by Leanne Davis
I think my shame lies in that concept. I thought I was too big, hard-muscled, fast and accomplished to be vulnerable to anyone. I thought my sheer body mass and physicality could scare off bullies and racists or whatever Hans and his friends were. I was hiding behind the mask of the revered football quarterback for the number one college team in Oregon. I erroneously believed that prestige could insulate me, and protect me, and immunize me.
There I stood with my back to one of the lone perpetrators. I must have been giving him baskets of pleasure at seeing me avoid facing him. I was not ready to stand up to him. I could have. I could have whipped around, walked up to him, grabbed him by the shirt, and pushed his body into the tree trunk before pinning him down and holding him there as long as I liked. I could also have thrown him to the ground, and started kicking him, or jumped on top of him before punching him. They did all of those things to me. I know I could do that without any problem, and I’d be in the right. I know that one hundred percent. Alone, that little prick was no match for me.
Yet I was stuck. I felt frozen. I didn’t respond with any of those plausible reactions. I could have taken my power back. I could have shown this fucker that he can’t touch me again—physically or emotionally—or insult me for my color. But I stay hidden from him. I don’t actually lower my gaze in his presence, but it seems that way, by keeping my back turned and waiting for the girl I brought with me to say her pleasant goodbyes to him. I’m sure he has nothing but reprehensible intentions towards Jacey. He’s only using her to bait me. Now that Jacey got mad at me, it looks like it’s working.
And he knows that. No looks or words are exchanged, yet he knows all the facts. He also knows he has the upper hand on me. I won the football game, and yet I still cower at the mercy of my screwed-up emotions over this jerk-off’s attack on me.
But I don’t remedy any of it. I keep my back to Hans, and when I sense Jacey getting nearer to me, I start walking very fast. Jacey lags behind but eventually climbs into my truck. I’m sober. I haven’t had more than one beer. Jacey is bright-eyed, and her movements are carefully measured as if she’s trying to stay in control. I know she’s consumed a lot of alcohol. Or pot. Or whatever she prefers. I guess it could be anything.
She drops down on the seat and grabs her seatbelt, being slow to move and buckle it. I sit there grinding my teeth to preserve my patience. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I did. I’m still irrationally pissed off at her for even associating with him.
I don’t say much. When we get to my apartment, we walk up the stairs in silence. It’s student housing with plenty of outside hallways. I’m located near the center of the building. I unlock the door and enter. I share the place with two other guys who aren’t home yet. It’s a standard, dingy student apartment. Kitchen on the left, short hallway to the living room, bathroom straight ahead, bedrooms on the right. The furnishings are better than most because Kayden, my roommate, comes from money. His parents bought us brand new furnishings. Waste, I know, for college guys, but hell, we enjoy them. We went nuts, getting a huge, wall-mounted, flat screen TV and a leather sectional with built-in recliners. Everything is black, including the entertainment center where we display our football memorabilia, featuring colored ribbons and plastic trophies from grammar school to bigger, better ones from high school and college. Most of the trophies are mine, but some belong to the others.
“Damn, this is nice.” Jacey’s voice says behind me. I’m still ticked off at her. But I don’t fail to detect the awe in her voice as she starts to move around. She touches the sofa armrest, the black end tables, and the entertainment center. She stands still for a long while scoping it out. “These are all awards for you.”
“Mostly.”
She glances over her shoulder at me. I stand back, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m unsure about Jacey. I don’t know if we’re friends, strictly platonic, or something more. Something about her keeps me from flirting or seeing if there could be more. I don’t think it’s Wesley holding me back. The connection between Wesley and me, although it is better than it was a month ago, is still new. I don’t feel a staggering amount of loyalty towards him. Not enough to worry about what he thinks about me and Jacey. Is it Dani? Maybe our breakup is still too fresh and new after being together so long? Maybe. But that didn’t stop her from moving forward with Wesley immediately. I think we both knew we were just friends months before we actually broke up. The last time we had sex was when the summer started. It didn’t feel right anymore. I now know why. My girlfriend was in love with the guy living in my house.
