“WE NEED to talk.”
The scariest four words a guy could hear from his girlfriend. Connor stared at Allyson, who stood in his doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. It had been two weeks since his ACL reconstruction surgery. Two weeks of being treated like a baby. Two weeks of isolation—self-inflicted isolation if he was being honest—from his friends. Too many questions. Too many sly looks.
He didn’t want to invite her in. Every time he saw her it was a reminder. A reminder of what he’d done. A reminder of the act he was forced to play. A reminder of what he wanted, what he should want, and what he risked. Despite that, he swung the door open, gesturing her in.
“Anyone here?” Allyson looked around.
“Nope.” He’d been deserted. The time by himself had seemed like a blessing. It had been days since he hadn’t had someone hovering. Instead he found himself brooding about the way his life had flipped around. He’d gone from the Golden Boy with the golden future to the jerk who cheated on his girlfriend and whose plans and reputation were crumbling at his feet.
“Good.” She led the way to the kitchen then sat in one of the chairs, looking at him expectantly. “Sit.”
He sat.
She folded her hands on the table. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”
He blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She blew out a breath. “Connor, you’re not stupid. Please don’t treat me like I am.”
He shifted in his seat. This was the perfect opportunity. He should come clean. Or better yet, he could piss her off enough she’d break up with him. The words wouldn’t come, though. He tugged at one of the Velcro straps holding his knee brace in place.
“Look,” he finally said, “things have been a little rough lately, that’s all.” He nodded at his leg. He lied with the truth, let her assume he was talking about his knee. Maybe then she wouldn’t look too much deeper into other causes of his foul mood.
Her face softened. “I think you need to get out and do something. You’ve been holed up too long.”
“I’m recovering from surgery.”
“You’ve been holing up long before that. Ever since the weekend in Chicago you’ve been isolating yourself. When was the last time you hung out with Marc or one of the guys from the team?”
“They’re busy with baseball and stuff.”
“Have you asked them? You hung out before when you were on the team too. If they had time then, they have time now.”
“I don’t know. I can’t stand the way they look at me. It’s like now I can’t play, they don’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“What makes you think that? Did someone say something?” She straightened her shoulders, ready to defend him. If he told her someone had been giving him a hard time, she’d probably march out and confront the person. Like Mom would. Which was one more reminder that she—and everyone else—was treating him like a child.
“No, it’s a feeling I get when I’m around them.” He shrugged.
There was a long pause, then Allyson said, “I don’t think you give them enough credit. They’re your friends; I doubt their friendship is conditional on your being on the team.”
“Maybe.” The complete lack of conviction rang clear in his voice.
Allyson leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, and clasping her hands together. “There’s a party on Saturday night. You’ve heard about it?”
“Yeah, at Matt Macy’s place.”
“You should go. We should go,” she corrected. “You need to get out and do something fun, something social. You’ve been hiding from the world long enough.”
“I’m not hiding,” Connor said. “I’m recovering.” She stared intently at him. He couldn’t hold her gaze for more than a second. “Fine. Fine, we can go to the party. It’ll be fun.”
She reached over and patted his hand. Like he was a toddler settling in for a bedtime story.
ALLYSON DROVE. One more thing to prove that he was completely helpless. The Macys owned a small farm outside of town. Several acres of corn—barely little sprouts this early in the growing season—surrounded a large rambling farmhouse that had been in the Macy family for decades. Matt was the youngest of four brothers, so by the time he was a senior, the house had earned a reputation as the perfect party venue when his parents went out of town for a weekend.
One of Connor’s crutches slipped on the rough gravel driveway leading to the house. Dozens of vehicles lined the long drive, indicating that the party was well attended and in full swing.
“You okay?” Allyson stepped close to him.
“Fine,” he snapped. “Let’s get inside.”
“Are you going to be this grumpy all night? Because if you are, I’m sure I can find someone more cheerful to hang out with.”
Connor stopped and glared at the ground. He was being an unreasonable jerk. It wasn’t Allyson’s fault that everything seemed to be falling apart around him. Taking his irritation out on her wasn’t fair. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Great. Apologizing again. “We’re here to have fun, so let’s head on in and have fun.”
When they entered the house, classmates greeted Connor with shouts of surprise. Yeah, he’d never been the party type.
