True. “If you were so worried about where your money was going, you could’ve asked. Maybe during one of those family dinners we have. Oh, wait…”
He lurched forward, almost as if he wanted to strike me. I wouldn’t have stopped him. I’d have let him get in a free hit just to satisfy my curiosity if he’d physically touch me. I don’t think he had in the last decade.
“That money was an investment. In you.”
“I’m not a fucking investment, Dad. I’m your son.” My chest was so tight I could barely breathe.
“Talk to me like that again and I’ll write you out of my will.”
Heat burned the back of my eyes. “I never gave a shit about your money. It was never, not once, about the money. You can take every single one of your dollar bills and burn them to ash for all I care.”
He scoffed. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” The vehemence in my voice had him studying me curiously. As if I was a new species of insect and he wasn’t sure if he should protect it for further study or squash it under his hand-tooled Italian loafer.
“Then you’re an idiot.” Splat. Decision made.
“I learned from the best,” I muttered under my breath.
“You haven’t learned anything yet. You have no sense of family responsibility.” His words were cold. Condescending. Dismissive.
“And you do?” I shot back. “You’re suddenly the expert on what makes a good parent? A good husband? A decent fucking human being? Because you’re right, I haven’t learned any of those lessons from you yet.”
He got right in my face, but I didn’t step back. “You know nothing of what it’s like to lose a child. Or a wife.”
“No,” I conceded. “But I know what it’s like to lose a brother. And not one, but two parents.”
His chest puffed out, almost touching mine. I had two inches on him in height, but right now he seemed taller. “Your brother would be disappointed in you. I know I am. What a fucking waste…” He took a step back as if he couldn’t bear to be that close to me any longer, as if my very presence repulsed him.
“It doesn’t matter!” I yelled. “It doesn’t matter because he died. He died. He died.” My chest heaved as I took a ragged breath. “But I didn’t.”
He shrank back from my words, turning his head side to side as if to ward off the blows they dealt.
The dark satisfaction I expected to feel at my outburst never materialized. Only resignation at the knowledge that our relationship had passed the point of being salvaged.
Striding over to him, I ripped the key from his loose grip, returned to the door, and unlocked it, freeing myself once and for all of the strangling ties I’d let him hold over me for half my life.
I threw the key at his feet. It landed without a sound on the thick Persian wool. “I didn’t die but you make me feel everyday like you wished it’d been me.”
Reese
11:04. My dorm was spotless. All my shit was picked up and neatly stowed in my half of the room. I even went down to the bookstore and purchased a stuffed Sharky, the school mascot, as a welcome gift and had it waiting on the bare mattress for her.
The thought of sharing my living space with someone had me oscillating between nervous and excited. I was an only child. I’d never lived with someone else my age before. Would she like me? Would I like her? How awkward was it going to be getting dressed and undressed in front of a stranger? What if I needed to fart? What if she brought a guy back to the room? Would we have to have a system—the whole sock on the doorknob thing?
Restless, I went to Sammy’s to get an early lunch before the crowds got too bad. Getting there was like trying to swim up a waterfall as thousands of students and their parents flooded the campus with suitcases and laptops and posters, their hopes and dreams and fears tucked between folded Rodner University t-shirts and fresh spiral notebooks. When I finally had my turkey-and-cranberry sub and requisite Cherry Coke Zero, I escaped to the center of campus, away from the craziness of the dorms, and found an empty bench shaded by an oak tree.
I checked my phone. No texts from Laird. A twinge of disappointment weighed me down, stealing some of my excitement over our date tonight. I’d just seen him two hours ago, and I’d see him again tonight. Did I really expect to hear from him in between? I shoved the phone aside and nibbled my sandwich. It didn’t taste as good as the one I’d eaten with him at his townhouse last week.
4:38. Still no roommate. Concerned, I tracked down Myrna, my resident adviser.
