A Game Like Ours: Suncastle College Book One

by Marissa J. Gramoll

  Can’t get too close.

  Won’t get too close.

  “Goddamnit.” She brushes my shoulder where tears fell onto my shirt. “I shouldn’t have come back.”

  “Don’t say that.” My heart lurches, afraid she may turn tail and run. I can’t watch her leave again.

  “It’s too much.” She closes her eyes for a very long time, like she did over at Quickies. “I don’t think I can stay.”

  Pain erupts in my chest, catching me off guard. I’ve always been empathetic, but this is more. It physically hurts. A throbbing that worries me. Whoever coined the term heartache wasn’t kidding.

  “What do you need?” I take her hand in mine. Soft warm skin meets my cold, calloused fingers.

  She looks out the window where a handful of people walk the beach. Wind blows past us from the open window. Her hair moves out of her face. She’s beautiful when she cries–when I see her soul.

  “I think I need to get out of this house.”

  “Yeah.” My answer is quick, because I’d do absolutely anything she asked.

  “Without Mickey and Claudia.”

  “K.” I stand, taking her hand, helping her off the bed. “You wanna get some of your stuff together? Stay at my place tonight?” I see so much pain inside her.

  “I haven’t taken my luggage out of my car. I’ve got clothes in there.”

  I shut the windows and latch them, helping her secure the house. We go downstairs where Claudia pulls her hands out of Mick’s pants.

  It seems like Mick is two different guys. He’s the helpful guy that cleans the house from top to bottom in an hour. Then there’s this guy who’s thinking with his dick in the middle of Lexie’s place.

  “Y’all go to Garrison’s. Have fun.” I toss Mick my keys as he awkwardly buckles his belt up. “At least one of you make sure you drive my baby home sober. If there is so much as a scratch on that truck, so help you, Jesus.”

  “You got it, Bobby.” Claudia’s face is red.

  Lex and I get into her car. I’ll take care of her. It’s the most important thing I can do.

  For Cody.

  4

  LEXIE

  Bobby turns his key in the lock at the same apartment he had freshman year. He walks in first, setting the pizza on the counter. “Make yourself at home.” He smiles.

  I take off my shoes and drop them on the thin carpet by the front door. His place is nice–a small apartment close to the baseball field. Leather couches back up against the walls in an L shape around a coffee table, facing a decent sized flat screen mounted on the wall. “Mickey still livin’ with you?”

  “If you can call it that. He’s rarely here. Works a lot.” Bobby grabs a few things and puts them somewhere else–tidying up, as if I care.

  I scan the room for some sort of stereo and find it on a cabinet against the far wall, tucked away where you can't see if from the window. “Mind if I turn on some music?”

  “Go ahead.” He’s still moving stuff.

  Music fills the room while I meet him in the kitchen. He’s got this adorable frazzled look while he’s shuffling things around.

  “It’s fine. Don’t bother cleanin’.” My words stop him and he looks at me like he’s nervous, a look I’ve rarely seen on him.

  “Yeah, um, here.” He pulls out a plate from the dishwasher, looking at it as if he’s worried it’s not clean. Why didn’t he grab two?

  The smell of pizza lures me into the boxes, stomach growling, mouth watering as I remember the sweet sauce and fluffy crust. I’ve missed The Splat. He bought me cheese sticks. Can’t wait for us to dive in. Only, he plops down at the table with some sort of Tupperware filled with chicken and vegetables.

  “You’re eatin’ that when we have this?” I eye the pizza.

  “Yeah.” He shrugs, a piece of broccoli going to his mouth.

  I glance at the cluttered kitchen counters, protein powder, a huge bag of jasmine rice, jars of trailmix-looking stuff. “So you bought two large pizzas and cheese sticks for me?”

  “It’s not cheat day.” He shrugs again, so matter-of-fact that I stifle a chuckle. “But you could leave enough leftovers for when it is.” That smile of his brightens up his whole face. That hasn’t changed. He’s always been funny.