Matt Macy came over right away. “Connor, dude, you made it. It’s about time you came to one of my parties. Beer and booze are in the kitchen.”
The place was packed, and his crutches made it awkward to make his way through the crowd. Several people ran into him, jostling his leg, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. By the time he reached the kitchen, all he wanted was to turn around and head back home. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Oh, right, he hadn’t. Allyson had thought it was a good idea.
“Well, if it isn’t Golden Boy. Where’s your boyfriend?”
Connor straightened, snapping to attention like a soldier in boot camp. “Not tonight, Roy,” he said, not bothering to turn around.
“Ah, c’mon, man. You’re not fooling anyone with your beard here. That’s the word, right, Clint?”
Clint leaned against a countertop and smiled at Allyson. “That’s the word. You know the term?”
Allyson stood next to Connor and glared at the two assholes.
“A beard is a chick fags use to fool people into thinking they’re not fags.”
“Knock it off.” Connor growled the words.
“You saw the pictures, didn’t you?” Clint’s attention never left Allyson. There was something in his grin, something like gleeful anticipation. And that something would likely make Connor’s life even more miserable.
“Fess up.” Roy moved closer, trying to loom over Connor.
Disgusting. The two of them were some kind of demented tag team. It was like they’d rehearsed this. Connor screwed up his face in disgust.
“That was you and Guyliner in that picture, wasn’t it?” Roy walked two fingers across the counter toward Connor.
“Yeah. My freak cousin April went to some homo club in Chicago a couple of weeks ago and posted some pictures online. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was you guys. Just think: telling the truth is good for the soul. Come clean.” Clint smirked.
Allyson stepped closer, edging slightly between Connor and Clint.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Connor tried to draw Allyson back.
“You’d rather get all up close and personal with Guyliner rather than tapping that.” Roy jutted his chin toward Allyson, licking his lips.
“Don’t talk about Allyson that way. Haven’t we had this conversation before?” Connor kept his voice cool, though he gripped the handles of the crutches so hard, the foam-covered aluminum creaked.
“You sound pretty tough, but we both know that you won’t do crap.” He looked at Allyson. “You can’t tell me you don’t wonder about him. There’s no way he’s as perfect as he wants people to believe,” Roy shot back.
“Roy, what I believe is that you’re an ass. I believe a lot of things are none of your business. Where do you get off treating people the way you do? Now, why don’t you take your boyfriend and get out of here so my boyfriend and I can enjoy this party.”
Allyson was as irate as an angry mama bear protecting her cub. Connor would have enjoyed the image if it didn’t make him the cub.
Roy’s face heated, and he took a step toward Allyson. Connor shifted his grip on one of the crutches and settled his weight more securely on his good leg. If Roy tried anything, Connor would be ready to act.
“Jesus, Roy, you can’t hit a girl.” Clint placed a restraining hand on Roy’s arm. Connor would have been impressed by the old-fashioned idea coming from Clint—until he added, “Not here with all these people around.”
Not so very chivalrous, after all. Connor held his breath as they glared at Connor and Allyson before spinning away and heading out of the kitchen.
“Now,” Allyson said, returning her attention to Connor, “let’s grab a drink and find you somewhere to sit down. You shouldn’t be on your feet all night.”
“I’m fine.” Connor bit off the words as though they were beef jerky.
“Don’t be stubborn. You need to stay off your leg as much as possible.”
“I’m not a baby, damn it.” At the rate this evening was going, Allyson might as well throw a diaper on him and call him sweetums. Connor grabbed a can of beer from an ice-filled cooler on the floor. Allyson, taking her duties as designated driver seriously, poured herself a glass of Coke from a two-liter bottle on the counter.
She scanned the living and dining rooms for a place for Connor to sit. “I bet if we ask, one of the guys on the couch will let you sit there.”
“No. We’ll find a place or we won’t. I’m not making someone move so I can park my banged-up ass on the couch.”
She harrumphed—not something he’d ever heard from her before—and kept looking. Finally she led him to an old window seat at the back of the dining room, next to a group of guys playing beer pong, but he was able to sit. He wouldn’t admit it to Allyson, not even under threat of torture, but the pain in his knee did ease a bit as he sat down. He tucked the crutches against a wall. The damn things were a hazard.