“Oh, Reese, I’d meant to find you earlier today. Yeah, your roommate isn’t coming. She switched schools last minute. I’d keep that quiet if I were you—if nobody realizes it, they might not fill the spot with anyone else and you’ll get a room to yourself!” She gave me an exaggerated wink and patted my shoulder. “Gotta run. A girl down the hall can’t figure out how to log onto the campus wi-fi and her world is crumbling as we speak.” With a swish of her long white-blond hair, she was gone and I was alone again, in a sea of girls who’d all been paired off by the housing gods.
I went back to my clean, empty room. I stared at Sharky, alone on the other bed. He looked sad by himself so I moved him to mine, tucked him under my blankets, his head nestled on my pillow.
No roommate. Huh.
And then I did a little dance, in the room I didn’t have to share with anyone at all.
I even farted out loud for good measure.
5:41. Even though it was a little early, I started getting ready for my date with Laird. Dinner at his place. And sex, presumably. Lots of sex. So much sex, he expected me to need the whole next morning to recover. I bit my lip. I wasn’t a virgin, but my experience level was more intermediate than expert, and I would bet Laird was a high scorer at this game.
Should I stretch? Prepare myself? I glanced at the pink four-blade razor in my shower caddy. Yeah, I needed to prepare. Forty minutes later, I was sleek as a seal, moisturized, blow-dried, and wrapped in a damp towel as I contemplated my closet.
What did one wear to be seduced? Would he expect skimpy lingerie? Would that seem slutty, or was that what he was anticipating? I eyed my bed. Sharky fixed me with his plastic gaze, absolutely no help to me in this situation. “Some roommate you are,” I told him. He grinned back at me, his white felt teeth on full display.
7:02. I hesitated outside Laird’s door, and smoothed my hands down the soft raspberry pink jersey dress I’d settled on. The sleeveless, scooped-neck design was casual, but the way it clung to my skin was anything but innocent. And the sheer black bra and thong set I wore beneath it revealed more than it concealed. We both knew what was going to happen tonight. Wearing full-coverage cotton seemed pointless.
7:04. Oscar barked on the other side of the door, but Laird hadn’t opened up yet. Feeling silly standing on his stoop, I tried to remember our conversation from earlier. He said seven, right?
No texts from him with a change of plans, so I sent him one, letting him know I was here. Maybe he’d had to run back out to the store. I peered around the parking lot. His black Wrangler was conspicuously absent.
7:12. I retreated to my car to consider my options. Plus, standing at his door that long probably looked suspicious to his neighbors, especially with Oscar still going crazy. I texted again.
7:31. I left.
7:56. I scrubbed off the last of the eyeliner I’d painstakingly rimmed my eyes with. What a fucking waste. Braless, with comfy cotton boyshorts, pajama pants, and a tank top on, I scooped up Sharky. This whole no roommate thing was going to work out just fine, considering I’d already thrown my discarded clothes onto the other bed.
Me and Sharky were about to get our Netflix binge on. Oh, and ice cream. I’d bought some ice cream on the way back. The good stuff that had a thousand calories in each tiny pint and was hand-churned by magical leprechauns with healing powers for situations just like this.
8:02. My phone buzzed.
Laird: Reese, I’m sorry. I’m just getting home and I didn�
��t realize it was so late.
Laird: I had a huge fight with my dad today and then I drove around to calm down and lost track of time.
Laird: I fucked up. I know I did.
Laird: Can I come see you? I can bring over steaks in 30 minutes?
I wavered. If there was one thing I understood, it was fighting with your parents.
But… he’d left me hanging with no word. I’d put on fucking eyeliner. And sexy underwear. And shaved everything. Everything. Yeah, his loss this time.
I took a selfie, framing the ice cream, Sharky, and a decent portion of the curve of my left breast in the shot just to emphasize what he’d missed out on, and sent it to him.
Me: You’ve been replaced tonight. Maybe we should slow down and try again another time.
And then I turned my phone off, ate the best ice cream of my life, and watched a whole season’s worth of Pitch while drooling over a bearded Mark-Paul Gosselaar. I didn’t think of Laird once.