  Salty goodness saturates my throat, and I go to the fridge. “You got Coke?” There’s three cartons of almond milk, a shit-ton of eggs and dozens of those Tupperware containers. Food Prep, maybe?

  He’s dedicated, I’ll give him that. I don’t eat crap everyday. But I also don’t make a huge deal about my diet, so the fact that his place is devoid of junk food surprises me. There isn’t a can of Pringles or any hint of chocolate milk. Cody made sure we always had those things; I thought Bobby liked them, too. Wait, he just bought those M&Ms. Don’t know where he stashed them, though.

  “Shit, um, I don’t have much. I’ll make you a smoothie.” Before I can say no, he’s fiddling with his blender, going to the freezer for some frozen fruit.

  “Oh, it’s alright.” I pour a glass of water.

  “No trouble, you like creamy stuff, don’tcha?” He sets a bag of frozen peaches on the counter, going to the fridge for the almond milk.

  “You sure?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll get some Coke for next time.” He winks, putting a bunch of stuff in the blender like he does this everyday–as he probably does.

  My heart warms because I know how much he loves peaches and was willing to share with me. Bobby rinses the blender and sets the smoothie in front of me, returning to his place at the table.

  “These from your parents’ trees?” I expect it to taste like the health food store, and it does. Not very sweet and grainy because he put a scoop of protein powder in it–likely out of habit–but the peach flavor is really good.

  “Yeah, I went home last week and brought some back. Mom’s tryin’ to clear out the freezer for the new crop.”

  “I feel special.” I smile, licking some smoothie off my lips.

  “You are.” His eyes hold mine until he looks like he regrets it.

  He just called me special and it’s like the grocery all over again, a warm shiver working through me.

  “You go home often?” I dip my cheese stick in the ranch.

  “No, not really. Every few months. You?” His Tupperware is half empty. Damn, he eats quick.

  “Not except for Christmas.” I eat my weight in pizza, the nostalgia welcome on my tongue. “The Splat, man. We used to go there every weekend.”

  “I remember.” His smile does something to me, and I flutter through sensations like I’m a mix of cold and warm at the same time. There’s something here, between us…isn’t there? No, there can’t be. I clench my nails into my palms under the table, not sure why I’m reading into anything.

  It’s just Bobby.

  “Cody’d dump the sugar packets in a cup of water with lemons like he wanted homemade lemonade.” Bobby charades the action as if he’s doing it here and now.

  I chuckle. “And I’d tell him to just drink my actual lemonade, shovin’ it in his face.”

  “No use tryin’ to get him to do a damn thing. Stubborn ass.” Bobby leans back in his chair, stretching his neck side to side.

  “About everythin’.” I roll my eyes, laughing to myself about how many stupid things he’d do, no matter how much you tried to tell him not to.

  “God, I miss him.” Bobby’s voice is so deep it’s like I’m covered in a dense fog. Weight that never seems to go away pushes me down. I knew it’d be hard to return to Suncastle–and it is–but I can make it. I need to make it through this last year. I’m too close to getting my athletic training degree to just quit now.

  While I put the pizza in his fridge, Bobby rinses out his container and fetches the bag of spinach, popping the leaves in his mouth like they’re potato chips.

  “Your pick.” Bobby clicks off the stereo and hands me the TV remote while we sit on the couch with Netflix pulled up. His user has a bunch of crime
investigation shows and a dozen dramas in the watch again section.

  “I would’ve thought you were more the comedy type.”

  His face drops and that ever-present weight intensifies. “Oh, um, haven’t felt like it.” He lets out a long breath like he’s trying to cover his pained expression. Cody’s death has changed him so much. I tap my nails against my leggings, trying to think of how to shake us both out of this funk.

  “Isn’t there a game on?” I click through and pull up the Yankees game but it’s commercials so I sink into the couch looking for shapes in the popcorn ceiling. “Thanks. Ya know, you didn’t have to let me come over.”

  “Oh, it’s nothin’.” He smiles in such a tender way that I wonder what is behind those eyes and going through his mind. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “No, I mean, it was sweet of you. Standin’ up to Mickey and takin’ my side and all. Felt like I was suffocatin’ up in our bedroom. I don’t think I would’ve been much fun at Garrison’s tonight. Not that I wanted to be at home, either.”

