Rough and Tumble

by Shae Connor

  I’m only half listening by then. My eyes are glued to Darryn’s arms. He’s got his fingers wrapped around his right biceps, giving me a perfect view of the purple ring of bruises around his left wrist.

  “Did he do that?”

  Darryn’s head pops up and he stares at me. “What?”

  “That!” I point at the bruises. “Did he do that to you?”

  Darryn glances down and then moves his arm out of my line of sight. “I told you, it’s nothing. We were playing around.” His voice is practically a growl. “My relationship with Rich is none of your business.”

  “It is if he’s hurting you!” I’m on my feet then, my laptop shoved aside, tinny post-parade sounds still streaming from the speakers. He’s making excuses and getting all defensive, like Mo said he might. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, and you think that I’ll ignore—”

  “You’re just jealous.” In contrast to mine, Darryn’s voice is flat. Toneless. “You’re angry that I’m dating Rich instead of you, and you’re taking it out on him.”

  I throw my hands up in the air in frustration. “This is not just about me being jealous. This is about you showing up with bruises that your so-called boyfriend gave you. This is about being your friend, Darryn.”

  “Some friend you are!” Darryn’s on his feet and yelling now, too. “You think if you split us up that I’d come running to you and you’d get everything you want!”

  “Do you think I wanted any of this?” The words tear at my throat, violent and painful. “Do you think I’m enjoying this? I have to see you with him. See you and know you’re with him and not with me.”

  My voice cracks and breaks, and I have to bite my lip hard to hold back the sob that wants to follow my words. The sheen in Darryn’s eyes shows he’s hurting, too, but I don’t have the energy to spare for his pain.

  “And then this.” I point at his arm. “He’s hurting you. He’s cutting you off from your friends, and now he’s hurting you, and you won’t listen to me because you think, ‘oh, he’s just jealous.’” I’m shaking from a near-lethal mix of anger, fear, and frustration. “Damn right I’m jealous, but that’s not what this is about. He’s an asshole, Darryn. And I can’t stand here and listen to you defend his sorry ass.”

  “Grant—”

  “No!” I’m done listening to his excuses. “It’s over. It’s done.” I grab my backpack and laptop and head for the door, where I stop long enough to throw my parting shot over my shoulder.

  “You made your bed. Go fuck in it.”

  Chapter Seven

  I don’t see Darryn for the next two days. I’m torn between residual anger, remorse, and worry. Losing my temper like that helped no one, and all it did, apparently, was drive Darryn right into Rich’s arms—and his apartment. Where Rich could be doing anything to him, and no one would know.

  Studying is impossible. My focus is shot to hell. All I can do is replay Sunday afternoon in my mind and wish I’d done or said something different. Something that would’ve gotten through to Darryn.

  By Wednesday morning, short on sleep and long on regret, it takes all my effort to drag myself out of bed, shower and throw on some clothes, and head to class by way of the campus coffee shop. A gigantic vat of caffeine gets me through the morning, and I pick up a sandwich from the dining hall on my way back to the room, hoping to grab a nap before heading back out for practice.

  I can hear voices before I even get to the door. Darryn’s is as familiar as my own by now, but Rich’s is louder, more strident. They’re fighting? I try not to give in to the little cheer that rises in my chest at the thought. I mean, yeah, I’d be thrilled if Darryn dumped the fucking asshole.

  That doesn’t mean I want him to be hurt by it.

  I stop outside the door, hesitant to interrupt what might be a breakup scene before the breaking up part is over, though that leaves me eavesdropping outside, and that’s not cool, either. Then the words I’m hearing coalesce.

  “…told you, you need to move out of here. I see the way he watches you!”

  “Rich.” Darryn’s voice is placating, almost pleading. “He’s my teammate and my friend. And you know the athletic department requires me to live in the dorm until I’m a junior.”

  “Screw that,” Rich shoots back. “Your friend can tell Housing you’re still here to keep them in the dark. It’s final, babe. You’re moving in with me.”

