I walk off the field, my legs heavy like they are filled with lead. With each step, my muscles hum. I forgot how good it feels to be in shape.
Matt whacks me on the back. “Hey, man, you’re starting to look like an actual player.”
“Um, thanks?”
Will is next to me in a flash. Brandon and Parker fall in line.
I see Emily jog into her locker room. She waves and flashes me a smile as she does.
“She’s pretty cute,” Brandon says. “We’d approve of that.”
“Don’t remember asking for your approval,” I say.
“We do everything as a team,” Parker says.
“Yeah. Sorry. There are some ways I am not a team player.”
Laughs and smart cracks surround me, and I sit on the bench in front of my locker, enjoying the workout euphoria before I hit the showers.
Matt shows up, towel around his waist. “Hurry up, and I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Thanks, but I have a ride.”
“Hey, man, my brother told me to bring you by.”
I haven’t looked at my phone yet, so maybe Pete’s connection came through. “Yeah, sure,” I say.
Matt retreats around a bank of lockers, then circles back. “I’ll give you a ride, but I’ve got to say, anything that takes away from your game on the field is not cool.”
“Nothing takes away from my game. Anywhere.”
He rolls his eyes. “Still such a hotshot. Be ready in ten, or I leave without you.”
I grab my cell and text Mom. Going out with the guys. Team building. It’s Friday night, so she won’t object. Plus, she’ll think me spending time with the team is a good thing. Me making friends, forming relationships. She’d be part right, except I’m talking about drug connections. It’s semantics.
Next, I text Emily. Going out with the guys. Text me tomorrow when you want to get that part for your car.
Finally, I send one to Livy. Gotta take care of something. Going to be late.
Three texts. I’ve made more social connections here in two days than I had at Dad’s in seven years. Associations are not good. Not if I want to leave, which I do. If Pete’s friend comes through, my chemical shields will be up finally.
Once we’re in his car, Matt points to a cooler. “Help yourself.”
I open it, hoping for beer, but settle for two Gatorades he’s got stored in the melted ice. And that makes me wonder, did his mom pack this for him? “Mom still making sure you’re hydrated? So adorable.”
“Ass.”
I smirk, but still, I wish I could switch parents, switch situations, switch off my feelings. We stop at a light. Matt opens his Gatorade, drinks half of it, then burps incredibly loudly.
“Nice manners,” I say.
He laughs. “So how’s it been?”
I take another drink. “I assume you’re not talking about the weather.”
“How’s Ryan?”
“Haven’t spent that much time with him actually. He’s sleeping by the time I get home, and I’m gone before he wakes up. But he’s got quite the mouth on him, from what I’ve heard.” I shake my head. Why does the fact that he curses make me a little proud of him? “Gotta be teenage angst, I guess.”
Matt stops at a red light, waiting to turn into Pete’s apartment complex. He drums on the wheel, then takes a sip of Gatorade. “I’ve heard he’s given some of the teachers at that school he goes to a run for their money.”
“He and I have always made the ladies crazy,” I say.
“Not how I remember it but whatever.”
The light turns green. We go but not before my mind slips into the past. Matt and I were inseparable before the accident. Another before. But after? Mom insisted I stay away from him.
But she was never there to enforce it. She was always with Ryan. He had therapy, an inclusion group. Always something. So I decided I’d hang with my neighborhood boys. And I got away with it until one Saturday, Matt and I were playing soccer with the guys on his street. I was goalie. A ball hit me smack in the face. I knew better than to cry. Not in front of the guys. It must have been pretty bad, because Matt went and got his mom.
“We gotta get you some ice,” she said. She put a bunch of cubes in a bag and put it on my face. She grabbed her keys. “I’m gonna drive him home.”
Even though it hurt like hell, even though there was a ton of blood, I knew Matt’s mother coming over would be the worst idea ever. My hands flew up. “No. I’m fine.”
She looked me in the eye.
“Really. I’m fine.”
I could tell she knew why I didn’t want her to come with me, but she shook her head. “Walk him home, Matt. Tell his father I think it’s broken.”
Tell his father. No way did anyone think I should tell my mother, because everyone knew how she’d been about Matt and Pete after the accident.
