Holding on to Forever

by Davis, Siobhan

  His voice reverberates in my ears, and tears roll down my cheeks.

  No!

  My skin crawls as the memory of his callused hands on my soft skin surges to the forefront of my mind.

  A whimper escapes my mouth as I climb awkwardly to my feet, almost slipping on the polished hardwood floors as I bend down to retrieve my phone. There’s a new crack along the screen, but it’s still working. I race through the house toward the formal dining room. Dropping to the ground in front of the liquor cabinet, I almost yank the door off its hinges in my haste to get at the contents.

  I can’t get my hands on any Molly, so alcohol is the next best thing. I grab an unopened bottle of vodka and push off the floor, wobbling on unsteady legs as I make my way up the stairs.

  The door to my bedroom slams off the wall as I stagger inside, swigging straight from the bottle. I drink it like it’s water, needing to consume as much of it as possible so I conk out before my high completely fades and the nightmare returns. Stripping out of my dress, I crawl under the covers in my underwear, placing my cell on my bedside table before bringing the bottle to my lips and drinking until I pass out.

  I’ve the mother of all headaches when I wake sometime the next day. My hand shoots out from under the covers, my fingers skimming the table for my cell. I blink my eyes open, attempting to ignore the pounding in my skull as I glance at the time. Holy shit. It’s after lunch.

  At least one part of my mission succeeded.

  A headline on my feed jumps out at me, and I skim the article with a heavy heart. The guys lost the game last night, and the reporter is slamming Adam for a less than stellar performance. Dad will be pissed, and Adam will be disappointed in himself. An intense longing to feel his arms around me hits me out of nowhere. I wonder when they’ll get back, because I really need to see him.

  For that hug.

  And some pills.

  My stomach sinks as I vaguely remember calling him last night. Flashes of our conversation return, along with images I’m trying so hard to forget. A shiver works its way through me, and nausea churns in my gut. Leaning over the side of the bed, I heave into the trash can repeatedly until there is nothing left to expel. I stagger to the bathroom, clean out my mouth and the trashcan, and then crawl back into bed.

  Without overthinking it, I call Adam again.

  He answers on the fifth ring.

  “I’m sorry about the game,” I blurt, knowing I need to make amends. “And I’m sorry for last night.”

  “I haven’t slept a wink all night worrying about you. I would’ve come back early if it was possible.”

  “I’m sorry I worried you, but there’s no need. I’m fine.” Thank fuck, he isn’t here to see the state of me. “When are you back? I need to see you.”

  The sound of keys jangles. “I’ve just arrived at my dorm.” A few beats of silence trickle down the line. “You need to see me for me or for Molly?”

  “Can’t it be both?”

  A frustrated sigh leaves his lips. “Emily. I don’t understand. You were doing so great.”

  “Come on, Adam. Don’t make such a big deal out of it. You had no issue selling Molly to me before. How is this any different?”

  “It’s different because I’m in love with you and I care about what you’re putting into your body. That shit is not good.”

  I grip my phone hard. “You are such a fucking hypocrite!” I yell. “You sell to all kinds of people, but you won’t sell to me, and I’m your girlfriend, or have you changed your mind about that too?”

  “Of course, I haven’t. But I wouldn’t be much of a boyfriend if I didn’t try to talk you out of this.”

  “You’re my boyfriend, not my dad, Adam.”

  He growls loudly. “Don’t pull that shit with me, Em. I’m not in the mood for it.”

  “Don’t fucking take it out on me because you played like shit and lost the game.”

  A gasp echoes down the line, and I know I’ve gone too far. “Shit, I’m sorry, Adam. I didn’t mean it. I take it back.”

  “It’s too late. Look, I’m tired. We’ll talk later.”

  “Adam, please. Let me come over, and I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Not today, Emily.” He sounds defeated and hurt. “I think we’ll only end up in an argument, and that’s the last thing I need.”

  That familiar panicked feeling settles on my chest. “At least let me come over to grab some Molly.”

  A bitter laugh filters down the line. “Seriously?”

