by Lindsey Iler
My head tilts from side to side to make sense of Graham’s words. His eyes beg for my unyielding regard as if he thinks it will make his conviction more poignant. I try to seem carefree, as if these four words don’t cause the crack in my heart to ache, but I’m not successful.
Unwanted tears form, but I refuse to let them fall. After everything, I want to stand strong.
“Why are you saying this to me now?” I cry.
I’m letting you go isn’t a new sentiment from him. His actions, his absence, have made his point loud and clear. Somehow hearing the actual words, my world falls apart. Maybe a small part of me has been hoping that, in the end, Graham would prove me wrong.
“Am I not worth fighting for?” I hide my face behind my hands. I know it’s not fair to Mark, but the words come out before I process them.
Two short steps bring him right in front of me. Neither of us bother to move as our shoes knock. He wipes away the lone tear on my cheek.
Dammit. I didn’t want to cry in front of him anymore.
“You’ve always been worth fighting for, Ken, and you always will be, but...” His head shakes back and forth. His mahogany eyes show a defeat that matches mine.
“You know how you said that you’d always love me?”
Graham nods.
“I’ll always love you, too,” I whisper. My shoulders slump beneath the weight of my loss. Those words needed to be spoken outloud, before my time ran out.
“That’s not enough for us, though, is it?” Graham asks.
“Of course it’s not,” I whisper.
“Promise me you’ll find your happy,” he begs.
I lean against a locker and take a deep breath. “My happy isn’t found in one of you boys, Graham.”
Graham nods, pride shining in his eyes. His signature heart-melting smile appears on his lips. “Do you think I can take you up on that offer from last year?” he asks. His cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, something I’ve never seen on him before.
My eyebrows crunch together as I toe a crack in the tile. “What offer?” I ask through shallow breaths, my nerves getting the better of me.
“You think we can be friends?” Graham's shoulders shrug in apprehension. My eyes dart to his. He nods as his eyes beg for understanding. “I need a friend like you right now, and I know it’s not fair. I understand that, but I need you.” His words crack under the strain of their weight.
“You’ve always had me, Graham.” I close the gap between us. My arms wrap around his waist. His intake of breath is deafening as my head rests on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. “You’ve always had me, Graham.”
“He’s back.” Graham talks into my hair. His hands run up and down my back. When his light touch skims down the entire length, a shiver runs down my spine.
“Your dad?”
“He can’t miss his only chance at reliving his own dreams through his son.” His bitterness soaks every word.
“You always have a pillow to crash on at the Conrad house, Graham, if you need it.” I release my hold on him, our sad smiles mirroring each other.
A calmness comes over me as we walk in opposite directions. Our relationship isn’t what I’ve missed most of all, but the way he always made me laugh and made me believe there’s good beneath the bad. It’s our friendship. This is why instead of listening to my bleeding heart, I allow a sliver of Graham back into my life.
*****
The door swings open and everyone looks at me. I walk into first block, ten minutes late, not exactly giving my teacher the best impression on the first day of class.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I apologize to the teacher. I’ve never been in one of Mrs. McCarthy’s class, but I’ve heard the rumors.
“That was my fault.” His deep voice rolls over my body. “It won’t happen again, Mrs. McCarthy.” Graham’s wicked smile taunts our teacher, then drops to me.
“Why did you go in the other direction just now?” I ask with confusion.
“I had to pee. I wasn’t aware our friendship meant I had to tell you every move I make.” Graham smirks with a shake of his head.
Mrs. McCarthy clears her throat. “You two take a seat. We’ll talk after class is over.”
As I walk down the aisle, Graham’s chest burns against my back. “Do you have to stand so close?”
“Is it distracting?” Graham whispers into the back of my hair. “How does it feel to be in trouble for the first time in your life?”
“I’m not in trouble.” I glare at him over my shoulder.
“Yeah, we are.” Graham’s words are smooth as butter. The glint in his eyes tells me he’s not just talking about us being late.
“If we’re going to be friends,” I glance to the front of the class to make sure our teacher can’t hear us, “we need to lay down some rules, Graham.”
“You and your rules.” He rolls his eyes.
“For starters, quit flirting with me. I’m not going to sleep with you.” I shake my finger in his face.
Graham plops down in a chair. “Well, you sort of already have, so are you really going to rule that one out?”
“Shit like that can’t happen. Don’t make this harder than it already is.” I shake my head in frustration.
“Okay, fair enough. What’s the rest of your rules?”
“You have to be the guy I know you are. None of this ‘I’m fucking gorgeous, so I get to be a dick’ shit. Everyone saw you with me last year. It’s not a secret you’re a decent human being,” I argue.
Graham bats his eyelashes and plays bashful by putting his hand on his chest. “Did you just call me gorgeous?”
“It’s not a secret,” I whisper.
“Kennedy and Graham, last warning,” Mrs. McCarthy shouts. Everyone turns to look at us.
“Sorry, Mrs. McCarthy,” I answer as I throw my books on the desk and sit.
“Kennedy’s in trouble. Kennedy’s in trouble,” Graham chants.