When Dad saw the blood, he got down on his knees and put his hands on both sides of my face. “Wow. You did a great job there, kiddo.” He picked me up and sat me on the kitchen counter. Some of the blood dripped on the floor, and I was worried about that, but he said, “I’ll get that later. You wait here.” I heard the freezer door open. Close. The drawer open. Close. The new ice on my face and my father’s concern made me believe everything would be OK. “Thanks for walking him home, Matt, but you should go. Before…”
Just like that, the garage door opened. It was old and loud and unmistakable how it lifted, stuttering over the rails as it went.
Matt’s face went white. So did Dad’s. I heard Ryan’s wheelchair come into the hallway from the garage. Within seconds, they’d be in the kitchen.
Matt’s eyes went to the back door, but he didn’t move fast enough.
Mom stood in the kitchen. “What the hell is going on here?”
Dad’s hand cupped the back of my head. “John was playing soccer and got hit pretty hard. Matt brought him home.”
Mom’s face went tight. I could see her trying to conceal her anger. Each word was a knife that I knew would soon be aimed at me. “Thank you, Matt. Maybe you should go home.”
“His mother thinks his nose’s broken. We’ve got to…” Dad tried.
Mom’s hands flew up. “Well, if his mother thinks…”
Dad stepped in front of her. “That’s enough, Lydia.”
Mom threw her keys on the counter. “Hasn’t his family done enough?”
I mouthed, Go, to Matt, and he took off running.
The yelling made my head throb, and I was already woozy.
“He’s hurt, Lydia,” Dad said.
Mom threw a glass. “He’s always getting hurt. Always, always, always…” And another. And the sounds of the glass smashing reminded me of that day, the day Ryan was hit. It started just like this. With Mom smashing a glass. I wanted to yell at her to stop. I wanted Dad to tell her she should never do that again. With each crash, it seemed as if the world was going to open up and swallow me whole. “Why can’t you follow simple rules, John? Simple.” Smash. “Fucking.” Smash. “Rules. You can’t stay away from one person? For our family’s sake?”
Her hair had fallen out of its clip, and she kicked the clip across the room. “No more Pete. No more Matt. No more.” She was crying now. Banging her fists on the counter across from where I was sitting. I felt every blow as if she’d been hitting me.
Dad lifted me from the counter, and Livy came into the room crying. He scooped her up and set his hand on my shoulder, guiding us out to the garage.
Dad put Livy and I in the car and drove us around and around. I kept thinking he’d take me to the doctor or a hospital or something, like Pete’s mom said, but he never did. He just bought us McDonald’s burgers and fries and a shake. I couldn’t eat, but no one noticed. When we came home, it was dark, and the house was too. Mom was sitting in the living room with some show on TV lighting her face. She looked up as we came in, her eyes red from crying, and she was hiccupping a little as if she’d just stopped. “Hope it was all worth it,” was all she said.
I was never sure if she was talking to me. Or about me. The crazy thing is it wasn’t Pete’s fault that day, the day of that first accident. Our neighbor, the really grouchy one who used to live in Emily’s house, said she saw Ryan skateboard into the street that day. She told the cops and anyone else who would listen that no one could have avoided Ryan. Not even the most experienced driver. But that didn’t stop Mom from blaming Pete. Not that day. Not the next. Not even now. I couldn’t take how mad she was all the time. How unforgiving.
“Dude, you with me?” Matt says as he puts the car in park. Here we are in front of the dank little apartment where I’ve visited Pete a bunch of times over the years.
“Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.”
“This shit never gets easier, does it?” Matt stares out the window.
He’s got no idea. First Ryan. Then Leah.
Matt smacks me in the chest. “Rehashing old history doesn’t help. You got that? You do not get to brood with Pete.”
I nod.
Matt swigs the rest of his Gatorade and points the bottle in the direction of Pete’s doorway. “He’s got to get a grip.”
“Agreed.” I put my empty bottle in the cup holder. “But it’s hard. You know?”
Matt shakes his head. “You know what’s hard? Growing up without a big brother because he’s become a total lump.”
I get out of the car before Matt can wrap his head around how awful what he said was. He’s not the only one with a lump for a brother. Ryan may not have always been as nice as Pete, but he was still pretty cool.
Ryan loved to build with LEGOs. He never let me play with them. Ryan said playing was for little kids. We were going to be architects. I couldn’t even say the word, I was such a little twerp, but I knew it was important.
Matt pushes ahead of me. Knocks loud and obnoxiously until Pete answers the door, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt that reads Witness the Fitness. We bump fists, and he pulls me in for one of those one-armed man hugs.