  Silence stretches as I look up at my ceiling wishing upon a star that he’ll give in.

  I know he’s still there because I can hear him breathing heavily. “Adam, please, baby.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll hand you some pills if you tell me what happened that caused you to undo all your progress.”

  He just had to go there.

  And now, there’s no stopping this train wreck from happening.

  An imaginary hand tightens around my throat, and I’m struggling to breathe as vivid images of that night assault my mind.

  Ending the call without uttering a word, I curl into a fetal position, wrapping my arms around myself as I rock back and forth, with silent tears tracing a path down my face, praying for someone to take the pain away.

  23

  Adam

  I gawk at my phone. Un-fucking-believable. I take in several deep breaths, but each one does nothing to repair the hole Emily seared right through my heart a minute ago.

  What the fuck happened to make her use again? I squeeze my eyes shut, tugging on my hair. My head is throbbing like someone took a sledgehammer to it, and I can’t even think. My brain shut down the minute I walked off the field yesterday. The disappointed look on Coach’s face was enough to send me over the edge.

  The team tried to cheer me up, telling me it wasn’t my fault, but it was. My nerves over the Bears’ scout in the stands and worrying about Emily, Sam, and Phoebe all got to me, and it showed in my performance. I growl, throwing my phone at the wall.

  I need a release—something to take the edge off. Otherwise, Sam’s computer will join my phone on the floor next to his desk.

  As for Sam? I have no clue where he is, but I’m relieved he isn’t here. I can’t deal with him right now even if I wanted to. For all I know, he moved out. I wouldn’t blame him. I lied to him.

  A sharp pain pierces my chest, and I bury my head in my hands. I hate myself for issuing Emily an ultimatum. I hate myself that I let the team down. I hate that I let Coach, Mom, and Sam down. This isn’t me. I’m not an asshole.

  I fucking love the shit out of Emily, but I can’t give her Molly.

  I won’t do it.

  It’s bad enough I sell to Zach who gives her the shit.

  Which is an interesting thought. Why is she asking me for it when he’s her usual enabler?

  She had a point though. I said I’d quit. I didn’t. Even when Ray showed up on campus, I had no previous plans to quit. I only tried to because it felt like the perfect time to tell Ray to take his drugs and shove them up his ass.

  The four walls close in, and suddenly, I feel dizzy. Everything is unraveling at once, and I need fresh air. I change into my workout clothes, and I’m tying my sneakers when someone bangs on the door.

  I look around for something to use as a weapon because I have a feeling Ray Diaz is here to collect his money. After my runs the other night, I told his bodyguard to fuck off when he demanded I give him the money. No way was I trusting him to hand over the cash I made to the boss. So, he called Ray. Ray laughed but relented, allowing me to pay him in person. But I didn’t have time before I left for the game. He probably thought I took off with his money.

  I grab one of the ten-pound free weights I keep next to my desk, not that a weight trumps a gun. But it will slow down Ray’s thug before he can fire off a shot.

  I barely open the door when the person barges in, pushing me backward. I stumble, and the weight falls out of my hand as Coach launches
his fist into my nose before I can do anything to protect myself. Blood spurts out. I blink several times, trying to orient myself, but it’s no use. Coach lunges for me, grabbing me by the shirt.

  I’m seeing stars, shaking off the blurry vision and the pain lancing my face.

  “You were like a son to me,” he says. “You were going places.”

  I lift up my hands as blood drips down into my mouth, the metallic taste waking me the fuck up. Coach’s face is redder than a ripe tomato, and he’s spitting fire. If I clear my vision some more, I know I’ll find steam coming out of his nose.

  He pushes me against a wall, pressing his forearm into my throat, cutting off my airways. “Why, Miller? Why?”

  I can’t think. I can’t breathe, and I’m struggling to get Coach off me. He’s using his body weight to keep me pinned in place. So, it’s a losing battle as I force myself forward to pry his arm away.

  “I’m sorry about the game.” I say the words, but all that comes out is a garbled mess of nothing.

  Apparently, Coach understands parts of what I said because he snarls like an angry bear. “You think I’m here to kill you because of a game?”