  I swallow back the gasp, barely. Not just at Rich’s demand, but at the fact that it is a demand. He’s past the point of asking now. He’s telling Darryn how things are going to be.

  The problems with eavesdropping forgotten, I lean closer and wait to hear Darryn’s response.

  “I told you I’m not ready for that, even if I could move off campus.” He raises his voice and talks faster. “And I’m not looking for another roommate, either. I already spend most of my time with you when I’m not in class or at practice. I’m not giving up my closest friend”—he emphasizes the word, as if underlining the platonic nature of our relationship—“and I’m not moving. Not in with you, and not to another room in the dorms.”

  Rich’s next words come out in a growl. “You don’t get how this works.”

  There’s a pause and then Darryn voice comes through. “Rich…stop.”

  I don’t like the sound of that.

  I scramble to get my keys out of my pocket and into the lock, not even trying to listen to whatever it is Rich is ranting about now. The door finally gives, and I shove it open just in time to see Rich grab Darryn by the wrist—the same one he’d already left bruised. In two strides, I grab Rich’s arm and wrench him off Darryn.

  Rich turns toward me, fury written all over his face and his free hand curling into a fist. I duck to miss his swing, years of gymnastics training giving me the speed and flexibility to get the hell out of the way. Before I can do anything else, though, Darryn’s there, way too close, and when Rich spins back to face him, his arm slams into Darryn’s shoulder. A second later, Darryn hits the wall with a yelp of pain.

  Rich takes a step back, toward me, and I don’t even think. I grab his arm with both hands and yank, using his momentum and my upper body strength to slingshot him right through the open doorway and into the hall. If he bounces off the doorframe a little in the process, I’m not about to give a shit.

  I kick the door shut, flip the lock, and turn all my attention to Darryn.

  He’s shivering and whimpering a little, and his right shoulder looks grotesque under his T-shirt. Dislocated, fuck. Anyone’s who’s been doing gymnastics as long as we have could tell that in a second. He’s got his left wrist cradled in his lap, too, and it’s more than a bruise this time. From the way it’s swelling, I’m hoping it’s not broken.

  My brain snaps to attention finally, and I dig my phone out of my pocket as I crouch in front of Darryn. “It’s gonna be okay,” I murmur while dialing 911. “We’re gonna get you taken care of.”

  Vaguely, I register that Rich has recovered enough to yell through the door, though I don’t spare the energy to try to make out the words. I’ve got a dispatcher on the line already, and I’m giving her the quick and dirty on Darryn’s injuries and where to find us.

  There’s a loud bang as I finish up and the door shakes in its frame. “And the guy who started this is still raging in the hallway outside, so you might want to send some cops to deal with him, too.”

  “Please stay on the line, sir.” The dispatcher’s voice is sharper then, but I keep my focus on Darryn. He’s looking up at me from under his eyelashes, eyes pinched with pain, fear lurking behind.

  “No cops,” he whispers. “I don’t want…”

  He doesn’t finish the thought, but I can bet on what’s coming. He doesn’t want to press charges. “Fuck that,” I whisper back harshly. “Bury the fucker under charges and send him to jail.”

  “No!” D
arryn tries to lean forward for emphasis but cries out again and slumps back against the wall. “He didn’t mean to—”

  “He hurt you!” I don’t even care anymore what the dispatcher or anyone outside might hear. I can’t believe he can still defend that asshole. “I don’t care if he meant to! If you think I’m not going to make sure he pays for it—watch me.”

  I can feel the anger radiating off Darryn like heat waves in the desert. I’m immune. He’s here with me, not with that asshole, and his obvious injuries aside, he’s mostly in one piece. Nothing else matters.

  A preternatural calm settles over me. “Hate me if you have to.” I settle in as close to him as I can get without touching him. “Hell, I can live with you hating me for the rest of your life. As long as it’s a long, happy, and safe life.”

  Darryn clams up after that, and he keeps his head turned away.

  That’s all right. He’s safe, and that’s enough.

