Covering the Quarterback

by Amber Thielman

  “Oh, honey,” mom said gently. “I’m not sure it even stops there.”

  My mom has said some crazy things in my life, but this one took the cake. I scoffed, staring at the wall, wishing I could yell at her and hug her at the same time.

  “Jackson can’t stand me,” I said. “He told his friend the other day that he wouldn’t date me if someone put a gun to his head. How’s that for friendship and beyond, huh?”

  “Grace,” Mom said. “You still can’t see what’s right in front of you, can you? The rest of us do, I’m just not sure you two caught up yet.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think you know,” Mom said, and before I could argue with her again, I heard my kid brother Aidyn amid a tantrum on my mom’s end. “I love you, baby,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm all right,” I said. “I just need some sleep.”

  “Call me tomorrow.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

  I held the phone to my ear long after she was gone, then finally set it aside, wishing she was here in person to hold me and tell me that it was all going to be okay. But she wasn’t. I was on my own, and I’d have to get through this myself.

  Chapter 38

  Jackson

  It was a long walk home, a walk that seemed to drag on for miles as I trudged through the cold and dark back to my apartment. Despite how far from the bar I found myself, Grace’s words were still ringing in my head, the look on her face sharp in my mind. A look of anger, betrayal, sadness. Everything that she was feeling at that very moment was my fault; I’d inflicted my pain on her and expected her to take it, and now she was gone. She’d finally turned her back, something she should have done months ago, when we’d first met.

  As I walked, feeling sorry for myself and pondering how I could fix this, I wondered deeply in the back of my mind why I cared so much. Why did I give a shit what a girl like Grace thought of me, anyway? She was just a girl, an ornery one at that, and yet for a reason I couldn’t quite fathom, I cared desperately what she felt, what she thought of me. I found myself wishing I could take away her pain and keep it away for a lifetime. This newfound desperation to go to the ends of the earth for some chick I had only just met was a feeling I’d never experienced in my short years. What was it about Grace Harrison that made me feel things that I’d never allowed myself to feel before? Why could her smile, and her smile only, light up my world, and why did I crave her attention, her loyalty, her friendship? That’s all this was, right? A friendship. I enjoyed her company. I found her charming and funny and slightly bizarre and oh-so-different. I was frantic to have her in my life, and I was still trying to figure out why.

  By the time I finally reached home, I’d decided to try and fix whatever rocky friendship we’d started. Not only did I want to, but I felt that I needed to. Before I could conjure up the finishing touches to my plan, however, I found Tyler sitting outside my front door. He was propped up against the wall, looking bored, and when he saw me, he scrambled to his feet. A whirlwind of emotions gripped me. It was the first time I’d seen him since the accident, and I was fighting an internal battle as to whether I should be happy to see him finally, or pissed.

  “How are you, man?” Tyler asked, but he made no move to sock me in the arm or fist-bump me like we always did.

  “Fine,” I said and side-stepped him to unlock my door. I wasn’t sure where this was going, so just to be polite, I stepped into my apartment and left the door hanging open for him. He took that as an invitation and followed me in, closing the door behind him.

  “Look,” he said. I went to the fridge for a beer, returning with two. I handed him one, and he cracked it open. “I’m sorry I wasn’t by to visit you,” he said. “I guess I didn’t know what to say ... or how to act.”

  “I get it,” I said, and I really did. Hell, I was still trying to sort out my feelings about life. I had no idea where I was or where I was going; I didn’t expect Tyler would.

  “Are you doing okay?” he asked. “I mean, really?”

  “Depends on the day,” I said honestly. “It’s been rough not being able to play, you know? Lonely.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Tyler said. He sighed. “I should have been here as a friend.”

  “Grace was,” I said, and Tyler looked up at me, meeting my eyes. “Grace was here the entire time.”

  Tyler looked at the ground, kicking the tile with the toe of his shoe. “I know,” he said. “And I’m glad. How is she?”

