“So they just left you? Alone? With a car?”
“I wasn’t theirs.”
Her brows furrow. “I don’t understand.”
“They’ve tried to call me and write letters, but I just … I can’t.”
A lump forms in my throat as I remember the two people who have been more like a family to me than anyone and how much it hurts when I get a message from them. Because I know they went on with their lives, without me.
My brain automatically thinks of Judy and her proclamation that I was hers now. If only I wasn’t leaving because she just might mean what she said.
I gaze into the distance. I’ve never told anyone these things. Never wanted to. Never thought it was necessary or that it mattered. But an unexpected lightness exists in my chest now that I’ve told Larissa some of my story.
I look at her and smile.
Even though tears well in her eyes, and I feel a little raw and a lot vulnerable, this is where I want to be right now.
She’s nestled down in her blankets, her hair splayed against her pillows. She looks cozy and warm, and something about it pulls at me.
“My turn,” I say. “Do you mind if I stay here tonight?”
She grins. “I hoped you would.”
I hop up and turn off the light. Then I climb into bed with her.
And just like we’ve done it before, she curls up against me and falls asleep.
Sixteen
Larissa
My eyes struggle to open.
The sun is bright. Too bright.
I stretch my arms over my head and twist my body to help me wake up. The haze in my head is real. The stream of jumbled images and memories makes it difficult to determine what is real and what is fiction.
I nestle down in my blankets again, cocooning myself in the soft folds of fabric. As soon as I start to drift back into a blissful sleep, I get a whiff of a man’s cologne.
Hollis.
My heart spins to life.
He was here. He is here.
Oh, my god.
Thoughts of rooftop sex and dancing to “Holy” by Justin Bieber flood through my brain.
I sit up in bed. It’s a clumsy, still-half-asleep motion. It’s not pretty.
I pray Hollis isn’t watching.
He’s not.
He’s gone.
All that’s left is the scent of his leathery cologne.
Images replay through my mind on a never-ending spool. His boyish grin while I lured him to the dance floor last night by the end of his tie. The embarrassment in his cheeks when I did my best Britney impression and serenaded him with my rendition of “Make Me” on the dance floor. The way his laughter sounded so light and easy as he did the Dougie with my mom and me—a dance we learned years ago after having a couple too many mimosas with Coy on vacation in Los Angeles.
My head sends a shot of pain behind my eyes, and I wince. I vaguely remember drinking a delicious red wine. How many glasses did I drink?
I pull the blankets back and find a solitary white wrapper from a Ding Dong. My laughter is loud. I wince again, the sudden movement causing a shooting pain to rip across my forehead this time.
I climb out of bed and grab my robe. As I wrap myself up, I notice the chair I usually sit in is turned around and facing the window. There’s a pencil sitting on the table beside it that’s not usually there.
Furrowing my brow, I turn around and head to the hallway.
The house is eerily quiet, without a sign of Hollis at all. I peek into the living room as I pass, thinking maybe he felt weird sleeping with me or something and ended up on the couch—but nope.
I enter the kitchen and find no evidence of him in here either.
Leaning against the counter, I try to put all the pieces together and fill in the blanks.
I remember the wrapper in my bed and then remember him laying against my pillows with one of those little cakes in his hand. A bit of chocolate was on the corner of his mouth as he told me the story about his mom.
My heart sinks to my toes.
He’s so much more burned, as he said, than I ever imagined. I figured he fought with his mom a lot, or she ran off the love of his life. Never in a million years did I imagine the pain she put him through.
I hate her. I don’t know her, but my loathing for the woman runs deep. How could she hurt someone like that, let alone a man so thoughtful and so kind? Her own son?
“How did he turn out so strong?” I ask the kitchen.
I can’t fathom having to deal with the things he had to deal with at this age, let alone as a child. To actually be alone in the world. Abandoned. Used.
My heart breaks for him and the sadness that ran so deep in his eyes. The pain was bottomless as he tried to avoid my gaze so I didn’t see.
I make a cup of coffee. The ritual of it helps settle the misalignment of the morning. I switch over to good thoughts of Hollis because thinking of him with tears in his eyes makes me want to cry.
I wish he was here.
“He probably had something to do today,” I say, working through my thoughts. “Or maybe he just didn’t feel right being here this morning.”
That’s a real thing. I’ve felt that before when I had a quick hookup and wake up in his house. The need to leave is real.
I carry my cup through the house and realize that I’m not freaking out. Usually, when something goes awry with a guy or even appears to be going sideways, panic sets in. But I’m not now, and I’m not sure why.
Sitting on the couch, I tuck my legs under me. It’s quite a revelation to feel this … free. Yet, at the same time, I’ve been spending time with Hollis. Sure, we’re just friends, and this is nothing serious, but is spending time with a man supposed to be this easy?
It is when it’s just a means to an end.
And the end is here.
I rest my cup on my knee as another realization hits me: our pact is over.
I helped him through dinner, and he made a show for my mom—an amazing one at that.