Throughout first block, I try to listen to Mrs. McCarthy’s lecture on the civil war, but my mind strays. Graham’s warming up to me after all this time confuses me. He drew the initial line in the sand, but I underscored it by jumping into his friend’s arms. Things happening in the way they did weren’t intentional. My relationship with Mark sort of developed over time and I don’t regret it because he’s taught me a lot about myself.
When the lecture ends, I wrap my arm through Graham’s. “Walk with me for a second.” I don’t think about what others will think. It feels natural to be this way with him. “Don’t be offended, but what the hell is going on?”
“I was hoping we could’ve skipped this whole part,” Graham says as if I’m boring him. He stops in the middle of the hallway. By now, we have everyone's attention. “But that’s obviously not going to be the case, so do you want the quick version or the drawn out one?”
“Throw me the quick version.”
A girl snaps a photo of us with her phone, no doubt to try to sabotage my and Mark’s relationship.
“I’ve used girls before and after you. I did it because I wanted to forget for a little while. You, my dad, everything. By far, you’ve been the hardest to forget, though.” He scratches at the short growth along his jaw line. “Sometimes you have to take things head on, so that’s what I’m doing. We aren’t together anymore, and at first it really sucked, but now I’m learning that it sucks more not to have you in my life at all. I’m coping with Mark and you, not that I want to be the best man at your wedding or anything, but I am coping.”
“So that’s it? You’re coping?” I reiterate his sentiment.
Graham’s eyes soften. “I’m coping.”
“If you can cope, then I can cope.” I smile up at him. I glance around the hallway. “The vultures are watching.”
Graham’s eyes roll. “Want to make out? That’ll give them something real to talk about.”
I push on his chest and laugh.
Graham and I go our separate ways, and for the fi
rst time, it doesn’t feel like we’ve just spoken our final words to each other. There isn’t a rule book for situations like ours. There’s no right or wrong way to navigate our situation. It’s unexplored, but like Graham said—we’re coping.
Chapter Twenty
Graham
Bat gripped tight, I swing it over and over again to warm up my muscles. Using this time to settle my nerves is the only way to get through this.
The metal door slams against the wall, and the loud crash silences the room. Mark strolls in, greeting the guys with high-fives. The glare he directs at me could make a kitten cry. Someone has tipped him off about how friendly Kennedy and I were earlier.
I drop my bat and exit the cage, leaving my safe, protected place. Outside of it, I’m vulnerable to my friend’s wrath. I follow him into the locker room. His back tightens as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head, but he doesn’t face me.
“Don’t fucking start with me today,” Mark barks. His phone lands in his bag and he slams his locker shut. He finally turns towards me. Breaths shallow, face red, and eyes narrowed, he’s seconds away from knocking me out.
“Don’t be an asshole,” I snarl. “Have you talked to Kennedy?” His anger flares at my raised eyebrow.
“She’s my girlfriend, Graham.” Mark slams his fist into his locker door.
Hearing him refer to her as his girlfriend makes me gag.
I said I was coping, okay? I’m not a saint.
“I know it’s going to make you uncomfortable, but I need you to understand where I’m coming from. Kennedy’s important–”
Mark cuts me off. “She wasn’t that important to you last year.”
“That’s not fair and you know it, Mark. I walked out on her to give her a chance.”
“A chance at what, exactly? Everyone sees the way you still watch her. It’s no secret. And you coming and going makes it worse for her and confuses her more. You make her question her choices, and I’m one of them.”
I ignore his comment and focus on his question. “To be happy, and she is happy,” I jab a finger at him, “with you.”
Okay, I gagged for real that time.
Mark’s eyes narrow in on me. “And you’re okay with that?”
“I’ll love that girl ‘til the day I die, Mark, but I can’t make her happy. So, I’m letting her go.”
“Sure you are.” He scoffs, then walks away.
“Mark, don’t misinterpret my willingness to let her go for my willingness to stop loving her. You need to understand that when you’re with her, a part of me will always want to be where you are. My heart beats for that girl. The only reason I’m letting her go is for her.” I stand with my whole body slouched.
“Graham...” Mark’s eyes soften for a split second and then harden again.
Friend or not, he doesn’t have any sympathy for me. “Just don’t, okay? Last year, you told me she’s not the type of girl you just fuck around with, and you’re right. I just didn’t figure it out soon enough.” I rush past him. I want to leave him with my words playing on repeat in his head.
Mark and I avoid each other until pitching practice. Ever since freshman year when we were pulled to Varsity, he’s been my catcher. In the past three years, there hasn’t been a time he hasn’t had my back.
“You’re ready for the season to start. I’ve never seen you pitch like this,” Mark compliments me as we grab our bags. “There’s fire behind those throws.”
“I’m just ready to get away from here,” I answer, maybe too honestly.
Mark nods in mock understanding. He has no intentions of leaving Tennessee. How could he when he has the perfect life with a perfect family? “I know you hate me, but I really like her. You need to know that. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t.”
“That’s the thing, though. I didn’t just love her. That girl became my best friend last year, and it was all taken away in an instant.” I press my temples, frustrated by the conversation.
“You played a big hand in losing her, Graham. Let’s not forget that,” Mark points out, rubbing the reality in my face.