  “She hates me,” I said. “She overheard what I told you in the library.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Then I got angry and kicked her out one day, and she’s finally done.”

  “Maybe,” Tyler started, and then hesitated as if debating as to whether he should say what he was going to say. He looked up at me again. “Maybe that’s for the best, you know? Now you can have your old life back.”

  “Tyler—”

  “Just hear me out,” he said. “I know we haven’t been supportive, but it seems like since that Grace girl walked into your life it’s done nothing but go downhill. She was a huge distraction, man. I don’t know why you cared so much, and I’m not going to let you wallow in it, but I think it comes down to this, right now. I don’t like to do this, Jackson, because you’re my best friend.” Tyler took a breath and shrugged. “It’s her or us, man. You need to choose. Grace Harrison or your team.”

  “I don’t have a team left,” I reminded him. Tyler scoffed and finally reached out to punch me in the arm.

  “Of course you do,” he said. “And we’ve missed you since you’ve been preoccupied with that girl.” Before I could answer him, Tyler set his beer down on the kitchen counter and looked at me. “Riley O’Connor is having a party at his place right now. Do yourself a favor and join us. You could use a night away from all this, yeah?”

  My first reaction was to tell him no, that I was fine, and that I already had plans to reconcile with Grace tomorrow. But I didn’t say no because part of me knew there was nothing left of our short friendship to be salvaged. And if I didn’t have Grace, and I didn’t have my team, I wouldn’t have anyone.

  “Alright,” I said. “I’ll come to the party.”

  “It’s for the best, man,” Tyler said. He slapped me on the back. “Stick to what you know.”

  Later that night, I welcomed the buzz from the booze that crept up slowly, but it wasn’t enough. Not tonight. I put the potent concoction to my lips and chugged the contents. Tyler was laughing as he took the empty cup and made me another drink. I chugged that one, too. On the other side of the room, a leggy red-head wearing a short denim skirt and a see-through top was watching me as she made conversation with a friend. She kept glancing in my direction, a tiny smile on her lips. Tyler followed my gaze to the gorgeous redhead and grinned.

  “She’s just your type, isn’t she?” he asked.

  “I don’t have a type,” I muttered.

  “She’s all yours, buddy,” he said. “Just enjoy it.”

  “I don’t think I—”

  “Shyanne!” Tyler called, beckoning the redhead over. She sauntered up to us, leaning in to give Tyler a peck on the cheek as he reached down and grabbed her ass. She bit her lip in what I could only assume was supposed to be a sexy way and looked at me.

  “Who’s your friend, Ty?” she asked.

  “This is Jackson,” Tyler said. He slapped me on the back. “He’s been having a rough time lately. Maybe you two could get to know each other.”

  “That sounds delightful,” Shyanne said, and she purred something in my ear that resembled a sexy slur. I looked at Tyler, glaring, and he leaned in. He was grinning, pleased with himself.

  “Just go for it, man,” he said. “God knows you need it.”

  It wasn’t entirely unexpected that I winded up in someone’s empty bedroom with Shyanne’s hand down my pants and her lips nibbling on my ear. I was good
and drunk now, feeling better than I’d felt since my shitty hospital stay. I was hot and bothered, and so was she.

  “I bet I can show you a real good time,” Shyanne said, pushing me down against the bed. I let her do it, because, hell, why not? This was me; this was my life. It always had been.

  Shyanne braced my face between her hands and slipped her tongue between my lips. I closed my eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of whatever fruity perfume she was wearing. Her hips pushed against mine, grinding into me, seducing me with her touch alone. She reached for the button on my pants and undid it, then let her fingers rest on the zipper, teasing me.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” It was a moment before I realized those words belonged to me. I pulled my lips away from Shyanne’s mouth, and slowly my hands disconnected from the soft skin on her body. She was staring at me now, trying to figure out if I was kidding or not.

  “You can’t?” she repeated.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I just ... can’t.” I sat up on the bed as she rolled off me, looking so annoyed that I almost felt bad. Almost.