  …

  The next hour is a blur. Both campus security and the cops arrive, and it turns out—as I learn later—the RA and a couple of other guys who live on the hall, including Pace, held onto Rich when he finally realized he might be in trouble and tried to run. I leave Darryn’s side only long enough to unlock the door for the paramedics, who mention resetting Darryn’s shoulder before they move him but reconsider when I ask how that’ll affect his gymnastics.

  They won’t let me ride in the ambulance with him, and I can’t even think of driving myself, so Pace gives me a lift to the hospital. He’s still sitting next to me in the waiting room, and I’m clutching my phone in one hand like a lifeline, when Darryn’s parents arrive. I stand and wait for them to talk to the intake desk before walking over.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kaneko.”

  Mrs. Kaneko turns first. She doesn’t smile, but that doesn’t surprise me, considering the circumstances. They’ve always been perfectly cordial to me when I’ve been around them—they even had me over for dinner a couple of times back in the spring—but she’s never seemed to be the smiling type, and she certainly doesn’t have much reason to smile now.

  “Grant,” she says. “Have you seen him?”

  I shake my head. “Not family. They wouldn’t let me go back with him. He’s okay, though,” I hurry to reassure them as best I can. “I mean, he didn’t pass out or anything like that.”

  Mr. Kaneko is facing me now, too. “What happened?” he asks, and I realize they know their son is injured, not that it happened because his boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, dammit—is a massive asshole.

  “I can’t…” I don’t know what to tell them. I have no idea if they know he’s dating someone at all, much less a man. I can’t risk outing him like that.

  “I think Darryn should tell you the whole story,” I finally manage. “He might not want to, though.” I feel I should warn them. “I mean, it’s… He might be…embarrassed?” That’s not quite the word I’m looking for, but it’ll have to do.

  Mr. and Mrs. Kaneko look thoroughly confused in addition to the concern now, but they’ll be talking to their son soon enough. “Um, if you could tell him I’m here?” I shrug. “I’d like to see him if they’ll let me go back.”

  Mrs. Kaneko’s mouth softens into the closest to a smile that I’ve seen from her. “You were with him when it happened?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I couldn’t do much, but I called 911.”

  She reaches out and touches my arm, the softest brush of her fingertips. “We’ll tell him you’re here.”

  A nurse calls their names then, and they turn and follow her down the hallway. I return to my seat and tilt my head back against the wall while I wait.

  I’ll wait however long it takes to know that he’s going to be okay.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting with my mind blank when suddenly a hand touches my shoulder.

  “Grant.”

  I jerk upright and focus on the face in front of me. Annie.

  “Hey.” My voice sounds like I’ve been gargling glass.

  Annie holds out a bottle of water. “Drink,” she orders, and I do.

  After a few swallows, I hand the bottle back. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mo called me.” She takes the seat next to me. “Some kind of grapevine at U of A, I gotta say.” She pauses. “Which means I don’t know exactly what happened, just that the police showed up and Darryn got taken off to the hospital. Was it Rich?”

  I shrug. “You and Mo were right about him.”

  She winces. “Not the kind of thing I like being right about. How is he?”

  I tip my head back and stare up at the ceiling. “Don’t know. I mean, he’s got a messed-up shoulder and wrist, but I think he’ll be fine. Physically, at least.”

  Annie sighs. “Mentally?”

  “Who knows?” I roll my head to the side to look at her. “I don’t think telling him he’s better off without that rat bastard is going to be a lot of help.”

  “He’ll figure it out.” Annie reaches over to take my hand. “Give him time.”

  Time.

  I try not to think about how much time he might need to be okay again.

  Chapter Eight

  I haven’t the faintest idea what time I stumbled back into the dorm room and fell onto my bed after the hospital pushed us out the door in the wee hours. I would’ve thought there was no way I could sleep after all that, but the adrenalin crash hit me hard. I vaguely remember silencing my normal eight a.m. alarm. When my eyes open for good, though, it’s to bright sunshine and the low battery warning pinging from my cell phone.