This was so humiliating, parking it on the sidelines while everyone else got to move around freely. He popped the top on his beer and took a cautious sip. He cringed at the unfamiliar taste. How did people drink this stuff?
Next to him, Allyson sat straight-backed and proper on the edge of the seat. She looked like she should be attending an afternoon tea party instead of a kegger.
“If you aren’t having fun, why are we here?” Connor glared at her.
“Are you kidding me? You needed to get out, be social. It’s good for you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
Her eyes widened in hurt. “Do you really think that’s why I’m here? You don’t think I’m happy to have the chance to spend time with you?”
He took another drink of the beer, and then another. “You know,” he told her, “beer isn’t as bad as I first thought. I think it’s growing on me.”
“Avoidance isn’t like you.”
“Since I can’t play ball anymore, I figure it’s time to develop a new skill.”
“Connor, you’re acting like a dick.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Lately tension seemed to center right between his eyes. He downed the rest of his beer and stood up. “I’m getting another one of these and then I’ll be back. We’re here to be social and have fun. I’ll try and keep my grumpiness to a minimum.”
She smiled at him. “Okay. But—please don’t be upset—let me get you that beer.”
He wanted to object, but his leg throbbed like a mother. “Okay, thanks.” She patted his arm on her way to the kitchen. It made him feel like an obedient dog.
She came back with the beer and settled in next to him. She smelled good, floral and sweet, but it didn’t cause nearly the same reaction as Graham’s scent. He ground his teeth, cursing himself. He was doing it again, and it had to stop. Comparing Allyson and Graham was a waste of energy. He opened the beer and downed half the contents in one swallow. His stomach churned, but when it settled, he chugged the rest of the can.
Allyson watched him with disapproval. “I didn’t know you drank beer.”
“I don’t.” He paused to cover a belch. “But I think I’m going to start. People seem to be enjoying it.” He nodded at partiers standing around, laughing and dancing, all with plastic cups or aluminum cans in their hands. “I’ve always wondered what the draw was.”
“I take it you’re going to try and find out tonight?”
“Yep.” He shook his newly empty can. “I wonder how many of these I need to drink to forget about the shitfest my life is turning into?”
Allyson crossed her arms over her chest. “I think you’ve probably had enough. I thought you were too smart to try and escape your problems with something like alcohol.”
“I told you, I think avoidance is my new hobby.” He focused on her pale face and the big green eyes staring at him so seriously. “You know,” he said, leaning close, “you really are pretty.”
Those pretty eyes widened. “What—” she was cut off when his mouth covered hers. I can do this. He could get past this stupid infatuation with Graham and put his life back on track. He could start with this.
Allyson stiffened when he pulled her close. He didn’t want to think about how desperate he was to feel normal, or how dark his thoughts had turned. This was supposed to be right; this was expected. “We should have sex.”
She jerked back. “What? What did you say?”
“We should have sex. We’ve been dating for, like, six months. I like you, you like me. People assume we’re already doing it.” He tried to kiss her again and his head swam. The effects of the beer seemed to be kicking in.
She held up a hand. “You decide to get drunk and then you decide we should have sex? A few weeks ago kissing me sent you into a panic that had you tripping over your own feet in your hurry to get away.”
He tightened his arms around her, forcing her close. “Come on, Allyson. You don’t have to think it to death. Let’s just do it, get it over with.”
“Get it over with? We’re talking about sex, not a root canal.”
“You know what I mean. I…. Maybe if we do it, people will forget about that stupid picture.”
“Oh, Connor.” She sighed, her body relaxing against him. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. What you do—what we do—is nobody else’s business.”
“I agree. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to sleep with you. I bet Matt could find us an unoccupied room and we can… you know.” It may have tasted like shit, but the beer definitely made him so much more relaxed around Allyson. He tried to smile seductively. Going by Allyson’s reaction, he failed. Miserably. She looked skeptical. Not the reaction he was aiming for. How did guys do that? He maneuvered her around until her legs were draped over his good one. He slid his hands along her sides and up her ribs. Steeling his nerves, he slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt.
She slapped his hand. “Connor, knock it off!”
“Come on, Allyson, don’t be that way.” He released her soft curves only to shift his grip to her legs when she wriggled away.
She was pale and shaking, standing in front of him. “What’s the matter with you?”
