by Mia Kayla
“I’m cooking, remember?” he sassed, bumping me with his hip to move me out of his way.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” I smiled and reached for the remote to turn on the TV.
ESPN was on, and Jimmy’s dad appeared on the screen, discussing the start of the season with the other newscasters. I watched Jimmy in my periphery. As soon as he heard his dad’s voice, Jimmy’s eyes moved briefly to the TV and then back to the steaks defrosting in the sink.
I lowered the volume, not wanting to upset him, but I was curious, and I hadn’t asked in a while. “Hey, have you seen your dad lately?”
He reached for a pan in a cabinet next to the sink. “Yep. Not by choice though. I only see him if I have to.”
James Brason, Jimmy’s dad, had been the star quarterback for the Chicago Lions for years. He now worked as a retired sports analyst and frequently spoke on ESPN. The world of football was not as large as it seemed sometimes, and I knew their paths had probably crossed more often than Jimmy would like.
“When was the last time?” I gently pushed.
His eyebrows pulled in, indicating this was a conversation he didn’t want to start. “I don’t know. Sometime last month. I did an event in Miami.”
“And then?” I prompted.
“And then, nothing. He tried to talk to me—again,” he muttered.
I could read the annoyance on his face.
I hadn’t brought it up in a long time, but as his friend, I found it my job to bring it up sometimes. “Jimmy,” I said in my softest tone.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Don’t wanna hear it, Boo. I’m never going to forgive him. End of story.” He angled his head in the other direction, indicating the end of the conversation he hadn’t wanted to start.
He already knew how I felt. You only had one dad, and mine was dead. If I could turn back time and tell my father I loved him every single day, I would. Life was too short to hold grudges. Then again, my dad was so different from Jimmy’s.
Shutting off the TV, I let it go. I only had a couple of hours with Jimmy before I had to drop him off at the airport, and I didn’t want to ruin it.
The corners of his mouth pulled downward, and I prepared myself for damage control. I was used to this though. I put a hand on his back, rubbing in small circles, until I saw a bit of that sadness from the past go away. Still, my heart hurt for the teenage boy who had worshiped his father at one time.
And I remembered when he’d stopped. His world had fallen apart that day, and everything changed. That was the day Jimmy had stopped believing in love.
Past—Sophomore Year in High School
After I came home from school, my father sent me to check on Jimmy, informing me that my mother was already at the Brasons’. One look at my father’s distressed face, and I knew something was terribly wrong.
I ran as fast as I could to Jimmy’s house. My blonde hair swished against my face as my feet hit the gravel faster and faster, propelling me forward. As soon as I stood in front of his house, I punched in the code and headed straight for the gardens behind the palatial white mansion.
Entering the maids’ quarters, I climbed the stairs two at a time into the main house, my fingers skimming the flowery cream wallpaper that had faded over time. I entered the kitchen but stopped when I heard loud shrieks.
I bent over, my hands on my knees, and hung my head as I tried to catch my breath. Glancing toward the kitchen table, I saw Jimmy’s mom sobbing uncontrollably in my mother’s arms.
Panic seized me as questions ran rampant in my head. Is Jimmy okay? Has he been hurt? Did someone die?
Claire didn’t notice my arrival, but my mother did. She gave me a melancholy smile, her eyes bloodshot from tears.
I ripped my gaze from hers, and my feet began automatically moving through the house before I could process my next thought. My stomach churned, and there was an intense echo in my ears. A slow build of a dull ringing turned into a full-on loud siren that had me running.
My first instinct was to search for Jimmy. I didn’t care that it wasn’t my house.
I started screaming his name, “Jimmy!” I dashed toward the dining room.
I stopped underneath the chandelier in the center of the double staircase leading up to the second story. “Jimmy, where are you?”
When I didn’t get an answer, I turned frantic.
“Jimmy!” I took the stairs two at a time, running so fast that I almost tripped over my own feet.
There was a loud crash in his room, and I charged forward, not bothering to knock.