But that didn’t sour me on Dani. Or even on Wesley. I don’t feel hurt or jaded from getting dumped by my girlfriend for another guy.
But still I don’t know what to think of Jacey Walker.
She showed up at night in my backyard, literally stepping out of the shadows. She caught my eye and kindled my interest. Maybe it’s just sexual appreciation. She has gorgeous, long, braided hair with the tips a funky, whitish color. It fits her. She is outgoing and confident. She smiles a lot although, from what I gather, she has no real reason to. So I admire that about her, too. She’s tough and strong, and she keeps moving forwards despite all the blows that would have derailed many people.
Including me. For fuck’s sake, she had bruises on her neck. But she’s still polite and friendly.
Now, her eyes are heavy with alcohol, and she’s studying me, waiting for an answer. I could play it up all cocky and confident. I could do that especially at school. My persona here is one I’ve worked long and hard to build since my freshman year. It was never based on sex. I had Dani, and I never discussed her with anyone. So my cockiness and confidence never depended on my sexual prowess on campus. It was primarily football. Being captain of my team. Since my freshman year, it was almost a foregone conclusion, and I assumed I’d be the next big star. Maybe my swollen head and blustery attitude drew the attention of Hans Bleckley and his friends.
Yeah, that crossed my mind, but I never knew for sure. I just cultivated that persona because it suited me. It helped me fit in and find friends and made it seem more like I had a place here.
Maybe that’s why the incident with Hans and his friends wigged me out so much. I start to see I’m not who I thought I was here. Nor is my life how I believed it would be.
I keep my arms wrapped protectively around my middle and watch Jacey move as she glances at the next shelf. She bends at the waist a bit and it’s hard to take my eyes off her ass.
“Yeah, they’re all mostly for me. I won a lot of track meets.”
“I see that.” Her head shakes. “I can’t imagine. I’ve never won a contest. Anywhere. For anything. You’re so lucky to be able to do that.”
“Lucky?” I snort. “I used to think so. Now I just think…”
She straightens her back and turns towards me. “You think what?”
“It’s all mostly shit.”
“What I saw tonight?” Her eyes bug out. “You were… an inspiration, a force to be reckoned with. Thousands of people were cheering for you. You were the catalyst to their excitement and hope and sense of competition. It’s not shit. It’s the stuff of heroes and inspiration. The stuff that someone like me can never do, so you should appreciate it. Don’t get cocky or used to it. Be appreciative and grateful. You should work and practice every day because you’ve been handed a real gift. If you can’t see that…” She shakes her head, and the braids fall over her shoulder. “You should step into my old neighborhood for just an hour. You’re the kind of success story that helps other kids find their way out of poverty. Or at least makes them believe they can.”
“I hate being held up as an example or a role model. I wasn’t born in the slums, and I didn’t have to struggle to get out of anywhere. Surely, you see that. You should resent me for it. I am not heroic just because I didn’t squander my privileges.”
“I don’t resent you. I admire you for realizing what you have instead of wasting your talents. I think it’s r
are, and I know you feel grateful and understand the privileges you’ve been given.”
I drop my arms to my side. Ugh. I can’t take hearing how wonderful I am. Not after the way I freaked out just a few hours ago to someone I should have stood up to. Yeah, a real fucking hero I am. I can throw a ball a few yards. Pass tests and earn straight As. The majority of people who know me or of me, say I’m setting a positive example in football as well as in scholarship.
But when courage really counts, I fall short. I fail. I’m a coward. If I were on a battlefield, I’d be hiding from everyone with my hands over my head. I wouldn’t be the first one hurling a fist into the foray to protect my brothers in arms around me.
I should be denouncing Hans and his vicious crew. Calling them out. Spotlighting their cowardice, bullying, and general shittiness to everyone they encounter. Instead I’m the one hiding and running. It just proves to them that I’m not even man enough to take on one of them at a time. So I feel like a hypocrite discussing my shining example of success with a girl who had to face things I can’t imagine and yet, she is still standing. She’s stronger in her delicate ankle than I am in my entire body.
