HOLLIS
“Will the landslide bring you . . . doooooown,” I sing to my heart’s content, glancing over at Holly who is smirking.
“You’re a terrible singer.”
I’m actually not, but I like to fuck around, because, why not?
“Don’t be jealous, sis. Come on, you know this song, belt it.”
“I don’t do the Dixie Chicks. I don’t really care for country.”
“You shut your mouth,” I playfully snap at her. “Country is the heart and soul of a beer can. How can you not love it?”
“I don’t like beer.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn onto the freeway and press down on the gas pedal. “You had beer once and it was piss water, you can’t judge beer off that. You need to have a really good microbrew.”
“You’re such a woman. Microbrews are so hipster.”
“No they’re not,” I counter. “Microbrews are for people with enough education to realize they have well-refined taste buds.”
“Are you saying you have well-refined taste buds?”
I switch lanes and charge past a slow-as-fuck Nissan. Get in the slow lane, fuckhead. Nothing drives me more insane than shitty Californian drivers.
“I know I have well-refined taste buds, Holls.”
“Is that so?” There is sarcasm in her voice, and I just wait for what she’s going to say next. “If your taste buds are so awesome, explain how you can eat Pop-Tart ice cream sandwiches.”
“Easy, they are a delicacy made for the fine and wealthy.”
“They are trash.”
“Your face is trash.” Not my best comeback but then again, she insulted my Pop-Tart ice cream sandwich. I’m distraught.
“Good one, Hollis.” Changing the subject, she asks, “Did you talk to Dad last night?”
“Yes,” I groan. “Real quick, you really want Green Burrito?”
“Don’t deprive me of my breakfast burrito. I worked off the calories already this morning in the gym.” Holly is obsessed with Green Burrito’s bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast burrito. The reason why she likes it so much? It’s huge and has refried beans. Not many places add refried beans to their breakfast burritos. It’s an absolute crime if you ask me.
“I would never even dream of depriving you. Just wanted to make sure because I need to get off this exit.”
“It’s a ritual after combo dryland and weight lifting in the morning. Never break tradition, Hollis.”
“Excuse me.” I laugh. Getting off the exit, I signal to turn right, directing the car toward the Promised Land. “What the hell was Dad talking about last night?”
Holly sighs and slouches in her chair. “I have no idea. All I could catch from the high-pitched excited babble coming from him was something about a screen printer and being able to print in mass quantities.”
“That’s what I heard too,” I confirm. “I was kind of hoping I heard him wrong. Please tell me he’s not starting his own T-shirt business.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Holly shrug. “I don’t know. People love the shirts he makes for every meet. It’s frightening.”
“Strangers really shouldn’t encourage him.”
“They really shouldn’t.”
I stop at a red light just as my phone dings in the console next to me. Taking a quick glance, I see it’s from Reese.
Reese: You know the term sweating your balls off? Pretty sure mine just detached from my body. I will keep you updated on their whereabouts.
Chuckling, I set my phone on my lap and wait for the light to turn green while I think about my conversation I had with my parents. “Mom was asking me how eBay works. What do you think that was about? Think she wants to sell some memorabilia? That would be so fucking weird if she did.”
“I would hope we would see some profit.” Holly laughs but then grows serious. “Do you know what would be terrifying?”
“What’s that?” I press the gas pedal, Green Burrito looming up ahead.
“The kind of things Mom would sell. She wouldn’t sell Wheaties boxes, she would sell crazy shit like the first sock you ever masturbated with.”
“Why the fuck would you say that?” I can’t contain the laughter erupting from me. “Christ, Holls, Mom better not have that shit, or even know when I first masturbated.”
“Have you looked in hope chest? She has the weirdest shit in there. There is a,” she gulps and then looks at me, “condom wrapper.”
“Oh come on, Holly.” I cringe and my phone vibrates on my lap. Looking down, I see it’s a text from my coach. What does he want? I reach for it.
“Hollis, look out!”
Her voice rings through my head, her scream carrying through the car giving me just enough time to swerve out of the way from rear-ending the car in front of me.
Everything happens in slow motion: The vehicle loses control; Holly’s cry echoes in the tiny cab; the distinct crunching of my car hitting a tree; the smell and blunt force of the air bag hitting me.
Holly’s cry.
The screeching pain coming from her throat only to quickly die down with silence, the engine steam filling the silence.