His room was a disaster. His dresser was overturned, his trophies were scattered on the floor, and the TV was lying on its side, broken. His father’s high school jersey—once displayed in a glass case on Jimmy’s wall—was now on the floor in a wrinkled heap. Shattered glass was everywhere.
For a brief second, I froze and watched as he destroyed his room, functioning like a tornado, demolishing everything in sight.
“Jimmy,” I spoke softly as I tiptoed over the broken glass, wanting to be near him, needing to stop him.
“I hate him!” He ignored me as he annihilated everything in his way.
With one swoosh of his hands, all his books fell from his bookshelf and scattered onto the wooden floor. As long as I’d known him, I’d never, ever seen him act this way.
“Stop, Jimmy,” I begged, moving slowly toward him as if I were approaching a wild animal.
His face was red, his fingers balled into fists at his sides. “I hate him. I hate him. I hate him!” he repeated, enunciating each word as he pounded the wall. The echoes of his punches resonated throughout the room.
“Please stop,” I sobbed.
As I watched my best friend fall apart, the first tears fell from my face, my heart broke, and my breathing slowed. I cupped my mouth and took in the scene. He took a framed picture of the three of them from the top of his desk and hurled it against the window. The glass shattered into pieces and hit the hardwood floor.
“S-st-stop.” My sobs accelerated, but he kept going.
He took another picture of him and his father and slammed it against his desk before repeatedly punching it, smashing the glass with his fist. Drops of blood trickled from his hand to the floor.
“Stop, Jimmy,” I cried, moving forward. I didn’t know what was happening. All I knew was that I needed it to stop. I wanted him to stop hurting, and I couldn’t watch him hurt himself.
I yanked on his arms with both hands, stopping him midair from slamming his fist through the frame again.
“T-t-time out,” I sobbed. “J-jimmy, time out,” I uttered the same words that we’d used when playing or arguing became too much to handle.
His figure was a blur as tears coursed down my cheeks.
He turned toward me, finally seeing me there. His eyes held such sadness that my heart crumbled. His face was streaked with tears. My Jimmy—tall, built, and strong—never cried. It wasn’t in his DNA. Yet here he was, torn up and weeping, and it shattered my heart into pieces.
I wrapped my arms so tightly around his waist that we were almost one. Maybe by squeezing him hard enough, I could consume all his sorrow, all his despair.
The tension in his shoulders relaxed as I held on to him, and we sobbed together, me against his chest and his chin resting on my head.
“I hate him, Boo,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m never going to forgive him for this.”
“Who?” I finally asked, my voice muffled against his shirt. I knew whom though. I didn’t know what this was about, but I knew his dad had done something.
“My dad,” he said softly. “He…he’s with some whore now,” he stuttered, taking a step back. “He’s leaving us.”
He dropped to his knees as if the reality of the words had just hit him, and he held me by the waist like he might sink if he let go. I ran my hand through his brown hair, his tears soaking my gray Deerfield High T-shirt.
I didn’t know how long we held on to
each other, but as his sobs subsided, evening approached, and the sun was setting. Without a word, he lifted me and placed me on his bed. He lay down and pulled me onto his chest as he held me close.
“Can you sleep over?” he asked in the softest voice possible.
I knew he needed me here, but after what my mom had said about being too old for sleeping over at Jimmy’s, I didn’t know if I was allowed.
“I need you, Boo.” He caged me in with his arms. “Please stay. Promise you won’t leave me.”
“Never.” I squeezed him tighter and closed my eyes, snuggling closer to his chest.
When his breathing finally evened out, I knew he had fallen asleep.
My eyes moved to the clock on his desk that indicated a time of ten thirty-five. I extracted myself from his arms and moved off the bed to pick up the cordless phone on his nightstand. I dialed my mother’s number and she picked up on the first ring.
“Mom, I’m still at Jimmy’s,” I spoke quietly into the receiver.
“When are you coming home?”