  “You don’t wanna live at the beach house, do you?”

  I suppose my actions are making that pretty obvious. “I wish my parents would sell it and I could move somewhere else. Or they didn’t insist on payin’ my way through college as long as I do it their way.” The words come out of my mouth and I feel icky for not being grateful. “I sound like some spoiled rich girl right now.” I pull at my hair, looping the ends around my finger and twirling.

  “Some spoiled rich girl?” His blue eyes are kind, brows wrinkling down like we both know that isn’t me.

  “Here I am, livin’ off ‘Daddy’s money’ and complainin’ about it when I’ve got a whole beautiful home to live in.” I huff out my frustration, years of wishing for something different dripping from my words. “I didn’t want to, ya know.”

  “Didn’t want to…” Bobby waits for me to finish and I find it adorably validating that he is so present in this conversation.

  “I never wanted to just live off them. I don’t like it one little bit. Tried to get a job in high school several times. Mom wouldn’t have it. I worked when I lived at Charlene’s house, but it isn’t enough to live on all year. Now I’m back and dependin’ on them writin’ my tuition check. Bein’ a senior in the athletic trainin’ program could allow for part time work until season but nothin’ significant.”

  “Yeah, bein’ involved with the teams takes a lot of time. I’m takin’ twenty credit hours this semester.”

  “Twenty?” I gasp, my fingers coming over my lips. I couldn’t possibly keep good grades with that many classes.

  “That way I can drop to twelve in the spring and still graduate before the draft.” He crosses his fingers on both hands with a quirky smile, flaring the dimple on the left side of his mouth with a wink.

  “You take this many classes every fall?” I can’t imagine being that busy.

  “The engineering program usually takes an extra year. I’m just lucky it worked out with baseball so I can still be playin’. Would’ve sucked if I had to stick around without playin’ ball.” He shrugs, settling back into a comfortable position on the couch. “But yes, most fall semesters I take on a heavy course load. Just tryin’ to get all my requirements in.”

  “Oh yeah. I remember you bein’ Red-shirted sophomore year. You blew your elbow out, wasn’t it?” I heard about it after one of their practices.

  “Yeah, it was stupid. Ended up in surgery too close to season.” He massages his elbow. “It’s all good now, though. Mindy is one hell of an athletic trainer.”

  “Oh, she’s amazing.” I shake my head, still thinking about his schedule. I don’t know how I would juggle all that and be on the baseball team. More than that, Bobby is one of the best players. I’m amazed at how hard he must work to keep up. I think he has a job, too. “Jesus, I can’t believe you’re takin’ twenty credit hours. Maybe I should be doin’ the same thing. I’m only takin’ fifteen.”

  “You did some summer classes though.” Damn, he has a good memory.

  “Yeah. I’ll do fifteen hours this semester and then fifteen more. Right on track to take my certification exam after graduation.” I hold my breath, knowing this isn’t really where my heart is. I loved athletic training when it meant seeing Cody a lot but now that he’s not here, I don’t know how to feel.

  “Do you still want to study athletic trainin’?” It’s like he can read my vibes better than anyone else. He’s so focused on me I can’t breathe. At home, I didn’t get attention, and if I would’ve said this, they would’ve told me how selfish and unreasonable I was. If they did notice me, I was an imposition–better when I stayed out of sight and out of mind. But Bobby is hanging on my every word, perceptive enough he’s catching what I’m not saying.

  “Oh, sure. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot I do like about it. Sports medicine has always been fascinating to me. And it’s reputable enough for my parents, who think art is anythin’ but a career. I guess it’s just not my passion, ya know?” I sag deeper into the couch, hating that all I’ve ever wanted is their blessing while I attend art school. I’ve tried so hard to show them that painting is more than just a hobby to me.

  “Okay, so athletic trainin’ works. But what about this? If nothing else mattered, what would you be doin’? Like if you could do anythin’ what would it be?”

  “Anythin’?” I fiddle with my hands.