  I fumble for the phone and squint at the screen. 11:23.

  Well.

  Guess I won’t be making it to classes today.

  I plug in my phone to charge and then sleepwalk my way through a shower to scrub off the inevitable antiseptic smell that lingers from the hospital. For once, the communal bathroom is deserted, and I’m glad for it. Last thing I need is to run into anyone asking questions about last night. And you can bet the whole school knows the story by now.

  Back in the room, I pull a bottle of water out of the minifridge and sit on the edge of the bed while I drain it in one long pull. Dry throat banished, I consider lunch. Food would probably be a good idea, although all I really want to do is go back to the hospital and sit by Darryn’s bedside.

  I’d do it in a heartbeat if I thought it wouldn’t make things even more awkward.

  I can’t face the dining hall yet—I can’t face people yet—so I scrounge through the emergency snack drawer in my desk and come up with a bag of chips and some trail mix. Not exactly gourmet, but it’ll have to do.

  My phone buzzes, and I lunge for it with the hope that maybe it’s Darryn.

  Nope. Annie. You awake yet?

  Barely, I reply.

  Before I can type a follow-up text, the phone starts ringing. I sigh and answer with a “hey.”

  “Hey.” Annie’s voice sounds as rough as mine. “I just got off the phone with Mom. She said she tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I was asleep,” I remind her. “What’s up?”

  Annie blows out a breath. “Apparently the news got the story. Not a lot of detail, just that the cops got called and a student got arrested for assaulting another one. No names or anything. She wanted to check on us.”

  Great. After repeating the story at least four or five times last night, including to three different cops, I’d been hoping to get through a day without going over it again. It’s bad enough that I have the memory of Darryn hitting the wall and slumping to the floor, which my mind ever so helpfully keeps replaying in brilliant technicolor.

  “What did you tell her?” Maybe Annie saved me the trouble.

  “I told her you were fine and not in any trouble. I didn’t want to tell her what happened and screw it up. I’m not clear on everyt
hing myself. She wants us to come home this weekend, probably so she can inspect us for herself.”

  My head starts pounding again. “Fine. We can do that.”

  Annie’s quiet for a few seconds. “Do you want to call her, or should I?”

  I cannot deal. “You. I can’t…it’s not that…”

  “Got it.” She sighs again. “I’ll text her. Tell her we’ll be there as soon as we can get away after classes and practice and whatever on Friday. And that we’ll explain then.”

  “Yeah.” I tilt over sideways until my head lands on my pillow. “I just can’t deal today.”

  “I understand.” She pauses again. “How about I bring over pizza for dinner? No conversation required. I’ll even get your favorite.”

  “You hate pepperoni.” It’s a lifelong argument.

  “I don’t hate it. I just don’t love it. I can always pick it off.”

  I’m going to owe her big time the next time she’s going through a life crisis. “With root beer?”

  “Of course, silly. I’ll be over at six. Try to be marginally presentable by then, okay?”

  She ends the call before I can respond, but that’s fine because I’m about halfway back to sleeping anyway. Before I let myself drift away, though, I set an alarm for five. I don’t think I’ll sleep all afternoon, but stranger things have happened.

  …

  The pounding on my door sounds muffled. The reason becomes clear when I open it and find Annie standing on the other side with a pizza box in one hand and a loaded plastic bag in the other. She must have knocked with her foot.

  “Here.” She shoves the pizza box at me and shifts the bag to her right hand and shakes out her left. “Bag was cutting off the circulation.”

  I snort and spin on one heel. “C’mon in. I even have a roll of paper towels.”

  “I did grab some napkins,” Annie replies as she pushes the door shut behind her. “Those things never hold up well to pizza grease.”

  “Truth.” I set the pizza box on my desk and pull Darryn’s chair over, doing my best to drag my mind away from him at the same time. Annie adds two bottles of Barq’s and follows those up with a six-pack of chocolate-frosted doughnuts. I side-eye her for that last one.