“Noah?”
“I thought now would be a good time to have that talk.”
He stands and motions for me to sit down. My steps are slow as I walk toward the altar, eyeing the burning candles. The pew is hard and does nothing to comfort the aches and pains I’m feeling.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Your mom always tells me to start at the beginning because I’m less likely to get into trouble.” He smiles.
“I can’t be in trouble for what I’ve done, so maybe you’ll listen and understand where I’m coming from.”
“I’ll try,” he tells me.
I suppose trying is all I can ask for. Clearing my throat, I stare straight down at the ground. “For as long as I can remember, Peyton has been in my life. Everywhere I went she was there. Every holiday. Birthday parties, a family get-together, you name it, and she was there.”
“She’s family.”
I shake my head. “Not to me. When I was about fifteen, I started to notice her differently. I couldn’t stop thinking about her in ways that I shouldn’t. I’d cry at night because I thought I was going to go to hell for having those thoughts about her and hoped they would go away, but they didn’t. They grew stronger.
“I hoped that once I started dating, things would be different. But they weren’t. Every girl I dated, I compared to Peyton. No one has ever been good enough and it’s caused a lot of drama in my life, but I wouldn’t change it. Anytime Peyton would call, I’d drop whatever I was doing and pick up the phone. I’d talk to her for hours, ignoring whomever my girlfriend was at the time because Peyton made me feel that much better. When she called and told me she didn’t have a prom date, I told her I’d take her. She didn’t ask me, I asked her. Well, I pretty much told her it was happening. Prom gave me a full night of being next to her and I desperately needed it.
“We had been dancing all night when she asked me to get a room. I did, and did it without hesitating because I thought this would be the night that I get to finally tell her that I’m in love with her, and have been for years.”
“So because you were in love with her, you took her virginity?”
“Am.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am in love with her, Dad. And that night, I thought things were going to change for us, but I was wrong. I drove her out to the cliffs the next morning, preparing to tell her everything and she kept going on and on about college and how excited she was to start. I started evaluating my life, the craziness, and figured I didn’t want to burden her and kept my mouth shut.”
Dad shakes his head. “Man, you’re not too bright.”
“What?”
He looks at me and laughs. “You take a girl you just slept with to the cliffs… Peyton probably thought you were going to tell her that what happened between you should’ve never happened. She was saving face.”
My dad’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. Is that what happened?
“Do Katelyn and Harrison know?”
“I don’t think so.” I shake my head. “Maybe Elle, if anyone.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t end up pregnant.”
I grimace. He may see it as luck, but I don’t. She’d be mine if that were the case and wouldn’t have been in Kyle Zimmerman’s car.
“What are you going to do about Dessie?”
I tilt my head and take in a deep breath. “I’m going to break up with her.”
“Whether Peyton makes it or not?”
I nod. “I love Dessie, but it’s not the same. Whether Peyton makes it or not, my heart isn’t whole without her, and Dessie deserves better.”
The music is blaring when I step inside. There are a few girls, other models I presume, lounged out on my couch, and the place is trashed. They scramble to clean up whatever is in front of them and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out they’ve been doing drugs. I try to keep my temper in check as I head toward my bedroom door. I’m not prepared for what I might find behind it but open it nonetheless.
Dessie is standing there, with her tiny bathrobe on, looking at me. Her eyes narrow as her fist flies toward my head. She’s slow and easily blocked. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Get out,” she screams, coming at me again, but I’m able to pin her hands down and hold her to my chest. She squirms and tries to kick her way out, but I’m too strong for her. “I want you out.”
“It’s my apartment, Dessie.”
“Fine, I’ll go then.” This time I let her go and she starts pulling her clothes from our closet. All I can do is stand there and watch. I told my dad I was going to break up with her and the cowardly thing to do would be to let her go without saying anything, but I can’t.
“Dessie, we need to talk.”
“Why, so you can tell me you screwed that bitch?”
Rubbing my hands over my face, I sigh heavily. “She’s in a coma and she’s not a bitch.”
“Do you think I care, Noah?” she asks, getting into my face. “You’ve been gone for days and haven’t bothered to return a single one of my text messages or calls.” She comes over to me. I purposely avoid touching her, knowing I’m ending our relationship tonight. I should’ve known better than to assume we could be adults about this.
“I know, and I’m sorry, but I was dealing with a lot while I was in Chicago. She’s my best friend, and seeing her like that…”
“Yeah, well I’ve been dealing with a lot too while you’ve been gone.” She steps closer, backing me into the wall.
I scoff. “Like what, getting high?”
This time her open palm connects as she slaps me across the face. I deserve it, but not for calling her out for her drug use. I pull my lower lip in, sigh and shake my head. “I told you before I wouldn’t tolerate the drugs. At any given time, my place could be inspected, and yet you brought your trashy ass friends into my house and did who knows what while I’ve been holding a vigil for my best friend?”
“I told you, I don’t care.”
“Same.”
