by Kelsie Rae
“Yeah. I can’t think of anyone better to keep an eye on you.” I push the shaggy hair away from his forehead and add, “Speaking of which…wanna talk about the fight?”
“Daaad,” he whines. “We already talked about it.”
“You know I don’t condone fighting.”
“I know.”
“You don’t need to fight my battles, Grady. I can stick up for myself.”
“You said I should stick up for people.”
“And you should,” I clarify. “But I can fight my own battles. And sticking up for people doesn’t include hitting them in most circumstances. You got your dad’s short fuse, bud. You gotta control it, especially when you can tell someone’s trying to get under your skin. What are we in control of?”
“Ourselves,” he answers, his little body deflating as the memories of this same conversation over the years come full circle.
“Exactly. We can’t control other people. The things they say, the things they do. The only things we can control are ourselves and the way we respond. That’s what you have power over, and today….”
“I shouldn’t have hit him,” he sighs.
“Probably not.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“It’s okay. I would’ve wanted to deck him too if I heard him call you that.”
Grady smiles sheepishly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I know you’re strong enough to fight that battle on your own. That doesn’t mean you need to use your fists, though.”
He frowns. “You’re right. I know.”
“Good. I set up a playdate with Turner.”
His resignation transforms into fear. “What? Why?”
“Because Miss Swenson thinks you two could be good friends if you gave each other a shot. You were both playing soccer, right?”
“Well, yeah. But….” He squirms in his bed, trying to get comfortable beneath the dark blue sheets spotted with footballs. “What if he says something mean again?”
“Then you stand up for yourself without hitting him. We clear?”
His tiny nostrils flare before his muscles melt in defeat. “Fine.”
“Good boy.” I lean forward and press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Grady.”
He smiles. “Goodnight, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The floor creaks beneath my weight as I flick off the lights and head to the hall.
“Hey, Dad?” he calls when I reach the door.
“Yeah?”
“You wanna come to the Fun Run tomorrow?”
I’d been putting it off, terrified of running into Saylor before I was ready. But since the Band-Aid’s already been ripped off, and Nora might have a point about trying the whole friend thing with Saylor before pursuing anything further, I nod.
“Sure thing, Grady.”
“Yeah?” His little face lights up with excitement, pulling a low chuckle out of me.
“Yeah. Get some sleep.”
“Okay. Goodnight!”
“Goodnight, Grady.”
The light seeps in from the hallway as I crack his door open a few inches, then tread carefully to my room. I toss my dark blue T-shirt into the hamper, followed by my jeans before I grab a pair of basketball shorts to sleep in. Once I’m comfortable, I unlock my phone and find another message from Slytherin4ever.
Slythern4ever: TRYING to date someone? How does that work?
Tapping the edge of the phone against my chin, I debate whether or not I should answer her––and how I would answer her in the first place––before deciding to give in. Besides, maybe a fresh perspective could be helpful, and I’ve already made my stance pretty damn clear. I’m not looking for anything romantic, but a person to talk to? That could be beneficial. With a deep breath, I answer her.
OD: It’s complicated.
Slytherin4ever: I got time. Obviously. Or I wouldn’t be wasting it on someone who isn’t interested. Is it because I don’t have pictures? Is that why you’re not interested?
OD: Nothing to do with pictures, Slytherin4ever. But if you’re hoping this’ll turn into something other than a platonic conversation to pass the time, then I’m afraid you’re going to be sorely disappointed. If you’re okay with those expectations, then okay. We can keep this going. I could probably use a little advice, anyway.
Slytherin4ever: Deal. And I’m an expert at love advice––obviously––since I’m on a dating site and all. I got plenty of healthy relationships under my belt.
I snort and type my response. This girl sounds crazy. But also entertaining, and I could use the distraction.
OD: That sounds promising.
Slytherin4ever: Do I sense sarcasm, OD?
OD: Maybe a little bit. You make some good points, though. I’m not sure searching for relationship advice through a dating app is very smart.
Slytherin4ever: Yet here we are. You’ve piqued my curiosity, my friend. Spill.
OD: What do you want to know?
Slytherin4ever: Well, I WANTED to know your Hogwarts house, but…I guess the mystery girl’s name will have to do.
OD: I think we should probably keep names off the table, but since I’m being vague, I’ll throw you a bone. I’m a Slytherin.
Slytherin4ever: Called it. ;) Never trust a Slytherin.
OD: Says the girl who has the username Slytherin4ever.