There were too many possible answers to that question, none of which he wanted to share. Instead, he got pissed. “Fine. Be that way. Why don’t you leave? If you’re not here to have a good time, you might as well get out. I’m sure I can find someone else to play with.”
Allyson checked the surrounding area before whispering, “You’re being an ass.”
“You’re being a prude.”
She gasped. “You want me to go? Fine, I’ll go. Find your own way home.” She spun around, her glossy red hair swinging like a cape behind her, her strides jerky with indignation.
Connor grabbed his crutches and surged up as Allyson pushed her way through the crowd. He didn’t need Allyson to have a good time at the party. He clenched his jaw and limped to the kitchen, unsteady on the crutches. He preferred the anger and shame to the bleakness that threatened to overwhelm him. Most of the people he passed took one look at his angry face and let him by without a word. In the kitchen he found a mostly full bottle of coconut rum. He held it awkwardly between two fingers and hobbled away with it.
It took a few minutes, but he found an unoccupied room on the other side of the big farm house. By the looks of it, it served as a small office with a couple of shelves, an ancient computer, and a cushy chair with truly horrible gold and green paisley upholstery. The lights were off, and when he shut the door the room darkened immediately. Nearly blind, he made his way forward until the tip of one of his crutches hit the chair, and then he settled into the flat cushions.
Connor rested his head against the back of the chair. The room smelled a bit like cigars. It was a faint odor, and not unpleasant. Away from the heart of the party and with the door closed, the music was a muted thrum. He opened the bottle of rum and threw the cap at the door. He took a tentative swallow, testing the flavor. It was sweet, and he imagined coconut-flavored mouthwash would taste the same.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, rum burning its way down to his stomach. By the time he’d finished about a third of the bottle’s contents, his head was fuzzy and the room tilted around him. It was kind of like the night in Chicago, but darker and meaner somehow. Thinking of Chicago made him think about Graham. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing back the regret.
He dug out his phone to call Marc for a ride. His mind was mush, but he remembered Marc was at some family thing in Indianapolis that weekend. When he exited his contacts, his thumb brushed his photos icon. The first image he saw was a picture he had snapped of Graham at Stripes. A red light highlighted his spiky, tousled hair and a sly smile played at his mouth. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples. His head was cocked to the side, and his eyes were half-closed. Something about that image, and the night they had spent together, caused something to crack in his chest. Connor ran his thumb across the screen, tracing the quirked lips and angled brows.
Before he could think better of it, though thinking wasn’t the easiest thing for him at the moment, he found Graham’s name in his phone’s contact list and pressed the green Call button.
“Connor?” Graham’s voice was distant, tinny. Then he realized that he still held the phone in front of him rather than to his ear.
“Hey, Graham.”
“You sound funny. Are you okay?”
Connor looked around the dark room. “You know, I don’t think so.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’.” The word came out slurred. He tried again. “Nothing. ’S important to ’nunciate.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yep.”
“Connor, where’s Allyson?”
“She left a while ago.”
“She left you alone?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I wanted to have sex with her.”
“What?”
“Yep, I told her we should have sex. She wasn’t very interested, though. Got mad and left me here when I said I’d find someone who would.”
“Jesus, Connor.” Graham sounded appalled.
“Didn’t really want her, though. Not like that.”
“Then why did you tell her you wanted to have sex?”
“’Cause I’m s’posed to want to have sex. I’m seventeen. I’m s’posed to want to have sex with girls all the time. But I don’t.” Connor took a swig of the rum. He couldn’t even taste it anymore.
“Are you still drinking?”
“Yep. Good stuff. Tastes like coconut mouthwash.”
“Coconut mouthwash? Sounds disgusting.”
“It’s really coconut rum. I bet I smell like suntan lotion.”
“I don’t think you should drink any more. Are you at Matt Macy’s party? I’ll come get you.”
“You will?” Connor beamed at his phone. “Hey, you should come and drink some coconut rum with me. You could smell like suntan lotion too.”
“Connor, you need to keep the phone by your mouth. I can’t understand you.”
“Whoops!” He leaned back in the chair and felt the earth tilt on its axis. When the office stopped spinning, he tried again, holding the phone by his mouth. “I didn’t want to have sex with Allyson, you know. I think about having sex with you, though. Hey, have you had sex before? If you come over, can we have sex?”