by Stacie Ramey
My beast paces inside me. He wants to go on that field and make people pay for pissing me off. For reminding me that I’m nothing. For trying to get me to feel emotions I don’t want to. For expecting anything from me.
“Everyone listens to their teammates. Keep your eye on numbers twenty-two and thirteen. They are big on making goalies look bad. Do not let them embarrass your teammates.”
My anger launches me onto the field as Coach calls my name for the midfield position. I crouch, wait for the bell, then hurl myself at the first Parkland player I see: number twenty-two. He’s got the ball, and he smokes me with a juke, and I’m, like, one second from catching him. I hear the crowd groan and know he scored. Because I let him. Fury seeps into my veins. I am not good enough. Maia Cetus punishes me with a powerful roar.
I get in my position and wait for the whistle. This time, I am on number twenty-two right away. We bang bodies and sticks, but he does a side pass to number thirteen, and then we are chasing him, and he’s beating the crap out of our players on the way to the goal.
“Strickland, take the face-off,” Coach Gibson bellows.
I crouch in front of a kid named Bonner, each of us ready to go to blows.
“Get him, Nate,” one of the Parkland middies call.
I become acutely aware of every single sensation. My heart beats strong and hard, readying my muscles to fire. Sweat drips off my face and onto the ground. Nate’s glare is trying to wear me down, but he’s got nothing that scares me.
The whistle blows. I hit him. The ball is on the ground. I root around for it.
“Scoop, scoop, scoop,” Brandon calls.
I hold Nate back with my body and scoop the ball, which I flip out toward Brandon, who takes it downfield. I race after them. No score. I take the next face-off. And the next. At the end of the game, Coach calls us in.
“Nice work, guys. Can’t win ’em all. But you did good out there.”
Good doesn’t feel so good when you don’t win. We walk to the locker room, heads hanging low, and that’s when I see him. Dad. Standing next to his car in the parking lot. I’m not sure how I feel about Dad being here. I wish he’d brought my Jeep back for sure. I lift my hand to wave to him, and he returns my salute.
• • •
The ride home with Dad starts out decent. “I spoke with your coach. He says you’re coming along faster than he thought you would.”
“Good.” I look out the window.
“More conditioning would help you win some of those ground ball battles though.”
I close my eyes. I’m not exactly used to him coaching me. Ryan was supposed to be the jock. It’s not like I wasn’t good at sports; it’s just that after Ryan’s accident, there wasn’t much time for me to play. And besides, I did not want to be the kid who had no one show for his games. Dad worked a lot. Mom had Ryan. I did the math pretty early and stuck to street ball and pick-up games where it was just you against the other guy. Simple. Perfect. Fun.
Dad continues, “The huddle with that Bonner guy especially, you take one fraction of a second off…”
I tune him out and think about Leah. I picture her standing on the sidelines, cheering me on in her dance team captain uniform. Or even just in shorts and a T-shirt. Leah loved her athletes. She never knew I could be one, and that makes me kind of sad. I think of Allie’s texts and how she said I have to move on. I know that—of course I do—but it’s like my head defaults right back to Leah all the time.
It starts to rain. Drizzles that fit the mood. I get a text.
Great game. It’s from Emily.
I text back. Didn’t see you there.
Wouldn’t miss it. You looked sharp!
We lost.
You impressed me.
I smile. I impressed her. She’s taking care of me like I used to take care of Leah. There’s part of me that worries I should do what I said, stay far from her, for her sake, but that would be hard. She lives next door. She came to my game. Obviously, she’s kind of already into me. And maybe, just maybe, Allie’s right.
“John? Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I asked how it was going with Mom and Ryan.”
I bang my knuckles against the window, try to knock one of the raindrops off of it. It’s stupid and pointless, but it amuses me. “It’s fine.”
“She said you’re doing well in school.”
“Yeah. So far, I haven’t managed to blow that.”
Dad looks like he swallowed something that tasted bad. “Give me a break, John. I’m not criticizing you. I’m trying to help.”
I consider telling him to look up the word criticize in the dictionary, but that’s the kind of smart-ass answer that will keep me from ever getting my Jeep back.
“So how long are you here for?”
“The whole weekend.”
“Why?”
“Your mother and I have some things to discuss.”
I let those words roll around in my head. “He’s getting worse, Dad. He hit Livy.”
“I know. We’re talking about it.”
My head fills with images of Ryan and Livy and Mom and Dad. All of them crying. I can’t think of one single way to make things right for everyone. Ryan leaving will make him sad. Him not leaving puts everyone in jeopardy. How long will it be before he really hurts someone? The rain continues to fall. Maybe there’s no cure for any of us. No wonder I want to head west.
• • •
Livy and I sit on the couch in the TV room, trying to listen in to Mom and Dad’s conference in the dining room.
“It’s been over an hour.”
“I know.” I hand her the bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, Dad’s concession to Livy’s whines for it earlier and, unbelievably, Mom’s nod of approval despite how she feels about this stuff.
Livy takes a wing and nibbles on it. “What do you think they’re saying?”
I pour gravy on top of one of those plastic bowls of mashed potatoes, dig my spoon in. “What they always talk about. Ryan.”