I storm out of the bedroom and take one look at her friends. “Get out,” I yell at them. They go scrambling as fast as they can, making sure they have all their paraphernalia with them. I look down at my coke-smeared coffee table. The sight of it disgusts me. It’s the piece of furniture that goes flying against the wall. Followed by my two end tables. I bend over at my waist to catch my breath, only to feel her hands on my shoulders.
“Noah… Noah, stop,” Dessie yells, but the damage is done. My living room is a wreck with shattered furniture everywhere. “It’s okay, baby.” The switch in Dessie’s tone doesn’t take me by surprise. I’ve been with her on enough photo shoots to be familiar with her Jekyll and Hyde routine. Although this is the first time she’s used it on me.
Righting myself, I move out from her under touch and look at her. “I’m in love with Peyton, Dessie.”
“What?”
My body sighs, almost as if saying those words out loud to her is some sort of relief. I suppose in a sense, it is. “I love her.”
“For how long?”
Shaking my head, I stare down at the ground, too cowardly to look her in the eyes. I was wrong to ever pursue anything with Dessie, but the pressure of looking a certain way for the league has weighed heavily on me.
When I finally find an ounce of courage to look at her, she steps back and shakes her head. “Have you slept with her?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, knowing that by admitting this, I’ve lied to her about my relationship with Peyton. “It was before you and I met.”
“Doesn’t matter, Noah. You told me you hadn’t, that nothing had ever happened between the two of you.”
“I know.”
“So how many times, huh? Are you sleeping with her when you’re at away games? Do you fly her there because she certainly doesn’t come to your home games? Do you screw her in our bed?
“I’ve been with her one time, Dessie. Like I said, it was before I
met you.”
“I don’t believe you,” she scoffs. I knew she wouldn’t, which is why I never told her the truth. “Was the accident a ruse by your parents to get you away from me? Is that why you’ve been in Chicago to see her?”
“You really think that little of my parents?”
She shrugs. “It’s not like they like me. Your father didn’t even invite me to come with you to Chicago.”
Shaking my head. “The last words you said to me were something like, ‘It’s always about Peyton.’”
“Well, isn’t it?”
I nod without reservation.
“Fuck off, Noah.” Dessie rushes back toward the bedroom and slams the door. I do the same, except I leave the apartment and head to the basement garage where my car is parked. It feels good to be in control of the car, telling it when to turn, speed up or slow down. It’s the only thing in my life that I can tell what to do. I’d like to tell Peyton to wake up and have her listen, but she isn’t.
I find myself in the driveway of my coach’s house. As luck would have it, his wife is outside tending to her rose bushes on this rare warm winter day and waves, although I have a feeling she has no idea who she’s waving to.
“Hi, Noah. How are you?” she says as soon as I make my presence known.
“I’m good, just here to see Coach.”
“Go on in, you know where to find him.”
I do as she says and head toward his basement where he has a massive media room set up. Our last game is being shown and most of the coaches are here, watching it.
“Westbury, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Um…” I run my hand through my hair and motion for him to join me in his home office. He follows me in and takes a seat behind his desk. “Sunday afternoon, my best friend was in a car accident. You may have heard about it, Kyle Zimmerman was driving.”
“Oh, Noah. Yes, I had heard. I’m sorry. When is the funeral?”
I shake my head, understanding that ESPN had inaccurately reported the passenger in Zimmerman’s car died. “She’s hanging on by a thread. Peyton, that’s her name, she’s in a coma, and honestly Coach, my head and heart is in Chicago with her.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not asking for time off, but I am asking that after the game this week I be excused from practice so I can be with her.”
“It’s a mighty big request.”
“I know, but until she wakes up I’m really not going to be of any use to you, physically or mentally.”
He nods but doesn’t answer my question. “Let’s see how this week goes, shall we?”
I shake his hand and excuse myself. I don’t know where I’m going to go, but the idea of heading back to my apartment doesn’t sit well with me right now, although I have a strong feeling things aren’t over between Dessie and I just yet.
15
Peyton
The soft sounds of a guitar filters through my mind, but it’s coupled with a strange beeping. The intermittent noise is annoying and ruining the melody. I can’t understand why my dad, Liam or Jimmy would allow this to happen. I want it to stop but can’t seem to move my hand. It feels heavy and my skin feels tight.
In fact, everything feels… off. My head hurts and when I try to touch the pain, neither of my arms will move. My chest burns, and yet I can’t rub the spot either. The more I start to access my body, the more I realize I’m in agony. What the hell did I do?
I struggle to move my fingers, toes… my leg. My right side feels like it’s burning, like someone is jabbing me with a thousand fire rods. Something clicks and the pain subsides. It’s there, but not as forceful as before.
But there’s something in my throat, and it’s cutting off my airway. I can’t swallow. Taking a deep breath is near impossible. Panic ensues as I struggle to get air. I gasp and cry out in pain, except it’s a deep throatily moan that makes me sound like a zombie. I need help but am stuck. I can’t move. I can’t talk. I open my eyes and see the faint outline of a person, but nothing else because tears cloud my vision. I try to scream for help, but I’m only able to groan. The guitar has stopped, but the beeping increases. Someone help me!
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Peyton.”
