. She looked about six or seven.
Everson shook his head slowly while reading the wrinkledpiece of paper in his hand. She had to be his daughter. I had my speech all planned out.
One night.
One sperm.
One forgotten condom.
One huge responsibility for the rest of his life.