  “Whatever the hell you want.” He grins, and I see those nice, straight teeth from when we had braces at the same time. We’d often commiserate about the appointments to get them tightened. But man, it worked for him. The Universe had better go and make him famous because he’s got the smile for it. “Anythin’.”

  My heart warms because I know exactly what I would do, no question.

  “Come on now, sweets. I see it on your face. You’ve got that big ass dream playin’ out like your favorite memory. It’s about bein’ an artist, ain’t it?”

  Aww, he remembers. A warm shiver travels up my spine and heat rises in my cheeks. Holy hell, what is getting into me? “Yeah, I’d go to art school.”

  “So do it.”

  My eyes go wide at the absurd way he makes this sound completely possible.

  His hand finds mine and my body hiccups from the connection. “I wouldn’t wanna stay at that beach house either. Too much hauntin’ your every breath when you don’t need reminders. I get it, I really do,” he tsks. “You said your parents are against it? Can you finish your degree and then get your own place? Go to art school after you’ve saved up for a bit?” He looks at his hand like he just realized he’s holding mine and pulls it back, taking off his cap and running fingers through his hair, leaning back so we are both cozy but not touching. His body language tells me he wants to be close, and I shake away the thought. That isn’t what this is. Is it? My heart pounds in my chest because Holy God Above, he can’t be hitting on me, can he? We’ve been friends forever, and all that time I’ve been ninety-percent sure he only played for the other team.

  Only, what if he is interested in me?

  “Come on Lex, I’ve seen your art. It would be a disservice to the world if you stopped now.”

  “I’ve just got to figure out how to endure life until I can really be on my own.”

  “You need a place that can be yours.” He stretches his shoulders, repositioning to face me. The fabric of his shirt draws tight across his muscled chest, and I feast on just how good he looks. “And I don’t mind if you stay here in the meantime. Seriously.” We look at each other for several heartbeats, and I’m looking for any indication that my suspicions are real or fabricated. We’ve all been close, our group of friends doing everything together through junior high and high school. This may just be him showing up for me as a friend. But there’s something in his eyes, and I have to know what it is.

  Our gazes lock while I’m still searching for that something more. “Does it feel like you’re dead inside?” He shakes his head like he can’t believe
he said that. “Nevermind–”

  “It does,” I whisper, taking in those enchanting eyes of his. Did I notice how blue they were in high school? Have we ever looked at each other this long?

  “I hate it.” He looks sad, and I know I’ve never seen this side of him–only the life of the party, star of the baseball team, the popular kid, the funny guy. There’s nothing funny right now and hurt spreads through my chest, catching his contagious pain.

  I’m bringing up bad memories, proving that I shouldn’t be here. That I should go. “You know what, thanks, Bobby, for dinner. For everythin’. I’ll just–” I’m off the couch and heading for the door like the only thing I know how to do is run far and fast from anything we may be to each other.

  “Hey, wait.” He looks shocked, following me. “We don’t have to talk about all this if you don’t wanna. We don’t have to watch anythin’. I have cards too. Diablo, if you like playin’ video games. Or um, just call it an early night. Whatever you want.”

  “No, no, it’s not that.” I look away from his eyes, feeling them linger on me.

  “What is it then?” He’s so close and something about it feels right, more than the warm shivers–something with depth and longing and love?

  My heart pounds harder in my chest. “I’m makin’ all this worse and I don’t want to do that to you,” I squeeze my eyes tight, “and to me, and...fuck.” I rub my fists on my eyes. “It’s just so much to be back here and I am makin’ every goddamn bit of it worse.” I slap the door.

  “How?”

  Heat rises to my face and I wonder if I can ever regulate my temperature again. “I’m clearly makin’ you miss him. Makin’ it all feel worse.” I hold my breath, hold my purse, hold the doorknob.

  “I miss him all the time. You’re not makin’ anythin’ worse.” He waits until he has my eyes while I timidly meet his. “You can’t make Hell worse, Lex. It’s already Hell and I know we’ve both been trapped there for four hundred and seventy-two days.”