“Ryan’s not a what. He’s a who.”
“Yes. Thank you, my grammar princess.”
She pretends to wave her spoon like a scepter. Then her face gets sad. “What about Ryan?”
“What to do about him.”
She puts her wing down on her plate. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Her fingers go to the cut above her lip.
“It’s because of him. He’s too aggressive. It has to stop.”
“I can’t think about him leaving. He’ll be so scared.” Her eyes well.
“He isn’t going anywhere yet. Maybe with the right medication…” Livy scoots over, and I sling my arm around her. “Let them figure it out. Meanwhile, you just have to face off with me for the last biscuit.”
Livy picks up her plastic spork and play-stabs my hand. The two of us roll around on the couch, displacing books from the coffee table, but at least she’s not crying anymore.
Chapter 12
Dad drives me to my appointment with Steve. Thankfully, it starts at a more reasonable eleven o’clock. When he arrives to pick me up, I almost ask Dad how things went with Mom, but I don’t. One, because I’m not sure I want to know. Two, my talking about Ryan always gets me in trouble. And right now, I’ve got to start earning points with Dad. Points are how I get my Jeep back.
He pulls into a parking spot. “I know this whole Ryan thing has been tough on you.”
I shift in my seat.
“I want you to know…”
“Dad…”
“Mom told me about that class you’re taking. We’re both really excited…”
And for some reason that makes no good sense, that pisses me right the fuck off. Like, where’s he been this whole time? Like, if he knew I had this talent, why didn’t he tr
y to keep taking me to those museums? I’m disgusted with myself and with him. Mostly myself for wanting him to say things that don’t even matter anymore. Things like I have a right to a life even if Ryan didn’t have one. Like, he should have wanted dreams for me too, no matter what, just because I’m his son.
“John?”
I don’t answer. I know I’m being an asshole, but I’m tired of replacing people with other people. Substitute Uncle Dave for Dad. Steve for Mom. Emily for Leah. Ryan for me. Me for anyone else. I put my hand on the handle of the door.
“I just wish you had told me…you know, that you were still interested in…”
Now I’m so done. I’m being nice to Mom, nice to Ryan. There’s only so much nice I can do. That’s the kind of jerk I am. I want to say Uncle Dave knew. That Dad would’ve known if he’d paid attention or asked. I want to remind him that dads are supposed to give a crap about their kids, even the ones who do unforgiveable things, like hurt their brothers, because he’s got to know I didn’t mean to. And I’m sorry.
“John?” Dad says in one last attempt to get on my reasonable side.
“Done in an hour,” I call into the car as I close the door.
Dad stares out the window and nods.
I walk into the building, my beast already engaged. I jog up the stairs to avoid having to deal with that annoying mother and her son. I make it to Steve’s, open the door, angry-salute the receptionist, and plunk myself down in a chair to wait.
Steve leans out of his office, beckons to me. “John, you’re up.”
“Awesome sauce.”
He waits for me to pass by him before shutting the door. “You seem a little agitated today. You and Dad not getting along?”
I stare at him. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
Steve shrugs. “He called. Said he’d be bringing you this morning.”
I shake my head, try to bite back my anger. “I’m probably the worst human on the planet, but I just can’t take another minute with either one of them.”
Steve nods.
“And the thing is, I get it. I understand why they don’t want to deal with Ryan, because that all sucks. And why they don’t want to deal with me anymore…” I start to pull at the bottom of my jeans where the fabric is torn and ragged.
“You believe they don’t want to deal with you?”
I stare him down. Sometimes, he can be so dense.
“Are you sure they’re the ones you are angry with?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Unless you count Ryan, yeah. I’m pretty annoyed with him too. Both Old and New Ryan, in case you were wondering.” I lean back, pretty impressed with myself and feeling lighter after unloading on Stevie-boy.
“We haven’t talked about Old Ryan in a while. Maybe we should start there.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
Steve looks at his watch. “We’ve got an hour to fill?”
Smart-ass, but he still gets to me and sends me back to that day in the snow.
Dad was at work. Livy was sleeping. Mom had a deadline and chased us out of the house. “Give me an hour at least,” she’d said, coffee mug in hand, her head already lost in the story she was going to write. “Hats and gloves, both. And Ryan, watch your little brother. You’re in charge.”
Ryan shoved me out the door, a small push but enough to remind me of Mom’s last words. He was in charge of me. Just like always.
“Let’s go see who’s out,” he suggested, and I knew that meant he’d find his friends to hang with and dump me, no matter what Mom had said.
Nobody was out yet. It was early, like nine o’clock, so it was still super cold. Ryan threw a snowball at me, so I nailed him back. But after a few minutes, we were both shivering. We sat on our stoop.
“How long?” I asked.
He looked at his phone. “Twenty minutes.”
“We’re going to freeze to death out here.”
“Drama queen.” He took a handful of snow and put it down my back. So I knocked him off the steps. Soon, we were both drenched, teeth chattering, but no way we could go in early. Mom would kill us.
“Let’s build an igloo,” Ryan said, and with that, I got so excited, I forgot how cold I was.
“How do we start?” I asked, already following him to the backyard. Like I knew he would know the right way.