Tunnel vision eclipses me. I can only see one thing: Holly’s limp body supported by her seatbelt. Such a weird angle.
So much smoke.
Burning eyes.
Black everywhere, the steam so heavy, the cab getting hotter at an exponential rate.
Why is there so much smoke?
Holly . . .
Glancing over, calling her name, wanting her to wake up, praying to God she’s not dead . . .
Sirens sound off in the distance, Holly still hasn’t moved despite the countless times I call her name. I can’t reach her. All I want to do is reach her.
So much smoke.
Voices call out to me, asking if I’m okay. They sound muffled, not even real. None of this seems real. This isn’t happening. This is a dream. It has to be a dream.
A deafening crunching and sawing sound reverberates in the cab, voices calling out from around us, the words Jaws of Life, stretcher, and paramedics ring through my mind but I can’t focus on anything but Holly.
Smoke, blood . . . so much blood. Sirens, voices . . . so much smoke.
Tears fall from my eyes. News reporters claim it was all an accident. The doctor saying Holly will never walk again. It’s all coming at me in fast motion, speeding through me. The heavy weight of the accident sits on my chest, suffocating me.
Hollis Knightly, car accident, paralyzed sister, hits tree, Holly Knightly’s career is over.
Holly’s diving career is over.
A loud scream sends me shooting up, my eyes fling open and I look around my room. There’s no smoke, no blood, no paramedics. I’m in my condo, in my bed dripping in sweat trying to catch my breath.
“Fuck,” I mumble, running my hand over my forehead while my rapidly beating heart hammers away. It was a fucking dream.
Just a fucking dream.
“Christ.” I sit up against my headboard and try to catch my breath.
This isn’t the first time I’ve relived that nightmare. Nope, at least once a month I get to hear, smell, and revisit the fucking day I ruined my sister. Sometimes, if I’m a true glutton for punishment, my sub-conscious puts the show on repeat for a few days in a row.
Funny thing is, I don’t need fucking reminding. Every day I think about the text message I could have waited to look at, that I could have ignored since it was Coach Wilson telling me I forgot my goggles on the pool deck.
Fucking goggles.
A text about forgotten goggles is the reason my sister never gets to dive ever again.
Such a good reason—said with the most sarcasm anyone has ever used.
It’s fucking routine now, whenever I have this dream. I wake up in a sweaty panic, my mind trying to process where I am, my beating heart taking my breath away. I sit up against my headboard, waiting for my adrenaline to ease, leaving me feeling sick to my stomach and so fucking regretful that sleep isn’t even a possibility.
As my breathing slows down, my stomach bottoms out and one face pops into my head. This time it isn’t Holly. It’s Melony.
I want to hear her voice, I fucking need to hear it right about now. Which fuck, that scares me. Why do I have this feeling I need to talk to her? Has she become that significant in my life already that I feel like she could soothe me?
Fuck, I know just seeing those perfect pink lips of hers would do the trick.
Securing my phone from my nightstand, I find her name and press call. Not caring that it’s in the middle of the night. Her phone rings, and rings, and rings only to be followed by her voicemail. To my dismay, her voicemail is the generic robot answering so I don’t get to hear her voice. I didn’t plan on leaving a voicemail but the phone beeps before I can hang up.
Gripping my hair, I say, “Hey baby. Uh, sorry for calling so late. Just had a rough dream.” Shit, I sound like such a pussy. This sure as fuck isn’t going to win her over. Swallowing hard, I continue, “Sorry, I don’t know why I called. Fuck, forget I did. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Sleep well.”
I hang up before I can embarrass myself any more than I have. Fuck.
Sinking into my bed, I stare at the bright screen of my phone wondering if my call woke her up, if she is listening to my message, if she is thinking about calling back.
But she doesn’t. She doesn’t call me the next day, or the next. And the text messages I send go unanswered as well.
This isn’t over, baby. If only I could believe the words I said as much as I need to.
***
“Have another taco, dude,” Reese says sarcastically as I reach over onto his plate and snag one. “I wasn’t hungry at all.”
“You can order more,” I answer with a mouthful. “Fuck, you couldn’t put any cheese or sour cream on these? What is this, a wheat tortilla?”
“You know I don’t eat that stuff, and yes, it’s wheat. It’s better for you. But you should know that since you’re an elite athlete and everything.”
Leaning back in my chair, I take another bite of the shitty taco and look out over the rolling waves crashing into the shoreline. What a fucked-up week. I am a few days out from having to leave for the final send-off before the diving team heads to Rio and I have yet to hear from Melony.