She was strangled and punched, and yet she managed to muster the wherewithal to escape. She stood up for herself. Her entire life, from the few details I’ve gathered, was plagued by adversity, abuse, tragedy, and abandonment, yet she’s scrappy enough to survive it and stand here with me now.
At my first real challenge, I fall apart. I ran. I cowered. I pretended. I ignored. I hunkered down and trembled with self-pity. My pampered life didn’t prepare me for real life. I have no tolerance for adversity from anything or anyone, and I think it’s blatantly obvious.
No one else knows except for Hans and his merry band of fucks. How long before they expose me? Maybe they won’t, if only because they’re cowards, and they don’t want to admit what they did to expose the truth about me.
I feel like an imposter. My shame sits like rotten bacteria in my gut since last year, having mushroomed over the summer. Returning to my hometown, I was celebrated as a hero with my flawless football record. The cheers and congratulations they hail me with are only because they see me in such a positive light in Silver Springs. They want to spread it to the world. The more often this happens, the more I feel like a fraud. Inauthentic. The more I want to leave, run away, and tell everyone to quit saying how wonderful I am. I hate it now. After things like tonight happen? All the cheers and acclaim pale in contrast. My worst fear is if anyone saw what happened to me, or saw how I reacted and worse, how I failed to react since it happened. They’d call me out for the fake I am. The cowardly piece of shit. That’s me.
I’m glad Jacey doesn’t mention my intense reaction to Hans. Perhaps she’s just sloshed enough to have diminished capacity and easily accepts my headache excuse. I have a feeling if she were sober she could have had an entirely different response.
She steps away from the trophy display, and I look at it behind her. Now, it suddenly seems like such a self-absorbed exhibition, like it’s a celebration of me. I don’t want that kind of popularity and approval anymore.
“So you said I could sleep here… where did you intend for me to sleep?”
I blink. Right. “You can stay in my room. I hope it’s not too guy-like.”
She smiles. “You can’t imagine some of the places I’ve slept. This is more like a palace in comparison. I’ll be fine. Where are you sleeping?”
“I can crash in Kayden’s room.”
She nods, and her expression turns grave. “Thank you, Wyatt.”
“Sure. No big deal. Remember that. Expect nice things from average people, okay?” She doesn’t believe she’s worth more than the monster she last dated her who brutally strangled her.
She lifts a hand to her forehead and salutes me. “Yes, sir. Jacey’s daily affirmation?”
I drop my eyes down. Yeah, I deserve that. I must sound like a condescending ass, and it’s apparent I have no right.
But she doesn’t say anything more as she steps around me and disappears into my bedroom. I sigh and drop down onto the recliner in Kayden’s room, leaning forward. Damn. This whole night should have been a shining success for me, but instead it turned sour, only to remind me of the fraud I am.
Chapter 7
JACEY
Wyatt’s a neat freak. I find it impossible not to poke around his bedroom just a little bit. A single bed shoved against one end of the room. Posters of football players from college level to the NFL cover all four of his walls. Obviously, football is his great passion in life. I run a hand along them gently, careful not to disturb the edges. I envy him. I never loved anything passionately. I have no real talent or accomplishments to speak of. His college apartment reveals a spectacular human being. A brainiac and ideal specimen of manhood featuring athletics and other crap, and he’s so kind, too. Gets a little too serious sometimes, and he could stand to smile more often, but overall, Wyatt is one of the best guys I’ve ever spent any time with.
Not that I have all that much experience with decent guys.
His bed is neatly made. I crease my lips together to suppress a hearty laugh of amusement. I never knew anyone who willingly made their own bed, not unless it was a parent or something. His desk is also tidy. The loose papers are stacked together next to a stapler, a desk lamp, and some pens in a cup. A computer rests at the center, plugged in and ready for his sharp mind to tap into it. I have no trouble imagining Wyatt sitting down to create scholarly brilliance.