“Why can’t real relationships be this easy?” I wonder aloud.
They never are. They’re always filled with stress and compromise to the point when no one gets anything remotely like what they wanted in the first place. Once you attach yourself to someone else, their burdens somehow become yours.
“That’s why they can’t be easy. They’re real-world. This thing with Hollis was just pretend.” I smile. “It was fun.”
I lean against the cushions and sigh a slow, steady breath. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him. The last couple of days came out of nowhere but have made me laugh and smile more than I have in a long damn time.
The bottom of my cup warms my leg a little too much, so I pick it up, taking a long sip and feeling the warmth fill my stomach.
“I need to find a guy like Hollis,” I say. “Which is weird because he’s totally my type but totally … not.”
He’s totally my type. From the broad shoulders to the way he makes my name sound seductive, Hollis Hudson is the kind of guy I hope to find one day. It’s just perplexing that he also has all the qualities of the group of men who never fail to let me down.
I know, down deep, that you can’t lump people together like that. I told Hollis that. But he’s so different from the men I usually date that it’s hard to fathom what it is about him that makes me feel totally different when we’re together.
Because there is something about him that wasn’t my type in the most wonderful way. Something that makes me feel confident and fun. Beautiful. I don’t feel crazy for wanting to talk or to have goals of my own.
Just as long as I don’t ask questions.
My amusement fades as I realize why he doesn’t like to be prompted. He has many ghosts that I think he’s ashamed of.
My bracelets dangle on my wrist. I set my cup down. Working carefully with the delicate clasp, I unfasten Siggy’s gift. It was so thoughtful, and it’s something I’d pick out for myself, but the one still wrapp
ed around my arm is more special.
I hold it in the air and watch the little succulent sparkle in the light.
You said you liked rose gold jewelry. And you’re going to school for something in landscape.
He listens. He listens to me.
Is that what’s different?
“You’re something else, Hollis,” I say to an empty room.
I pick up my cup, and I take another drink.
Thank God he’s leaving, or else I might be in some trouble.
But as the coffee splashes down my throat, I have to wonder—am I in trouble already?
* * *
Hollis
Sunlight bounces off the Savannah River. The water is dark and kind of moody as I watch it from a little sitting area I found. It’s not far from Judy’s—my original destination. But the sign on the door said she was closed today, so I walked on by until I found this place.
My brain has been on overdrive. Telling Larissa about my mom and Harlee, and Philip and Kim, put me into a weird frame of mind.
I lay beside Larissa as she slept. Memories I didn’t know I still had came back to me in the dead of night. I remembered Harlee screaming and trying to feed her a package of broken crackers I found in the cupboard. I recalled how our house always smelled like bleach. I heard my mom’s voice, something I knew I remembered but intentionally blocked out, sing “When You Wish Upon A Star” while her voice broke and tears streamed down her cheeks.
My stomach knots as I remember it all again, and I wish so fucking much that things had been different.
But they weren’t. All that shit—that fucked-up crap of a hand that I was dealt the day I was born—it’s all a part of my makeup. It’s ingrained into the fiber of my being.
I’ll never escape it.
It’s no wonder everyone walks away from me eventually. I’m poison.
“Don’t you worry, Hollie Boy. I will always stay by your side, even when I’m so drunk and high that I can’t feel my face. Mommy loves you. You’re my person forever, Hollie. Forever.”
I take out my phone and find River’s number. He answers on the third ring.
“Hollis,” he says, relief evident in his tone. “What’s happening, buddy?”
“Do you know what I’m doing?”
“No, or else I wouldn’t have asked.”
I chuckle. “I’m looking at a fucking river.”
“Is this some joke about my name because I’ve heard them all.”
“I bet you have.”
I run a hand down the side of my face. The stress in my back from sitting up most of the night eases just a bit.
“How’s your mom?” I ask him.
A door squeaks in the background and then what I think are footsteps tap down a flight of stairs. Finally, he sighs. The sound is heavy and tired, and I know he’s struggling.
“She’s sick,” he says as if that explains it all. “I just … fuck.”
“You know I’m sorry. I hate this for you. Is there something I can do?”
“Nah. I’m okay.” He laughs. “I mean, I’m sure as hell not okay, but I’m making it.”
“Ana with you?”
“No. She’s with her folks back in Braxton. They flew in from Greece to be with her. Fucking miss her.”
It’s so hard thinking about River finding his person. His Kim to her Philip, the Judy to her Ronnie. It’s not that I want that, but I can’t begrudge my dude for finding his girl.
“Need me to Door Dash you some ramen or something?” I offer.
“There’s no Door Dash here. And I hate ramen. You know that.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” I joke.
“Good thing I’m not a beggar then.”
We laugh. To an outside person listening in, it would sound like two friends having a light-hearted conversation about food. But it’s not, and we both know it.
We both hear it.
Our voices are tired and riddled with anxiety. The words are gruffer than they usually are too.
“How’s the blonde?” he asks.