Steve, completely oblivious about my walk down memory lane, looks at my file, nods, then takes off his glasses. He leans forward, hands flat on his legs. This is Stevie-boy body language that signals he’s about to launch a doozy. What now? I almost tell him to keep it to himself, but the words, which are ready to spill, become permanently sealed inside me when he leans forward and says, “Tell me about Leah.” And just like that, Steve slays me. “You seemed to have left her out when we last spoke.”
It takes a second for me to catch my breath. I shake my head. Go from leaning back in the chair, relaxed and calm, to now sitting upright, muscles engaged, ready to rumble. “Really, man?”
“Yes. Really.”
“Wow, Steve. Dad’s paying the bills, so you’ve got to deliver for him?”
He waves off me and my bad attitude. “Tell me about Leah.”
“How come all of a sudden my giving it up about Dad isn’t enough? I thought this was what I’m supposed to do…vomit my feelings and you give me a gold star and everything is fucking perfect.”
Steve puts his hands together. “You know you can say anything you want to in here, John. And it’s not a question of it being enough. But I can’t help you if you only talk about safe subjects.”
“Since when are my feelings about my parents ‘safe’ for anyone?”
“Leah made you vulnerable. We don’t have to talk about her now, but she’s a sign of huge growth for you. You fell in love. But she’s also someone who let you down.”
The rage that’s building in me is too much even for my dragon to take. He cowers as the flames rage. It’s one of those ten-alarm fires that no one ever wants to face. “This would be a good time to stop talking, man. You know nothing about her. She never let me down. I let her down.”
He stands. “I don’t believe that.”
I stand also. “She’s off-limits.” My eyes go to the door.
“Why is she off-limits? Because she got to you?”
I see red. I want to throw things. I want to destroy everything. I can almost hear the sounds the pictures on his desk would make if I swept them to the ground. Sharp shrill crashes, without the boom of the heavy china cabinet. More like Mom’s lamps. Her vases.
“Tell me about Leah.” Steve’s voice is calm, but he’s leaning forward, showing me he’s ready to take whatever heat I throw at him.
And that makes me want to go the other way entirely, so I try to make the cold find me. I try to bathe in the ocean. Roll in the snow with my brother. I’m standing here, trying my best to put the fire out, but Steve’s got other plans. “John?”
I walk over to the wall with the caged dragon. Lean against it. “Why are you doing this?” I know I sound weak, but I can’t help it.
“Because I want to help you.”
“Not like this.” I’m almost pleading. “This is not helping.”
“You need this, so even if you hate me, I have to do it.”
He moves toward me, forcing me to close my eyes, try to bring back the calm, but I can’t. All I can feel is the huge black pit that’s followed me around since she killed herself. If only I could fall into that pit for real, let it swallow me up. I’d do it if it would stop the gnawing pain that’s eating me up. I wasn’t good enough for Leah. I wasn’t enough. Just like I was never enough for Mom. Or Dad.
“John? You deserve to be loved.”
I swipe at a stupid tear that slipped out. “Yeah. Right.”
“You do.”
I turn my gaze to
the caged reptile, who’s sitting there, not caring at all. I should be in that cage, not him. I’m the one who wants to light everyone on fire.
“I know she hurt you, John.”
It’s all I can do to not pound on the dragon’s cage. Not to scream at him about how stupid he must have been to get caught like this. How he went from being the coolest beast in the world to a pathetic pet in a cage. Steve comes up behind me. His hands fall on my shoulders. I try to wrench free. He holds on. I bend my head. The tears come, and I’m ashamed. My throat burns with the words I won’t say.
“She was important to you.”
I lean on my arm. “Stop. Can’t you stop?”
“I remember the first girl I loved. How it felt when she left me.”
“She didn’t leave me.”
He squeezes my shoulders.
“She just couldn’t stay.” I breathe out. Remember what it felt like when I first heard. I was in the park, closing a deal, when a kid I barely knew, a total jerk, told me. “Did you hear about that cheerleader? Killed herself?” He made this sound when he’d said it, a small laugh, like he couldn’t believe how stupid she was for doing it.
I remember thinking Leah wasn’t a cheerleader—she was a dancer. I remember hoping it was some other girl. Anyone but her. Even though I knew it was wrong to hope that someone else’s family would be going through the pain. I knew what it was like to lose someone, and it sucked. But not Leah. It couldn’t be. Only, I knew it was. The minute he’d said it, I knew. I wanted to beat the fuck out of that asshole, how he let the information slip out of his uncaring lips as if it was no big deal. I pretended he was talking about a speeding ticket so I wouldn’t hit him. So I wouldn’t kill the messenger. But I knew. Leah was dead. My life was over. I hit him in the face. His blood squirted out of him, and that made me happy. So I hit him again. And again. And again.
“I know,” Steve says, bringing me back to the present.
But he doesn’t know how it felt to lose Leah. No one does.
“This isn’t your fault.”
How could he possibly know that? I was supposed to protect her.
“You can’t keep people in this world. You can’t change the past. You can’t go back in time and make it so Ryan never got hit. You’re only human. But you’re a damned good human.”