“Can-can I sleep over?” I asked.
She sighed into the phone. “Bliss, you guys aren’t ten anymore. You can’t have sleepovers like you used to. We’ve discussed this. You’re at a different stage, and—”
I didn’t need the speech tonight. I cut her off, “Mom, he needs me. He’s my best friend, and I need to be here for him. Please.”
Silence ensued as I crossed my fingers, held my breath, and waited for her reply.
Finally, she begrudgingly said, “Be home first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks, Mom. Love you.” I hung up and sat back down next to Jimmy.
He stirred, lifted his head, and squinted at me. The room was dark. The only light was the moonlight shining through the window, casting a silvery-blue glow on his face. As he opened his arms, I crawled back in, resting my head on his chest.
He released a heavy sigh, gripping me tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered against my hair. “I-I just need you here.”
I nodded, feeling my cheek pressed up against his T-shirt.
Our breaths were the only sounds for several minutes until he broke the silence, “Boo?”
“Yeah?” I whispered, taking in his scent of grass, sunlight, and fresh outdoors.
“I love you.” His voice cracked with emotion.
I snuggled him close. “To infinity and beyond,” I finished, meaning it. I would always be there for him. Always.
Present Day
I SAT AT TERMINAL TWO at O’Hare International Airport, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. Everything about this moment was so familiar—the ache in my chest, the dread in my heart, the lump in my throat—and I was getting really frickin’ tired of saying good-bye.
To keep from tearing up, I focused on the car in front of me as we idled at the drop-off area. I’d never experienced a breakup before, but I could imagine it was the same feeling as dropping Jimmy off at the airport. It was like a portion of my heart was fractured, and he was taking that piece with him.
“Hey…” He nudged me with his elbow.
When our eyes caught, I noticed the same sadness in his. I gave him a small smile.
He swallowed. “I know we won’t see each other until the start of the season, but I’m going to call you. All right?”
I nodded, unable to speak as the soreness in my throat intensified. Jimmy was always busy during preseason. This was his second year playing pro. I remembered last year and how much practice and conditioning had worn him down. He wouldn’t have time to fly back home once the season started. I was prepared for this. Still, it sucked the life out of me that I wouldn’t be able to see him for months.
“Hey,” he repeated in a soothing voice as he lifted my chin.
“I’ll see you at your game.” I offered him a shaky small smile.
He knew I’d be there. I’d been to every first game of the season since college, so I’d be there.
Not soon enough.
I wondered how much more my heart could take.
He cupped the back of my neck, bringing me closer. When his eyes flickered to my lips, my pulse raced at our proximity. For a brief moment, I thought he might kiss me. He leaned in. I held my breath and closed my eyes—waiting, hoping, wishing. He pulled me in closer and then kissed the top of my head instead. My shoulders slumped as he released me.
“I’ll miss you, Boo.” There was a quiver in his voice. He glanced back one last time, stepped out, and shut the door behind him.
The scent of his aftershave lingered in the air. I could still feel his lips on me, the impression of his mouth on the top of my head. My heart stammered in my chest as I was brought back to the day when he’d had more than his lips on me. He’d had his hands all over me, too.
Past—Sophomore Year in College
My freshman year of college had been a blur. On top of starting school, I’d been dealing with my mother’s depression. Jimmy had come home a few weekends for moral support. It’d been so crazy hectic with school and my mother that, besides flying down for the first game of the season and flying home the same day, I wasn’t able to spend more time with him down at Florida State.
When things at home stabilized, Jimmy begged me to come see him. Finally, during sophomore year, I booked a flight and went to spend time with him.
Now, here I was, in his frat house, on a party night.
My eyes scanned my surroundings, taking in the packed house. Jimmy’s frat brothers along with some sorority chicks were getting plastered and dancing to the beat of whatever was playing on the sound system.