  The word kill sends shards of fear through me.

  Fuck.

  He knows about Emily and me.

  I make a gurgling sound as the room spins violently.

  “Get off him!” Sam shouts, materializing from somewhere as the door slams shut.

  Coach doesn’t move, and I’m struggling like a motherfucker to breathe.

  Sam wrenches Coach’s arm away from my throat, but he’s no match for him. Where Sam is lean in the chest, Coach is broader and hence stronger.

  “Coach Parker, you’re cutting off his oxygen,” Sam says. “I’m pissed at him too, but this isn’t the way to handle it.”

  Coach slowly lowers his arm, standing his ground, ready to use me as a punching bag if I make one false move.

  Sam steps in between us, facing Coach. “Sir, sit in that chair over there.” Sam points to his high-tech computer chair.

  I clutch my throat, coughing and gagging, sucking in as much air as I possibly can.

  Sam guides me to sit on the bed.

  Coach drops his tense body into the chair.

  Sam’s blue eyes are rife with anger, disgust, disappointment, and hurt as he regards me before crossing his arms over his chest.

  Silence fills every corner of the dorm room as Coach shakes his head. I’m still coughing and rubbing my throat.

  “Well,” Sam says. “Who’s going to talk first?”

  I want to laugh at how Sam is playing the moderator when I know he wants to scream at me.

  I swish around some saliva to coat the sandpaper feeling in my throat. Then I start. “I’m sorry.” I swing my gaze from Sam to Coach. “To both of you.”

  Coach scrubs his hands down his face. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Adam.” His hazel eyes drill a hole right through my brain.

  “Emily and I were planning on telling you,” I say.

  Sam rests against the door, no longer strung tight. But I’m certain I’ll feel his wrath after Coach is done with me.

  Coach rears back. “What were you planning on telling me?”

  I keep my gaze on Coach, but I catch a glimpse of Sam out of the corner of my eye, and he’s listening intently.

  “That Emily and I are dating,” I admit. Fuck if I’m going to apologize for dating his daughter. Sure, I understand he’s protective, and I don’t blame him. I’m going to have Sam do background checks on guys when Phoebe is old enough to date.

  Coach doesn’t even blink. “I’m not really pissed at that.” He pushes to his feet, clenching his fists at his side. “Do you know what I’ve been through with my daughter? Do you know how hard it was to get her to stop doing drugs? And now I find out she’s back on drugs again.” He takes in a gulp of air. “And you’re her fucking supplier? My QB is selling drugs.” His fists ball up at his sides. “You’re done, Adam Miller. You’ll never be drafted. You’ll never see the inside of an NFL stadium as a quarterback or any player. Not if I have any say in it.”

  The room spins again. My blood freezes. And something vile and insidious eats at my gut.

  Emily told him I sold drugs.

  All because I wouldn’t give her Molly.

  Fuck me sideways. It’s clear to me she loves Molly more than she loves me.

  I’m so fucking stupid.

  I believed she changed.

  I truly did.

  Now, I wonder if I was ever anything more than the means to an end.

  I whip my head at Sam, more to quiet the pain that’s pressing on my chest as though an eighteen-wheeler just ran over me.

  “Don’t look at me,” he says. “You and I have some talking to do, but I didn’t tell him.”

  Coach turns to Sam. “If you had—”

  I shoot to my feet just in case Coach has any ideas of taking his anger out on him. “He didn’t know I was selling drugs. Don’t bring him into this.”

  “You’re done, Miller. Clean out your locker. You won’t finish the season.” Rising, he stabs a finger at me. “My daughter is off-limits. If I see you anywhere near her, I will have you arrested. Are we clear?” His voice booms in the room.

  All I can do is nod. I have no words. It’s my own fucking fault.

  Hey, asshole. You did what you had to do for Phoebe.

  Coach might understand that if I didn’t supply Emily with drugs.

  He storms out of the room, slamming the door in his wake.

  Sam rubs his hands down his jeans as he folds his body into the chair Coach just vacated. He looks calm, and I’m not surprised. Sam isn’t one to throw things or blow up when he’s mad.