“Larissa,” I say, happy to get to her name. “She’s good.”
He scoffs. “Don’t lie to me, Hudson.”
“Nah, she really is good. In every way.” I grin.
“There you go. You’re coming back around now.”
“You’re such a fuck.”
He laughs.
I look across the water again and feel the air against my face.
“I know what you’re getting at,” I tell him. “And she is good. We had fun last night.”
He pauses. “But …”
“But it’s done.”
The words taste rotten as I spit them out and admit the finality of my time with Larissa. Sure, I could milk it out for a few more days while I’m in town, but what would be the point?
I’m a method to end the madness in her life, a screw in her toolbox, so to speak. That’s it. And that’s fine.
Why would I want more, anyway? What would be the point in trying to figure out how to see her again after I go back to school—if she even wanted to see me, that is? The reason I’m here in the first place is because I’m not at a Bowl game because I can’t keep my shit together.
Why in the world would I even entertain the idea of juggling someone like Larissa when I can’t keep myself in the air?
I had enough dropped passes this year to prove that.
“I’m going to be smart here for a second,” River says. “This is a new skill of mine, so be patient.”
I laugh at him.
“Watching my mom be sick has changed a lot of shit for me,” he says, his voice void of any levity. “We went four years thinking football was life. We balled out, had fun—we lived a life, Hollis. But what do we have to show for it?”
“Not a National Championship this year.”
“Exactly.” He sighs. “Look, maybe this was the universe trying to tell us something. Maybe we … made complete asses out of ourselves on the field so we could look beyond the goalposts.”
“Wow. What have you been doing up there in Vermont?”
“Listening to audiobooks, believe it or not.”
“Huh. I’m not sure I like this version of you.”
He snorts. “I’m not done. My brilliance continues.”
“Great,” I deadpan.
“Life isn’t about anything we’ve been working for, man. It’s not about statistics and ratings and scoreboards. Who cares about that shit?”
I wince. “Well, you did until your period of enlightenment.”
He laughs. “What I’m trying to tell you is that what we had on the field was special because we had each other. It wasn’t about being sports stars. Not really. It was about the huddle. The locker room. It was about The Truth Is Out There after a game and listening to Crazy Carl tell us every way we fucked up and laughing our asses off.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. But I don’t think it matters to him at this point.
“I realized it while I was sitting here with Mom. After a game, I called her. I wanted to share it with her, you know? I wanted her to be proud of me.”
“She is. You know that.”
“Dude, don’t interrupt brilliance. You should be taking notes.”
I laugh.
“I’ve sat here and watched my mom try not to fucking die and realized what’s important. It’s not anything tangible,” he says.
“Ooh, big word.”
“I know. It’s impressive. Dammit, Hollis—don’t sidetrack me!”
I can’t help but laugh at him again. God, I miss him.
“Okay. I’m focusing here.” He sighs.
“Nothing in this world matters unless you have someone around to share it with. How fun would winning have been if we didn’t have each other? It makes all the hard shit you have to go through okay. We survived Three-A-Days and Hell Week and getting screamed at by Coach. Why? We had each other.”
“Yeah …”
“That’s wh
at life is about. It’s about people, Hollis. You, me, and Crew have had the world shoving that in our faces lately and we didn’t get it.” He takes a breath. “Life has been showing me and Crew that it’s about the people in our lives through my mom getting sick and his pops passing away. And you’ve been focusing on the what’s and how’s of life and none of it makes any sense to you. Because it’s the wrong focus, man.”
“That’s deep,” I say.
“It’s the truth. Stop focusing on the Combine and getting your shit together and all that crap. Figure out who you’re going to spend your time with and work from that angle. I’m telling you, man. This is where we’re wrong. It’s why we’re struggling.”
“Eh, I don’t think I’m really struggling,” I lie.
He scoffs. “You’re struggling more than all of us. Like it or not.”
This is why I called River and not Crew. I needed his raw and unedited truth.
But maybe I should’ve called Crew. He would’ve used lube.
I look at the sky and wish I could just fly away to an island somewhere by myself.
“I don’t have a Vermont like you. There is no Ana. I don’t have someone to take care of or a fucking farm that’s a family treasure like Hollywood. I have me. And that’s not as simple as it seems.”
“I lived with you for four years. I’m pretty sure I know that.”
I grin. “Then you know that being me is not conducive to attracting people who want to stick around.”
“Promise me something,” he says.
“Dude, no. What is this? You’ve been spending way too much time with women.”
He laughs. “Trust me on this.”
“Will you dedicate your first self-help book to me?”
“I give up.” He yawns. “Okay. I gotta get going. Mom was up at like four this morning, and I need to try to take a quick nap before I run her to the doc in a couple of hours.”
“Tell her I’m thinking of her.”
“I will. Thanks, Hollis.”
“Of course.”
“Think about what I said,” he says.
“Yes, Dr. Phil.”
He snorts. “You’re an asshole.”
“Talk to you later.”
The Relationship Pact: Kings of Football Page 16