I leaned against the wall, holding a red plastic Solo cup with both hands, as I watched one of Jimmy’s frat brothers pour salt on a girl’s navel. She lay flat on her back on a black leather couch. The frat guy placed the shot glass on her belly. Then, he wrapped his whole mouth around the glass and tipped his head back. He was awarded with hoots and hollers from the audience as he licked the girl’s navel clean, using his tongue to lap up the circle of salt. When he jammed his tongue in the girl’s mouth, the spectators awarded him again with rowdy cheers.
“Hey, where’s Jim?”
I turned to a tall, broad guy with the bluest eyes, bluer than mine. “He went to the bathroom,” I said, scanning the party for any signs of Jimmy, wishing he were back next to me.
“So, you’re Bliss, huh?” the guy asked. He was a whole head taller than me.
“Mmhmm,” I answered.
Another guy gave the same girl on the couch a body shot.
“So, how long have you two been together?” he asked with a flirty curiosity.
My eyes slid up to him. “We’re not together,” I stated matter-of-factly.
He tipped his head back in laughter. “Better let Jim know that. He’s been telling the whole house you’re his girl.”
“Really?” My eyes widened. I couldn’t hide the look of shock that crossed my face. Why would he tell people that? I smiled, my insides warming. I kind of liked that Jimmy had claimed me as his girlfriend even though it was far from the truth.
“Anyway, I’m Brad, one of his brothers.” He extended his right hand as the left held a beer.
“Bliss.” I shook his hand as I corrected him, “And I’m not his girl.” Even though I wished that I were.
He eyed me and a smile emerged on his face. “You’re sleeping in his room,” he pointed out.
“Yep,” was all I said. It was none of Brad’s business.
He didn’t need to know about my long history with Jimmy or how we’d been sleeping in the same bed since we were kids.
“Whoa.” His eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Now, I’ve seen it all. A girl is sleeping with Jimmy but doesn’t want more than that.” He chuckled.
“I’m not sleeping with him.” I regretted saying it once the words had left my mouth. I hardly knew this guy. I owed him no explanation.
“Sure.” He laughed, not believing me. “He says you’re his girl. In other wo
rds, you’re off-limits.” He came closer to me as if to let me in on a little secret. “And one thing everyone in this house agrees on is that we don’t mess with Jim. So, I’m stepping away from the pretty girl because I wanna keep this face intact. Nice to meet you, Bliss.” He tipped his beer bottle toward me before strutting away.
I spotted Jimmy strolling toward me. His eyebrows pulled together as he nodded toward the guy making his exit.
“What did Brad want?” he asked.
“Nothing much. He just wanted to meet your girlfriend,” I said, emphasizing the last word while lifting an eyebrow.
He let out a low laugh. “Yeah. Did you like that one? Any new girl who steps into this house is fair game—so they think.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. “But not you.” He threw his arm around my neck and peered into my Solo cup. “Beer?”
I shrugged. “I want to hang with the cool kids.”
He chuckled, knowing I wasn’t drinking it. “Let me get you a Coke.”
As he led me to the kitchen, another tall, broad male with a buzz cut bumped into us.
“Sorry, man,” he said, sounding anything but. His face contorted in anger, and that contempt was directed straight at Jimmy.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole.” Jimmy cast him a look and kept on walking.
But the guy shoved Jimmy’s back, making him lose his footing. Exhaling, Jimmy released me, flipped around, and took a step forward. This guy must have had a death wish.
“What the hell, Stewart?” Jimmy snapped. Goose bumps prickled my skin at Jimmy’s sharp tone.
Jimmy flexed his biceps as though he was ready to fight and took a step in front of me, blocking Stewart’s view.
“She one of your whores?” Stewart mocked, nodding in my direction.
I let out a jagged breath and swallowed hard as my eyes flickered between them.
“Damn, someone wants to get fucked-up today.” Jimmy pushed his sleeves up, the tendons on his forearms contracting.
He took another step forward, and anxiety flooded my insides. The defined muscles on his arms tightened as his hands lay by his sides.