Slytherin4ever: And I stand by that name. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. ;) Okay, so this mystery girl…what happened? Why her? Is it because you can see her pictures and you can’t see mine? Lol
OD: I actually think it would’ve been helpful if I couldn’t see her pictures on here. I catch myself drifting to them way more than I should. But before you call me a perv, we have a past, and she sent me much dirtier pictures than the ones on her profile before we broke up.
Slytherin4ever: A past? As in…one that needs a restraining order? And did you keep the pictures?
I laugh.
OD: No, it didn’t involve a restraining order but good question. As for the pictures…she asked me to delete them, so I did.
Slytherin4ever: A girl can never be too careful, what with meeting men on the internet and all. And you really deleted them?
OD: I thought she deserved a clean break.
Slytherin4ever: Yet you’re still pining after her? That doesn’t sound like a clean break to me.
OD: I think clean breaks are bullshit.
Slytherin4ever: On that, we both agree. Breakups are messy.
OD: They are. Even when you try to make them clean and as painless as possible.
Slytherin4ever: Was it painful for you?
OD: It was unbearable.
Slytherin4ever: I’m sure you managed just fine.
My brows furrow as I reread the message.
Managed just fine?
I shake off the thought and answer her.
OD: Debatable. I’ve been miserable ever since.
Slytherin4ever: Is the kid hers?
Feeling whiplash from her response that’s out of left field, I reply with a single word.
OD: Huh?
Slytherin4ever: I thought you said you have a kid?
Oh.
OD: I do. And no, he isn’t hers.
Slytherin4ever: Yet you’ve been miserable ever since you left her?
OD: Who said I’m the one that left?
I stare at my phone, waiting for her to reply, but she doesn’t.
Who is this girl?
Pulling up her profile, I read through a few of the questions she’s answered. With a dark chuckle, I take in the clever innuendos along with the statement that she loves football and long walks on the beach. Interesting.
She’s been entertaining as hell tonight, a nice distraction from my regrets that haunt my every waking moment. If it were another life, I might even be interested, but the truth is simple. I’m not over Saylor, and I never will be. I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to forget her. But it’s only brought more pain
and guilt. I’m done playing that way. I just have to figure out how to prove it to Saylor.
And if she doesn’t forgive me, then that’s okay too. Grady and I make a good team. I don’t need anyone else.
After a few minutes, my phone dings with another notification, distracting me from my light stalking of this strange girl that proves to be fruitless. Slytherin4ever wasn’t kidding. No pictures. No real substance that shows me who she is, other than her sharp personality and wit.
Slytherin4ever: I’ve seen your pictures, thanks to your profile not being set to private. No woman in their right mind would end a relationship with that. Why do you think I’m still sticking around for this conversation? ;)
With a breath of laughter, I type my response, but she beats me to it.
Slytherin4ever: You never answered my question, by the way. How can you have a kid with someone else if you were miserable after you broke the first girl’s heart?
OD: It’s complicated.
Slytherin4ever: That’s complicated too? Boy, you gotta simplify your life. *flicks popcorn kernel into mouth* Tell me more.
I laugh.
OD: I don’t know where to start.
Slytherin4ever: Well, we’ve already established that you broke up with the girl. What happened after that?
OD: I went away to college.
Slytherin4ever: And then?
OD: Then, I was miserable.
Slytherin4ever: *eye-roll emoji* And then…??
OD: Then I was at a frat party, drunk off my ass, and had sex.
Slytherin4ever: That doesn’t sound very miserable.
My gaze narrows.
OD: I can hear your judgment in that last one.
Slytherin4ever: Can you blame me?
OD: I guess not. If it helps, I didn’t want to have sex with her.
Slytherin4ever: Oh, so your penis just fell into her vagina?
Another laugh bursts out of me.
Who is this girl?
OD: No. But I was drowning my misery in alcohol and thought she’d make me forget about how badly I’d screwed up and how much I missed my ex. Not that it’s an excuse, but….
Slytherin4ever: Did it help? Sleeping with someone else?
I sigh and drop my head back to the bed frame behind me as the familiar guilt spreads from my chest and out to my limbs. That night is still fuzzy as if a filter’s been placed over it, but the pain is still there. The disgust with myself. The regret. And any pleasure, no matter how fleeting or forced, was a wisp of smoke in the inferno of mistakes I’d already created. There was no going back. There is no going back. Because no matter how hard a guy can wish he could turn back time, it isn’t possible. Not even for me.
How the hell did we get on this topic?