Except later, I dreamt I had a threesome with both Mark-Paul and Laird and that we rounded all the bases and hit some homeruns.
I told you.
That ice cream was magical.
Reese
The last four days had been a blur and, despite his best efforts, I’d barely said two words to Laird. Between classes, volunteering at the hospital on different days than each other, and freshman orientation nonsense, the only time our paths had crossed was Tuesday’s band practice. The choreography we learned that day was much more technically challenging, not leaving much down time for chatting, and I’d rushed off for a resident advisor meeting as soon as it ended. He’d tried to meet me for lunch yesterday, but our schedules were off by twenty minutes and I couldn’t swing it without being late for Calc I.
We’d texted a few times, but the messages were stilted at best. It was my fault. I didn’t know how to create distance from Laird without making it weird. How to slow things down without turning them off.
I reread his last words from this morning.
Laird: Can you get to practice thirty minutes early? I miss you.
I hadn’t responded, but here I was, waiting like an idiot in the equipment room for him to arrive to maybe get a chance to talk to him alone and in person. Helpless to resist, despite knowing this couldn’t end well. I wiped my palms on my gym shorts for the third time. My heart beat an uneven rhythm against my ribs as I checked the time on my phone again.
The door creaked open. I swallowed hard past the ball of nerves in my throat.
“Showing up early doesn’t earn you brownie points, hotshot,” Marco sneered as he entered the room to collect his drum.
“Hello to you too.” I fiddled with my harness while avoiding eye contact, adjusting the padding that didn’t need adjusting.
He grabbed his gear and hesitated before exiting. Flustered, I stooped down to re-tie my double-knotted shoelaces.
“Yes?” I asked when it became obvious he wasn’t going to leave.
“You missed a spot when you cleaned my room this week. The desk was still a mess. Do better next time.” The door didn’t quite hit him on the ass on his way out, even though I summoned all my Batman-superpowers and willed it to happen. I flipped him off like a middle-school boy instead, with outrageous exaggeration and both hands, because I knew without a doubt he couldn’t see me.
Bubba came in next, followed by Charlie and Cade. A quick glance at my phone confirmed that practice started in twenty-five minutes. Laird was late, and the opportunity was gone—again.
When Smith barged through the door a short time later, I gave up any pretense of fumbling with my gear and fell in step with him to head to the practice field.
Smith moaned about the semester-long project we’d already been assigned in biology, but I barely heard him. My eyes were laser-focused on the dark-haired guy stripping his shirt off in the distance, revealing the abs my fingers ached to trace again. Laird Bronson. Already on the field. I must not have shown up early enough. Or maybe when I hadn’t replied to his text, he thought I wasn’t coming.
“Right?” Smith nudged me.
I had no idea what he was talking about. “Mmhmm,” I agreed, forcibly ripping my attention away from all that tan muscle and sinew.
Must. Not. Drool.
In public, anyway.
“Really?” Smith raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You’ve fantasized about drizzling Marco in warm caramel too?”
I screwed my eyes shut and shook my head violently, trying to force that mental atrocity from my mind. “What the fuck, Robin? Why would you even joke about something that bad?”
He tipped his head back and let loose his spectacular laugh at my expense. “Because, Batman, you were ignoring your sidekick. Not cool. I’m not over here talking just because I like the sound of my own voice.”
Appropriately chastised, I flattened my lips and dipped my head. “Sorry. I was just preoccupied.”
“Picturing a certain someone covered in caramel? Someone li—”
My elbow connected with his ribs before he could complete his sentence, and I narrowed my eyes in a pointed warning to keep him from opening his mouth again. “Watch it. Or I’ll partner with someone else for the Bio project and leave you hanging.”
The stricken expression on his face had me rolling my eyes. As if Batman could partner with someone other than Robin.
When we reached the edge of the twenty-yard line where the other snares had gathered, Laird and Marco were huddled over a clipboard together, much like they were the first day of auditions. Something about that white plastic rectangle seemed ominous. As though it not only held my fate regarding my position on the field, but possibly a hidden message from Laird.