I laugh and point to his shirt. “Preach it, brother.”
His laugh is small and almost grateful sounding. He rubs the back of his head as if he just woke up. Given the sleep in his eyes, that may be the case. “You know it.”
Matt hands Pete what looks like crumpled money from his pocket. “Mom said to come home Sunday.” Then he pushes into the apartment and beelines for the kitchen table.
Pete clears his throat like he’s embarrassed, either because his mother sent money or because Matt’s being an ass. He calls after him, “I got a pizza. Guess you found that already.”
There are empty beer cans all over the kitchen table, but Matt picks up one that, by the sound of it, is half full and chugs it.
“Little brothers are such pains in the ass,” Pete says. Then, “Sorry my guy hasn’t called you back. He’s just really careful.”
“It’s cool.” My mouth waters at the smell of beer.
Pete reads my mood. “You thirsty? Please excuse Matt’s complete lack of manners.” Pete opens his refrigerator, pulls two cans, pops the tops on both, then hands one to me. He slurps the top of his beer, and I do the same.
Matt switches on the TV and cascades through the channels, which currently consist of two or three and a whole lot of static. “Dude, what happened to your TV? You don’t even get ESPN?”
Pete ignores Matt, but I want to kick him. There’s no need to be a jerk.
Pete takes another swig, then turns to me. “I’ve heard some things. Wondered if they were true.”
I drink. “What things?”
“That your mom is looking to send Ryan to a group home.”
I choke on my beer. “News to me.” Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I try to recover. “Where’d you hear that?”
“My mom.”
The source makes sense. Pete’s mom is a nurse, so she’s hooked up to a lot of those agencies that Mom would have had to go through if she really was looking for a group home or one of those assisted living places Dad used to try to talk to Mom about. Those conversations led to Dad being shown the door. But now? Is it even possible?
Pete shrugs. “Might be good for him, you know?”
I take another drink, let the foamy beer slide down my throat. The whole time, I’m telling myself not to play this horrible wishing game anymore. I try not to wish that Ryan would get to grow up and go off on his own. I try not to wish that Mom’s changed her mind about keeping him at home. I try not to wish for things I can’t have, but I’m already envisioning what I’d trade, working my way up Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, like how I’d love to trade this beer for a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. This pizza for some weed. My family after for my family before.
Pete stands up. “Be right back.”
I sit there drinking beer and eating pizza while my mind is circling. Could the news about Ryan be true? Why do I care if it is? I’m out of here in a few months anyway.
“Maybe Ryan’s doing better?” Matt comes over to the table. “I mean, maybe he wants to be with kids like him,” he says, and it’s the first indication Matt’s an actual human being, not just an asshole.
“Maybe.” I drink some more. “Can’t picture my mom sending him anywhere though. I mean, her whole world centers around Ryan. What he eats. When. How.” I take a swig of beer. Look directly at Matt. “You’ve got no idea.”
“Sometimes, people surprise you.” Matt’s eyes cast toward the bedroom where Pete is still scavenging for pot for me. Matt’s lost out almost as much as I have. Pete was a cool big brother, but after everything that happened, neither one of us has our brother in our lives the way we should.
Pete reemerges from the back room. “I’ll call my guy again. This is all I have. It’s yours.” He hands me a baggie filled with a few small buds. I recognize this particular strand of pot. Purple Dreams. Excellent stuff.
Pete goes back into the little kitchen and opens a ratty cabinet, and the door practically falls off as he does. He takes out a fifth of Jack Daniel’s. “Take this too. You might need a little extra help being back here.”
Like I said, Pete’s always been cool. “Why wait?” I twist the cap. The sound of the seal breaking making my heart race and mind and muscles relax. “Let’s drink. To old friends.” I take a swig, the amber liquid so smooth as it slides down my throat. I pass the bottle to Pete.
“To friends who don’t forget you.” He drinks and hands the bottle to Matt, who shrugs it off.
“I’m in training, dude. And so are you, man. Go easy on that shit. You’re barely good enough to ride the bench as is.”
“Jet fuel.” I take another drink. “Besides, I took, like, two minutes off my times already. I’m pretty sure Coach was impressed.”
Matt takes a small sip. “You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot more than that to impress Coach Gibson.”
“No doubt. But it’s Friday night. I don’t have to impress anyone tomorrow, do I?”