I’ve never talked about this with anyone before. I’ve never wanted to. Yet, even though this conversation is a hell of a lot deeper than the average conversation with a stranger, it’s almost cathartic. Like the poison is being sucked from the wound, giving me the opportunity to breathe for a minute. To acknowledge my past mistakes in hopes of finding a clean slate, though I know the reality of that is impossible.
My short, trimmed nails scrape along my jaw before I type my response.
OD: No. And even though I was thinking about her the entire time, I felt guilty as hell. For using a random stranger to numb the pain. For betraying the love of my life. All of it.
Slytherin4ever: And then what?
OD: Then she contacted me a few months later and told me she was pregnant.
Slytherin4ever: After only one night?
OD: Yeah.
Slytherin4ever: I guess you learned to wrap up after that.
OD: I HAD wrapped up. She’d messed with it, and I was too drunk off my ass to notice.
Slytherin4ever: Why would she mess with it?
OD: Looking for a sugar daddy, I guess.
Slytherin4ever: What do you mean?
OD: I thought you were a football fan. ;) I was supposed to go to the NFL as a top-ten pick before I blew out my knee during my senior year. I had to say goodbye to my future in football and goodbye to the big-ass paychecks that would’ve come with it.
Slytherin4ever: Are you done with football, then?
OD: I actually helped recruit football players for the college I went to for a few years, but I recently quit.
Slytherin4ever: Why?
OD: It’s complicated.
Slytherin4ever: There’s that word again. So…you’re done with football?
OD: Not entirely.
Slytherin4ever: There you go again, being all vague and mysterious.
OD: I’m not trying to be. It just depends on the day, I guess. Every once in a while, opportunities present themselves, and I’m not against accepting them.
Slytherin4ever: Such as?
OD: Such as this season. I’ve been invited to an alumni banquet after Thanksgiving. It’s not a big deal, but I have a lot of pride in my school and the program and like to support it any way I can, even if they’re only using my face for publicity.
Slytherin4ever: That’s kind of cool, actually.
OD: Thanks. Glad I can get a fellow Slytherin’s stamp of approval.
Slytherin4ever: So, what happened then? After you had to say goodbye to the big-ass paychecks that would’ve come with a professional football career?
OD: Well…once that happened, the girl I’d knocked up decided she wasn’t interested in being a mom anymore and signed over her rights as a parent. Now, it’s just me and my kid.
I toss my phone up into the air, waiting for her to reply while hating how anxious I am to read her response after I basically just laid all my dirty secrets out to her on a silver platter. But there’s something…refreshing about opening up to someone. It’s already been aired out by a few interviews after Dawn tried to slander my name with a bunch of shit that didn’t happen, but being the one to air it out is different. Energizing, somehow.
Until Slytherin4ever doesn’t respond after thirty minutes.
Exhausted, I plug in my phone, set it to silent, then go to sleep.
5
Saylor
“Alright, guys!” I call out to the group of first-graders and their parents mingling on the grass. It’s getting a little cooler since it’s October. Some of them are wearing fleece jackets over their school pride T-shirts as their heads swivel in my direction. My brain is still pounding in tune to my heartbeat from too much wine last night, and I make a mental note to grab some more painkillers. Then I shield my eyes from the sun and dive right in.
“Thanks so much for being here today. Everyone’s really excited to get this party started, so let me give you a quick rundown of the plan, then we’ll dive right in. Line up at the white line on the pavement.” I point to it. “Follow the orange arrows on the poster boards that are on the side of the road, and if you have any questions, you can ask anyone in a purple volunteer shirt. It’s one big loop that will end….” My voice trails off as I scan the crowd and nearly trip over my feet.
Owen’s here. He’s next to Grady in a matching school pride T-shirt, and their hands entwined. Grady tugs on his dad’s hand, and Owen squats down. I can’t hear what Grady’s saying, but I follow his gaze to a very lonely Turner whose hands are tucked into the front pockets of his hand-me-down shorts.
With a nod, Owen and Grady weave their way toward Turner, then turn to me, which is when I realize they’re not the only ones.
Shit. What was I saying?
I clear my throat and scramble to recover from my epic slipup. “Um, the race is one big loop that will end where it began. Right here.” I point to the finish line, then clap my hands together. “Remember to have fun, cheer each other on, and be nice. And don’t forget that it doesn’t matter who wins! Just do your best. Everyone who finishes will get a special prize. Okay, guys! Let’s get started!”
Everyone lines up, following my directions before waiting for the race to begin.
“On the count of th
ree,” I announce. “One. Two. Three.”
Then they’re off.