  “Is it me?” she asked, but by the tone of her voice, I knew that it wasn’t a serious question. She knew damn well that it wasn’t her.

  “I have to go,” I said, and stood to button my pants. My head was swimming, stomach churning with liquor. I couldn’t think straight, but only one thing and one thing alone was going through my mind at that very moment, and it wasn’t this.

  Chapter 39

  Grace

  “Are you drunk?”

  I don’t know why I bothered asking, because of course he was. It was very clear as Jackson stood swaying on my doorstep at two-thirty that morning with a stupid grin on his face that he was, indeed, drunk. He shook his head, but I could smell the booze reeking off his breath. He was grinning, his eyes glassy and bloodshot.

  “Can we talk?” he asked. I looked around, hoping he had a friend here who could take him home and put him to bed.

  “It’s late,” I said. “Can we do this another time?” I had no intention of doing anything at any other time, but I hoped that would at least get him off my doorstep. No such luck. I started to close the door, but Jackson put his foot out, lodging it open. I hesitated, glaring at him, wondering if it would be too mean to break his fingers in the door jam. “Go home.”

  “I want to talk,” he said. “I have some stuff to say.”

  “You’re drunk. Whatever you say now means nothing.”

  “I didn’t mean what I said,” Jackson said, catching me off guard. “In the library, when I said that about you. I didn’t mean it. Seriously.”

  “Grow up, Jackson,” I said, and the little bit of dignity and self-control I’d had left dwindled entirely. I stepped into the doorway, forcing him to take a startled step back. “If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t have said it. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t care what you think about me. We’re very different people. I’m not like you, and I’m not like the girls you hang out with, and that’s how I like it.”

  “That’s how I like it, too.” He tried to step in closer, but I blocked the door.

  “Grace? Is everything okay?” Behind me, Alex came out of her bedroom. She wore nothing more than an extra-large tee shirt and booty shorts, but Jackson barely glanced at her.

  “Everything is fine,” I said. “Jackson was just leaving.”

  “Actually—”

  “Goodbye,” I said firmly, and pushed him back just enough to get the door closed. I stood there for a moment leaning up against the closed door, breathless, wondering if he was still standing on the other side of it.

  “Wow,” Alex said. She had her arms crossed over her breasts, staring at me. “Talk about desperate.”

  “Drunk,” I said. “He’s wasted. He can go home. Whatever he wanted to say to me tonight he already said earlier. The rest is irrelevant.”

  “You know what they say, don’t you?” Alex said. “A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.”

  “Are you defending him now?” I snapped. “Because if I can recall correctly, it was only a few hours ago that you were threatening him and telling me to move on.”

  “And I’m not taking that back,” Alex assured me. “But, Grace, the guy is starting to look a little bit pathetic. Maybe it’s best if you guys apologize before going your separate ways.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “Closure, maybe.” She scoffed and glanced back at the closed door before turning away from me to go back to bed. “It’s pretty clear you both need it.”

  Chapter 40

  Jackson

  Grace’s painfully raw goodbye weighed on my mind as I made my way home in a drunken state of self-pity and doubt. I didn’t want to feel such resentment towards her for sending me away, but I did. My frustration with the friendship was growing with each passing day, and it was nobody’s fault but my own. I’d been horribly self-absorbed since the injury on the field, and Grace had every right to be apathetic about it now. She wasn't malicious or spiteful, even if I wanted to say she was. She was simply human. Now it was me who felt cynical and childish, suspicious of the motives my friends were hiding.

  Without looking for oncoming traffic, I stepped into the road to cross the street. Somebody in a blue Chevy swerved around me and laid on the horn, but I was too tired to care. It was the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach and the overwhelming sense of defeat that wouldn’t release my focus. Grace was the last support I’d had, an unwavering and devoted friend with a kindness that radiated from her very soul. If she was gone, who was left?