Quinn appears almost as if he’s hovering over me. He’s smiling and I think there are tears falling down his cheeks, but I can’t be sure. He gently holds my shoulders down and says, “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just hold tight.” As if repeating himself is reassurance. It’s not.
I do the exact opposite and try to find where the noises are coming from. I look to my left and find a machine, the more I study it, the higher the numbers climb. Paper is printing out of it like crazy and now something is squeezing my arm. Frantically, I look back at Quinn. He’s still smiling and I don’t understand why. Can’t he see that I’m in desperate need of assistance?
“Well, would you look at those beautiful blue eyes,” some lady in a Pepto pink shirt with flowers on it says. She presses a few buttons and thank God the beeping stops but that doesn’t help the fact that I can’t breathe. I grunt, getting her attention and she smiles softly at me. She seems familiar, but I don’t know her. “Okay, Peyton. I know you’re scared, but I need you to relax.”
Easier said than done, lady.
She starts checking my vitals, but I’m still unaware of what’s going on or where I am. And why is Quinn here, but no one else? I look to him for answers, but still he’s smiling, almost like he’s done something bad and is waiting for me to figure it out.
“Peyton, can you hear me okay?”
I nod, and she focuses her attention on Quinn. “I’ve given her a sedative to keep her calm. She’s a little too alert after the traumatic experience she’s had. She’ll start to drift in and out of consciousness. Don’t be alarmed. It’s her body’s way of healing, but until she can sit up, we’re going to leave her tube in a bit longer and let her body stabilize on its own.”
“Okay, I’ll tell my parents when they come back.”
I try to follow the conversation, but everything is fuzzy and out of focus. Once the nurse leaves, I grunt at Quinn to get his attention.
“Hey.” He holds my hand, but not in the way you normally would. He’s slid his under mine. It’s odd, yet comforting. “I know you’re scared, but everything is going to be okay. I texted Mom and Dad, and they’re on their way back.”
I grunt again, which translates to me asking him where am I?
“They’re going to be so happy.”
Another grunt. Why can’t I move my arms? Why can’t I feel my leg? Give me something, Quinn.
Quinn starts playing his guitar. He begins to sing to me softly. This was the sound that woke me up from wherever I was. As much as I want to turn my head toward him, I can’t. My eyes start to droop. I fight to keep them open, but after each blink, it’s harder to open them the next time.
Except, I’m not sleeping. I can hear everything around me. The beeping is back, but so are voices. My parents, Elle and Quinn’s voices are distinct. Others, I’m not so sure about. People come in and out of my room, and for the most part, they seem happy. They’re talking quietly, but I can hear a few of the things they’re saying.
As much as I want to, I can’t open my eyes. Even though I attempt to each time someone asks, I fail. And whoever is sitting around me at the time gets unbelievably upset when I can’t accomplish what they’re asking. I want to tell them I’m trying, but that’s near impossible. My body feels like it’s detached from my nervous system and no matter what my brain says, my body is rejecting the notion, except for the twitching.
Every few seconds my right arm jerks, which causes an obscene amount of pain. Each internal scream is nothing more than a grunt. After the sensation dies down, I’m numb again. I’ve gathered that one of these machines I’m hooked up to is keeping me doped up because right now I’m pain free.
By sheer luck, my eyes open. Someone notices. I don’t know who but there’s a mad rush to my bedside
with everyone jockeying for position. They say my name repeatedly, asking if I can hear them. They do know I have something stuck in my mouth and can’t answer them, right?
Frantically, I look around trying to focus on one face, but my vision is blurry and the people clamoring around are nothing more than blobs making noise. It’s easier when I’m asleep or pretending to be so I close my eyes and the commotion around me stops. Now it’s peaceful even though I can hear the people in my room talking. My mom is worried there’s something wrong because I won’t wake up. Maybe if they’d leave me alone, I’d open my eyes and greet them, but the instant onslaught isn’t helping my brain cope with whatever is going on.
My room is quiet, with the exception of the machines and the sound of someone talking. The voice is muffled though and I’m having a hard time placing who they might be. I open my eyes again and find Quinn next to me. This time, he’s not focused on me, but a small television, which is sitting on a cart. He’s staring at it intently, completely unaware that I’m watching him.
At some point, someone elevated my bed. I have the urge to cough but am afraid to with this tube down my throat. I can’t kick him because my leg won’t move and each time I try to move my arm, I feel like I’m being stabbed so I grunt, hoping I’m loud enough he’ll be able to hear me over the television.
He looks at me from over his shoulder. I try to smile and his eyes go wide. “Welcome back.” He reaches over the top of me and fiddles with something and within seconds the Petpo pink shirt-wearing lady is back.
“Hello, we look a little more awake this time.”
Nodding is really the only thing I can do, and the action brings a smile to her face. She busies herself with setting various other tubes.
“What are you doing?” Thankfully Quinn asks because I’m wondering the same thing.
“I’m going to suction out her tube before I remove it. She’s going to be very sore and with her chest wound the last thing we want is for her to have to cough excessively.”
Holding Onto Forever (The Beaumont Series: Next Generation Book 1) Page 10