Closet doors are closed, and I see no clothing anywhere. I glance at the door that’s locked from the inside. He wouldn’t come in anyway. I trust very few men but my gut-level belief, even though he got crotchety at the party and wanted to leave, is that he’d never hurt me. It’s a new step for me to blindly trust a man as big and muscled as Wyatt Kincaid. I enjoy believing he won’t hurt me. I can admire his huge muscles for that reason alone, instead of worrying how badly they could hurt me if he decided I said or did something annoying enough for him to take it out on me.
I slide the closet door as quietly as I can manage on its track. It squeaks in a soft hiss. Inside, all his clothes are hung up and his shoes are paired neatly at the bottom. Besides some miscellaneous football gear, athletic bags and the like, his closet is clearly meticulous. I smile. I am enjoying this side of Wyatt. There isn’t even a single dirty, wayward sock. I spot a hamper in the corner, so I peek inside. An outfit, probably yesterday’s clothes, is all that needs to be washed. I guess he does the laundry so often that his clothes are always put away. Dang. This guy.
I slip my shoes and jeans off, leaving my shirt on, and pull back the green bedspread to expose the white sheets. They smell fresh and clean. Nothing funky or rude. I think he must have washed them this week. I wonder if he’ll change them after I sleep on them. I think so. Wyatt Kincaid seems to be a total neat freak and germaphobe. It’s kinda cute. Unexpected from the big, brawny football player.
But when are stereotypes ever correct?
I lie in bed for a long while staring at the ceiling. It’s an odd environment for me. But that’s the normal part. I often spend the night in places I’ve never been, and they’re always changing. I’m used to living like a transient since I always got shuffled around by the foster system. So this is no different.
Eventually, his roommates return home, and the door bangs open before loud voices can be heard. Then Wyatt’s voice, muffled but clearly belonging to him, hastily shushes them. Knowing he does that for me is kind of thrilling. Sweet. Considerate. I push his pillow under my head and roll over. I probably seem so pathetic to him to get floored by the most ordinary considerations, like him shushing his roommates not to awaken me. But I’ve never enjoyed a lot of small considerations just for me. Rachel says that trained me to believe I do not deserve them. Consequently, I search for people who do the opposite by abusing me because that’s what I’m used to and what I think I should receive.
The rational though
t I should be repeating in my head is that I deserve to be treated well. Not saying it often enough, or believing it, is why I tend to end up with assholes. On a much deeper level, I have trouble convincing myself of it.
I wake up late in the morning and quickly get my clothes on before slowly opening Wyatt’s door and sneaking into the bathroom. I hope I can finish before running into anyone. Pulling my braids back into a loose ponytail, I scrub off the leftover makeup. I later come out to the living room and find Wyatt sprawled on the couch, his feet supported on the ottoman before him.
“Hey, Jacey.”
“Morning.”
“This is Kevin. Kevin, Jacey. She’s a friend of Wesley.”
“Hey.” Kevin is even bigger than Wyatt. He’s huge, beefy, and borderline fat. How does he look so agile on the football field? He’s got a great smile that’s bright and open. I can’t find one thing that seems intimidating about him. I appreciate that. I’m offered food, pop, and coffee. I take a doughnut. “Isn’t your body supposed to be as pure as a temple, star quarterback?” I tease Wyatt, biting into the packaged doughnut.
“I don’t eat that shit. I offered it to you. Not for myself. Those are Kevin’s doughnuts,” Wyatt replies as I glance over, and Kevin gives me a grin and a shoulder shrug.
“Wyatt prefers to eat eggs and a protein shake.”
I make a face, and Kevin laughs. “Yep. Never could make quarterback because of all that discipline. Defensive linebacker is my thing.”
After we finish, Wyatt gets up, his bare feet poking out of his loose sweats. They ride low on his hips, and I glimpse a delicious six-pack of flat stomach muscles, dipping down to the treasure trail where his pubic hair starts. Careless and sexy, he tugs his t-shirt over his head as he goes into his room. Coming back out, he is dressed in jeans and a college hoodie. He nods at me. “Well, do you want to see the campus?”