What did it mean if I earned a spot? Was it preferential treatment? Or what if I didn’t? Was it because I wasn’t good enough? Because Laird was upset about my request to slow things between us down? Or, on a more basic level, because I was a girl?
Marco glanced up at me and scowled.
I couldn’t interpret it, but my muscles stiffened in response.
Laird didn’t look at me and his body language gave nothing away.
Smith bumped my shoulder. “You okay there, Batman? You’re looking a little tense.”
“Gotham City has been a little rough this week.” I forced my shoulders to relax and unclenched my jaw.
He flung his arm around my shoulder. “Want to grab dinner after this? We could—”
Laird cleared his throat. “Hate to interrupt you guys setting up a date,” his green eyes glittered as they pinned me down, “but we have a practice to get through. Our first game is Saturday so today is essentially a dress rehearsal. Before we begin, we need to officially announce who will be marching on the field when the Sharks take on Louisiana State this weekend.”
This was it. I couldn’t watch.
I studied my shoes instead, the way the rubber on the right one was starting to curl away from the toe and the laces on the left one were uneven. I should fix it. Maybe try to get some of the grass stains out.
“Me. Marco. Bubba. Van. Charlie.” His voice carried no particular inflection as he continued down the list. “Morris. Topher. Cade. Smith. And Reese.”
Time slowed. Was it just in my mind or did his tone change when he said my name? Almost like a bit of a Scottish burr came through and he rolled the r just a little and lingered over the s. As if he was caressing my name with his tongue. Or was that just wishful thinking?
I blew out my breath, trying to slow my runaway pulse. I wanted to look at him so bad, but at the same time, I was scared of what I might see in his eyes. That there might be too much there and the others would notice. Or worse… indifference.
Arms wrapped around my shoulder and lips smacked against my temple, knocking me back to reality. “We did it!” Smith’s jubilant shout nearly took out my left eardrum.
I grinned at his contagious enthusiasm and returned his hug, pushing thoughts of Laird aside and allowing the news to sink in
fully. I’d done it. I’d fucking done it. “I told you we would on the first day. Never a doubt.” My feet barely touched the ground the rest of practice, I was floating so high. A female snare would march in Rodner Stadium in two days, under the floodlights and with forty-thousand Shark fans watching.
I didn’t let Willa’s whining at being paired with me instead of Laird for the second song faze me. Not even when she let the cymbal drop too low for the third time in a dozen measures. For the next two hours, my cloud of happiness was impenetrable.
As I put up my drum after practice while solidifying plans for celebratory pizza with Smith, the sudden weight of Laird’s presence behind me, heavy and unmistakable, hijacked my train of thought, and I dropped my stick bag twice. My lungs struggled to suck in enough air.
“She’ll catch up with you in a few minutes, Smith. I need to talk with her about her timing during the first song before she leaves.”
My spine snapped straight and twin spots of fury darkened my cheeks. There was nothing wrong with my playing and being called out like that in front of everyone? Oh, hell no.
I whirled around to defend myself but stopped short when I saw his eyes. So many things flickered through his green irises. Confusion, hurt, desire, impatience. His fingers pulled at the hem of the Rodner Sharks shirt he’d put back on, and he stole a look at the time on his phone as if annoyed that it was taking everyone more than eight minutes to pack away their equipment.
My stomach churned with twenty-foot waves of turmoil as Charlie, Cade, and Smith headed toward the door, the last ones to leave.
Silence fell.
Unsure of where we stood on a personal level, I shifted my weight and twirled a drumstick in my right hand, letting the polished hickory tumble through my fingers in a practiced blur.
He took a step forward, halving the distance between us.
“There was nothing wrong with my stick work today.” I couldn’t hold that in any longer.
“No, there wasn’t.”
His easy agreement gave me pause and the drumstick fell to the floor when my fingers lost the rhythm. I bent over to pick it up, and he groaned behind me.
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