  “Do your worst,” I say, sitting back down on my bed.

  “Drugs? Why?” he asks.

  I lower my gaze to the floor. “Phoebe. We needed the money.”

  He sucks in air. “Dude, if you needed money, why didn’t you come to me?”

  “Do you want to support my mom and sister? Do you want to pay all our expenses, including Phoebe’s medical bills?” Sam will be rich one day when he’s CEO of some high-tech firm he owns. But right now, he gets money from his parents and from his tutoring job, and he’s hardly flush.

  “What about a legal job?”

  I laugh, rolling my eyes, only because he’s smart. He knows that a legal job wouldn’t put a dent into paying Phoebe’s medical bills. And that I don’t have time for one.

  Or at least I didn’t before Coach booted me off the team.

  “Phoebe needed her vest repaired. End of story.”

  He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I get it, okay. I love your sister like she’s my own, but what if you got caught by the cops, man? I’m fucking pissed at you, and not because of your motives. You put Phoebe and your mom in harm’s way! Think about that, Adam. That dude, Ray Diaz. I did some checking on him. Did you know he was arrested for murder two years ago?”

  I shut my eyes, counting to three. I was so blinded by taking care of my family that I didn’t even think of all the consequences other than me going to jail.

  I throw my head in my hands. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

  “I talked to your mom,” he says.

  My head lifts so fast I’ll probably have whiplash. “You did what?”

  He sits back, running a hand through his blond hair. “I went to see her while you were away. We talked for a long time. In fact, I spent the night. Phoebe is doing okay, by the way.”

  I want to catapult across the room and hug him for nothing more than telling me Phoebe is okay.

  “She told me you sold drugs in the ninth grade and if you hadn’t the three of you would’ve been homeless. I don’t agree with you selling drugs, but a part of me understands. However, there are other options. There are jobs out there and friends who would help you. Hell, man. If you went to Coach and asked him for financial support, I bet he would’ve helped. And selling to Emily? What the fuc
k? Is that how you two met?”

  I nod as guilt steals the air from my lungs. I could tell him I didn’t sell to her. But that wouldn’t matter. I’m one of her enablers. I sell to Zach and he supplies her. I have every mind to pay Zach a visit, but I can’t put all the blame on him. Emily is the one in charge of her actions. She’s at fault in this too.

  I knit my brows together. “Wait. Why did you ask me if I sold drugs when you talked to my mom?

  He pushes out his shoulders. “I wanted to hear you say it. I’m still pissed. But.” He briefly closes his eyes. “I’ve never had to live on the streets or worry about being evicted. Your mom told me the horror stories of when your father left you guys. I knew things were rough, man, but not that rough.” Air expels from his mouth in a loud rush. “But next time, talk to me. Let me help you.”

  I’m choking up at Sam’s reaction. I know he’s got a heart of gold, but I expected a different reaction, like him moving out or telling me to leave. I push to my feet and cross the room in two strides until I’m holding out my hand to him. He takes it, but instead of exchanging a handshake, I pull him up and give him a hug. “Thank you, man. I promise you there won’t be a next time. I’m going to tell Ray I quit.” No sense in worrying about his threat to out me to Coach anymore. The cat is out of the bag.

  * * *

  Run-down and boarded-up businesses line both sides of the streets as we pass by in my truck.

  “I’ve never been in this part of town,” Sam says, keeping his eyes peeled out the window.

  “I grew up in a neighborhood similar to this in New Jersey,” I say as I brake at the stop sign.

  Sam shakes his head. “Sorry, man.”

  He and I have been talking for hours since Coach almost strangled me. I came clean about Donnie and what I did for him. I came clean that I was Wrangler. I told him about bumping into Emily in the hospital and then again the first night Ray threw me out on to the streets. By the time we got in my truck, Sam knew every sordid detail of the things I’ve done that I’m not proud of. He didn’t judge. He listened, shook his head and nodded in spots, and in the end, he became my true brother, which is why he’s with me now. He doesn’t want me to face Ray alone.