Someone bangs on the door. A bunch of someones by the sound of it. Matt opens it, and the juniors and seniors on the lacrosse team spill into the room.
“What’s up?” Brandon smacks hands with Pete. “How’ve you been, Coach?”
“Not your coach anymore,” Pete answers.
“You should be.” Will’s arm goes around Pete’s shoulders. The two of them walk to the table. Will plunks a six-pack of Miller Lite on the table. “You were always the best.”
“You like that I let you drink here.” Pete points to the fridge. “Let’s keep some of this cold, huh?”
Brandon adds the six-pack he’s carrying to the fridge, and soon, everyone’s drinking.
A dartboard on the side of the room gets tons of play. Matt aims carefully, hits bull’s-eye, and his arms go up in the air.
Pete shakes his head. “My modest little brother.”
Pete sticks his hand out, and I happily put the bottle of Jack in it. The whiskey is doing its job. My head is fuzzy and loose, and not one thing is wrong in this world. I look around the room and see a bunch of guys who I get to hang with. Not because I’m their supplier but just because we’re teammates. I forgot how good that could feel. That everything is exactly as it’s supposed to be.
Brandon and Will and Parker shove each other out of the way for the chance to take Matt on in the next game. Someone blasts Spotify, and Avenged Sevenfold fills the room.
Pete leans on the table, his head lowered and his hands on the top of the bottle. “Momentary loss of muscular coordination…” He quotes The Shining. We both crack up, but I know underneath the laughter is how he actually feels, and I wonder for probably the hundredth time since the accident how it felt from Pete’s perspective when he hit Ryan. The fear. The crushing realization of what he’d done.
“I keep thinking…” I know I’m slurring my words, and when I look at the bottle, I’m surprised it’s more than half gone. Between the two of us. “If only…you know, but I guess what’s done can’t be undone. It is what it is. ” I’m a metaphysical genius. Obviously.
Matt’s head jerks in our direction. He bounds across the room and slams his hand down on the table in front of us. He points at me, a dart still in his hand. “We are not doing this.”
Brandon puts his big mitts on Matt’s shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Sick of this shit,” Matt says.
Brandon turns Matt toward the dartboard. “You’re up, man.”
“Yeah. I got that.” Matt moves back to the other side of the room, straightens, focuses, and throws another bull’s-eye, making the guys yell.
Pete doesn’t look affected by the alcohol, which says something for the tolerance he’s built. His gaze goes to Matt and then back to the bottle.
“I’ve replayed that moment a million times,” Pete says. “I wish…”
“Stop. You can’t.”
Pete takes another drink. “I hope Ryan is doing better. I really do. Nothing would make me happier.”
“You need to be getting better too, man. You need to figure out what you want to do now.”
Pete’s about to answer when there’s another knock on the door. Only it’s quieter and is followed by girl voices. “Open up. Let us in!”
“Finally, some life to this party,” Matt says.
Pete says, “I never said you could have a party here…”
“You never said I couldn’t.” Matt opens the door, and five girls pile in, each one bouncier than the previous.
I search for Emily, but I know she won’t be here. She’s not like these girls. She wouldn’t show up to some asshole’s apartment, knowing everyone’d be drunk. But I am not surprised to see Dominique, who smiles at me across the room. She glides over like she’s working the runway, acts like someone bumped into her, and falls into my lap. Convenient.
It’s not that I don’t want what she’s offering. It’s just that, these days, the happy ending in question is nothing I can’t give myself. Grinning at my inside joke, I bounce Dominique off my lap, salute my boys, and bump fists with Pete. “Gotta go.”
Dominique’s face rearranges itself from surprise to fury. That convinces me I’m doing the right thing.
Matt’s on the old recliner with Jessica. “Well, don’t think I’m driving you home now. I’m a little busy.”
Jessica laughs.
“No worries. I’ll walk. Gotta work on my times anyway. I’ll get my stuff from you tomorrow,” I call over the chatter and head out into the night. It’s just me and the stars, and at least, for once, I’m not hanging around to make another stupid mistake. I’m kinda proud of myself until I take out my phone to see that home is exactly five point two miles away. I shrug, then start to jog. I’m pissing people off left and right these days, which just proves I’m too enmeshed here. Time to leave all this behind and start California living for real.
As my feet pound on the dark streets, each step reminds me of who I am, what I’ve done, and why I need to escape the memories.