  By the time I managed to unlock my apartment door and stumble in through a drunken haze of confusion, my back was throbbing with unbearable intensity, radiating from my neck, down my spine, and to my tailbone. My head was still swimming, and my stomach threatened every few minutes to empty itself all over my living-room floor. I shut the door behind me and collapsed on the couch, exhausted but furious. Furious with the world, with the people, with myself.

  Sitting on the coffee table next to my hand was the orange bottle of prescription painkillers. My hands shook as I reached for the bottle and tinkered with it, as clumsy as a toddler with a spoon. After what seemed like ages, the lid popped off and the pills spilled out. I felt no hesitancy as I gathered the ones I could find, not bothering to count them before tossing them into my mouth and chewing. The taste was vile and bitter, but a great satisfaction overcame me despite that.

  Once those pills were down, I found some more and took those. I was desperate for this pain to go away, not just the physical pain, but the emotional turmoil. If the alcohol couldn’t do it, if a girl couldn’t do it, then maybe this could do it.

  With a deep breath, I laid back down on the couch and closed my eyes, listening to the police and firetruck sirens wail outside. It didn’t take long for the euphoria to hit, and I found myself slipping in and out of a kind of dreamland. I felt good for the first time in weeks. It was a sensation I didn’t want to lose.

  Reaching for a half-empty bottle of beer abandoned on my coffee table, I took a long drink, barely able to keep my eyes open. My limbs and eyelids were heavy, and somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the thud of the glass bottle as it slipped from my fingers. It hit the floor and rolled across the carpet as a cocoon of warmth overcame me; elation. Then, then there was silence.

  Chapter 41

  Grace

  Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong, and I didn’t know what.

  I laid in bed staring at the traces of light from the moon on my ceiling. I couldn’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep; I felt wired and wide-awake like I’d downed an entire pot of coffee. I kept seeing Jackson in my mind, the desperate, sad look on his face, the ridiculous way he’d swayed where he stood, trying to apologize but not knowing how. I didn’t know if I was ready to forgive him, or if I ever would. I considered cutting him out completely, ignoring his calls and texts and just walking awa
y from the drama. But as much as I tried to convince myself that that was the best route to go, I couldn’t shake this eerie feeling that something in the Universe was off. It was the same feeling I used to get when my dad would be home late for work. We always knew what was coming, my mom and me, because if he was home late, there was a good chance he’d be drunk. And angry. It was that familiar feeling that had a hold of me now, the sensation of dread, a twisted gut, and shaky hands.

  I sat up in bed and threw my legs over the side, trying to steady my fraying nerves. I glanced at the clock, not surprised at all to see that it was almost five in the morning. I’d been up all night, and I wasn’t about to get any sleep now.

  Walking quietly so I wouldn’t wake Alex, I slipped on my boots and a coat, grabbing my phone as I left the house. It was freezing outside, and as I walked, I could see my breath in the chilly late-fall air. I pulled out my cell and dialed Jackson’s number. Despite my hope that he’d answer, it rang and rang, before going to voicemail. I hung up and tried once more, but it was useless. I hoped that he was only passed out in bed, sleeping off the many shots I assumed he’d thrown back that night. He was okay, surely, but something was still compelling me to walk across campus at five o’clock in the morning to check on him. It didn’t seem to matter how angry I was at him; I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I had peace of mind, anyway.

  I arrived at Jackson’s apartment and knocked softly on the door. It was a light knock at first, but when he didn’t answer, I knocked again, even harder this time. There was nothing; no sound, no movement, no rustling of life from inside. I turned the door knob. It was open. Stepping inside, I ran my hands over the wall, trying to find the light switch so I could see further than a foot in front of me. I found it, finally, and when I turned it on the whole living-room lit up. And that’s when I spotted him.

  He was lying on the couch with one leg and one arm hanging off the side. There was a spilled bottle of beer on the carpet next to his hand, and an empty bottle of prescription pills next to that. He wasn’t sleeping; that was the first thing that crossed my mind, and horror gripped my chest when I spotted the vomit protruding from one side of his mouth.