“I know I did, but, just because we aren’t going to be together, it doesn’t mean our friendship doesn’t hold strong. I don’t think anything could break that,” I declare.
“Just like you want me to understand, I need you to understand. Kennedy is my girlfriend. She may be your friend or whatever you two are trying to convince yourselves you are, but don’t you dare overstep your bounds.” Mark’s eyes burn into me.
I stare at the stained ceiling tiles above us and whisper, “We’ll see.”
Mark bends down to retie his shoelaces. “I heard you guys were talking in the hallway today,” he mumbles.
“We were,” I admit.
A scowl paints Mark’s reddened face. “About?” He holds his ground, spreading his legs apart in a protective stance.
I scoff. “Do you usually need a manuscript of her conversations?”
“Only when it’s with you. I know your history. I don’t know everything, but I know enough not to like it.” Mark forces his mitt into his bag and walks away.
I trail behind him, and inside, I’m dancing at his discomfort. “Yoo-uu’re jeaa-lous,” I singsong behind him.
Mark spins around at my remark. “I’m not jealous.”
Despite his denial, it’s written all over his face in the way his eyebrows narrow and his lips purse.
I cuff him on the shoulder. “Relax man, I know you’re not.”
No, I don’t.
The ride home is a haze. When I pull into the driveway and see his car parked in my spot, I want to hit reverse and take Kennedy up on her offer. It’s a nice thought even though I never will. I park next to his SUV. Not bothering with my bags, I walk through the garage and into the kitchen.
“Mom,” I shout. “I’m home. Where’re you at?”
“Honey, we’re in here.” Her strained voice travels down the hallway.
I find them in the formal sitting room. He sits in one of the wing-backed chairs, my mom meticulously placed in the one opposite him. The whole situation screams staged, leaving me with an uneasy feeling.
“What’s going on? You guys never sit in here.” My gaze scans between the two of them, lingering on my father’s face to get an idea of what’s to come.
“Your father wants to talk to us.” My mom motions for me to sit on the loveseat across from them.
“What’s up?” I focus my attention on the permanent dirt stain on my baseball pants.
“I know things haven’t been easy around here. I’ve been stressed and away from the house, but that’s all going to stop. I’m no longer traveling, so I’ll be home from now on,” my father explains. His deep voice digs needles into every nerve in my body.
Squaring my shoulders, I train my eyes on him. “Hasn’t been easy? You beat the shit out of us. You’ve always beaten the shit out of us, Father.” I jump to my feet. “We are perfectly happy with you being away,” I shout as I pace back and forth across the room. His nonchalant attitude over what it’s like in this house is infuriating.
“Graham!” my mom shouts. “Don’t speak to your father like that.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap back, my hands flailing in the air.
I don’t register my father’s movement until the back of his hand slams against the side of my face. His wedding ring gouges my skin. I summon the strength to face him through the burn of the contact.
“It’s all going to stop now, right, Dad? You just needed to get in that one last hit, huh?” I push against his chest. “I’m fucking leaving, and I’m not coming back until you kick his ass to the curb, Mom.” My eyes are on her in silent prayer that she’ll stand up for us.
When she says nothing, I know my pleas are hopeless.
“That’s what I thought. Good luck, Mom. I love you, but I can’t stick around, waiting for this asshat you call a husband to get his shit together.”
“Graham...” my mom whispers
, but her voice never reaches full strength.
The front door slams behind me. I dig my keys out of my pocket, crank the ignition, and clutch the wheel to control my trembling hands. Coach won’t to be happy when he sees my face. I lean forward to get a better look in the mirror. The small cut where his ring hit my cheek and the minor bruising will be worse come morning.
As I turn the car off, Coach walks out on the front porch. The yellow light conceals his expression until I walk up the steps and see him grimace.
“That son of a bitch. He’s back,” Coach’s voice vibrates with anger. “Come inside. We’ll get you cleaned up, son.” His warm hand grips my shoulder to usher me into his home.
My eyes water when he calls me son. I don’t understand how the man who helped create me, the one who’s supposed to support me and protect me, can be the monster he is.
“Tell me what happened? You need to know I have to report this, kid. I can’t keep quiet any longer. Not after the summer we had.” Coach motions for me to follow him.
His wife, Candice, comes into the kitchen. She scans me from head to toe. “Oh, honey,” she whispers. She sits at the kitchen table and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes.
I take the seat across from her as Coach pilfers through the cabinet above their sink. “Explain,” he demands.
He throws antiseptic cream and a butterfly bandage on the table, and his wife scoots her chair next to mine. Her gentle fingers probe the gash.
“I need something to clean off the dried blood.” Her eyes stay on mine. They soften as time passes and I have to look away.
Coach hands her a warm, wet washcloth. Candice presses it against my cheek with a tenderness only found in a mother. I wince at the initial contact, but seconds later, it gives me some relief.
“Spill it, kids,” Coach barks in an angry voice. “I need to know if I have to load my shotgun and teach your dad a lesson.”
“Richard,” Candice retorts. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call him anything other than Coach.
“What?” He shrugs at her verbal assault.
“I got home from practice,” I begin.
Coach’s pride shines through his smile.