I’ve tried everything to contact her, even scoping out her apartment like a fucking stalker, but she must be hiding or on some crazy schedule because I never see her. I finally gave in and asked Reese to lunch to get the scoop. Yup, I’m that desperate.
“So, you asked me to lunch, didn’t get lunch yourself but decided to mooch off my plate. What the fuck, man?”
Huffing, I rest my arm over the back of my chair and stare at my best friend. “Cry about it a little more, Reese. I don’t think the seagulls heard you.”
“You’re being a little bitch today. Care to explain?”
Chewing on my lip, I eye the dessert menu from my seat. “Want to get some fried ice cream?”
“No. That shit would sit in me for at least three days.”
“Fuck, you’re old. Too afraid of a little ice cream because it might sit on your hips?”
“I didn’t say sit on my hips, dickhead.”
“Might as well have.” I cross my arms over my chest, still eyeing the picture of the fried ice cream. I would do an extra set of stairs to put a droplet of it on my tongue. Just one taste . . .
Interrupting my fantasy of fried ice cream, Reese asks, “Stress eating and acting like you just found out you put a tampon up your vagina when you already had one corkin’ your load. You had the dream.”
Reese knows me too damn well.
“How many nights?” he asks, assessing me over his black beans.
“The past three,” I answer on an exhausted exhale. “It’s fucking with me in every way possible.”
“Have you talked to Holly about it?”
“No. Why the fuck would I do that? I don’t want to bring that day back up to her? It’s bad enough she’s reminded every fucking second what happened to her when she’s wheeling herself around. I’m not about to tell her I can’t sleep at night because I keep dreaming about it. I don’t want her to feel bad for me.”
“So in turn, you feel bad for her?” Reese asks, trying to pull some psychobabble on me.
“Cut the shit, doc,” I say sarcastically. “Of course I feel bad for her.”
“Have you ever thought that maybe she doesn’t want you to feel bad for her?”
The thought never crossed my mind and honestly, I don’t care to think about how Holly might feel about the whole accident. We’ve never talked about it and I don’t plan on doing it any time soon. The guilt is too heavy on me. I can’t have any more piled on my shoulders.
“That’s not why I came to talk to you.” Changing the subject, I’m good at that.
“Can I get you two anything else?” the waitress asks before Reese can ask me why I brought him here.
“Yeah, can we get a fried ice cream?” Fuck it. I could care less about diving right about now. “And don’t bother bringing two spoons. Sally over here thinks it will stick to her hips.”
Chuckling, the waitress nods her head and takes off to fulfill my order, leaving a scowling Reese alone with me.
“What?” I ask with a smirk that I can’t seem to hide.
“Just fucking wait, asshole. You’ll get yours.”
“Ooo, I’m shaking in my boots,” I deadpan. I take a quick sip of my water and say, “Now can we please get to the reason why I asked you here?”
“Please, by all means, entertain me with your melodramatic diatribe.”
Yikes, I might have pissed him off a little too much.
“Uh, how’s production?” It takes all but two seconds for Reese to see right through me, I know this by the way he throws his head back and laughs deep from the pit of his stomach, drawing attention from everyone around us.
“Oh fuck,” he chuckles out.
“What’s the big deal?” Keep things cool and casual, that’s my motto, then he won’t see right through me.
“You want to know about Melony. Has she been shutting you out? I told you she wouldn’t budge.”
“I don’t want to know about Melony,” I lie. “I was actually curious about the whole reality show concept. Thinking about getting myself one of those shows.”
Reese shakes his head and pats his mouth clean with his napkin. “You’re so fucking demented, man. Just come out and say it.”
Just wanting answers at this point, I give in. “Fine, how’s Melony? She’s still alive, right? She hasn’t been answering any of my calls or texts, and it’s driving me fucking insane.”
Studying me, Reese asks, “Have you ever heard of a stage-five clinger?” I nod my head. “Dude, look in a mirror.”
“I’m not a stage-five clinger,” I protest. “Fuck, I just . . .” I pause and think about my actions. Calls, voicemails, texts, stalking her apartment. Running my hands over my face, I say, “Shit, I’m a stage-five clinger.”
Another uproarious laugh erupts from Reese, setting my irritation at an all-time high. “Glad you can see it that way.”
“Fuck you. Just tell me if you’ve seen her.”
“Yesterday,” Reese answers just as the waitress sets my dessert in front of me. The fried dairy filters through my nose, instantly relaxing me.
Fucking sugar. It’s all I need in this world. That and Melony.
Once my stomach stops growling, my mind registers what Reese said. “You saw her yesterday?”
He nods, eyeing my dessert. Look all you want, fucker, you’re not getting any.
“Yeah, she was with Paisley.”
“And . . .” I motion for him to continue with my spoon in my hand.
“And what?” He shrugs. “She was there.”
“Fuck, you’re infuriating. Did she say anything about me?”
“Do I look like the town gossip? I wasn’t really paying attention. I was more focused on the way Paisley’s shorts looked on her. She has some fine-as-fuck legs.”
Putting a giant scoop of ice cream in my mouth, I say, “You’re useless.”
Reese sits still for a second and then taps the side of his head with his index finger, as if a light bulb just popped up. “You know, now that I think about it . . .”
I know that look. He wants something. It’s never easy with this fuckhead.
“What’s it going to take?” I ask, eying him with disdain.
He nods at my bowl. “Half of your dessert.”
“Half? Are you fucking crazy? Three spoons, that’s it.”
“Four,” he counters and licks his lips.
“What happened to healthy eating and making sure you’re in top form and all that bullshit?”
He shrugs. “Eh, it’s my last Olympics, I can cut myself a break. Now, four spoonfuls or no information.”
“How do I know what you’re going to say is worth four spoonfuls?”
“Valid point. How about I tell you what I heard and then you can judge the amount of spoons I get, but you can’t go any lower than two?”
Bartering, I like it.
“No lower than two, no higher than four.”
Reese holds his hands up. “Hey, if you want to go higher than four, that’s your deal. Who knows maybe what I have to say is worth five spoons.”
“Doubtful, but you have a deal. Spill it.”
Satisfied with his deal, he says, “While staring at Paisley’s legs, I might have heard Paisley talking to Melony about you.” With spoon in hand, he reaches for my dessert, which I quickly hide from him.
“Are you insane? You’re not getting anything for that information. That’s not even worth mentioning.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Then finish, asshole, because this ice cream is starting to melt.”
Sighing, he runs his hand over his beard as if he’s trying to decide how to convey the information he has for me. “How much are you set on Melony?”
“Very set.” There is more conviction in my voice than ever.
“Well, you might be in for a world of hurt because she made it quite clear that she doesn’t ever plan on being in a relationship.”
“With me?” I ask, feeling slightly disheartened.
“No, with anyone. Ever.” Eyeing the bowl, Reese asks, “Can I have ice cream now?”
Deflated, I push the bowl toward him and tell him to finish it.
I knew she didn’t want to be in a relationship, but for her to confirm it to Paisley, that doesn’t settle well with me. Telling a girlfriend is very different to “fobbing me off.”
Okay, so she doesn’t do relationships, but there has to be a reason. Did some jackass cheat on her? I find that hard to believe given how gorgeous, smart, and strong she is, but guys can be dicks.
“What are you thinking about over there?” Reese asks, ice cream dripping in his beard.
“I just don’t get it. Why does she not want a relationship? She’s the first woman I’ve ever come across that’s been so incredibly against romance, love, and relationships. There has to be something I’m not seeing.”
Reese settles back in his chair, ice cream still left in the bowl. I’m slightly surprised, as I thought he was going to take the whole thing down. “Dude, you know I’m always honest with you. I like Melony a lot, I think she’s a cool chick, but I don’t know if she’s worth your time. I don’t think she’s changing her mind. If you were any other guy, I would say have some fun. But I know you. You become attached and I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“It’s too fucking late,” I huff out. “I’m already attached. Shit.” Running my hands over my face, I try to come up with some sort of explanation but nothing comes to mind. “You know, it would be so much easier to toss in the towel with her if her eyes weren’t so expressive.”
“What do you mean? Do you think she likes you?”
“I do.” I nod. “I just think she’s too stubborn and scared to give in to what she’s feeling. We have moments where she hands over her trust, where she melts into me and those moments, fuck, they are perfect. But that’s all they are, moments. They are quickly washed away once her brain kicks in. There is something blocking her from going all in.” Getting up, I grab my sunglasses and phone off the table and push my chair in. “And I’m going to fucking find out what it is.”
I take off toward the door as I hear Reese call out, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the check just like every other time.”